Peter Rumancek

Peter won't say it, but he feels like an asshole even as he keeps telling himself he'd done the right thing. He wanted to protect Roman from this. From the Vargulf, from everything that was fucked with this screwed up little town, but most especially, he wanted to save Roman from himself. From the darkness that hadn't yet won him over, but the closer he was to this, the worse this whole shit sandwich got. He had felt it in the Mill. The darkness, the feeling that some day it was going to spill over, and the closer Roman was to this, the sooner that day was going to come.

The sun was out, just enough to be slightly too warm in the high afternoon until he slipped out of his shirt and shoes, drinking beers from the small refrigerator and wishing the sun could chase the chill from his heart. He felt guilty, he felt like he'd done something wrong no matter how many times he tried to tell himself he was just keeping Roman safe, out of this. It was his fight anyway. It had been.. nice. Having Roman by his side, someone who knew, someone that gave a shit and didn't judge him like Destiny and his mother, as if they knew better than he did what he was neck deep in.

He'd been drinking off and on the whole day. By the time he heard an engine pull up to the trailer he was buzzed, tipsy, maybe just a little bit drunk. He had been sitting on the front stoop, playing games with the cat, although after that many beers, the cat's claws were winning. But maybe the slight sting of pain was good -- it gave him something to focus on. Something that wasn't painfully gorgeous with two emeralds for eyes and lips people would kill for. Fucking Roman. Peter couldn't get him out of his head, and it was almost infuriating. Every time he had to remind himself this was the right choice.

He felt guilty, even as pissed as he still was about the Mill. But between that weird feeling he'd gotten, almost sick to his stomach with it, he could almost understand it. Roman didn't deal well with being pushed outside of his comfort zone. But at the same time, that made for an even better reason to cut him out of this whole fucked up thing. It goes to just how much he'd been enjoying his beers that day (and maybe some lot, if he's being honest about it) that he didn't Roman until he could smell him, until the shadow of his body slid over him and Peter shivered.

"Shit, Roman..."

He moved to get up, to try and walk back into the trailer, his shoulders stiff, refusing to let onto his indecision. 

It was a late call for practice; not until mid-afternoon. Peter and a couple of the other boys had shown up a few hours early to put in some work on one sequence they'd been having trouble with the rhythm of, but, they hadn't actually made it out of the dressing room. It wouldn't be a problem, except that Draco, the blond, had actually mentioned it to Roman. It had been casual, nothing for certain, but it was enough to potentially prompt the Godfrey heir-apparent to come looking when the studio remained empty. Peter was oblivious, at least for the moment, caught up in it as the darker haired boy, Harry, fucked into him. Peter was bent over a table, Draco's hands tight in his long hair as he rocked into the Rise's mouth with lewd, wet noises.

Peter was sort of, well, like that. He liked sex, and was defiantly unashamed of the fact. He'd fuck any of the boys in the show, as long as you understood that the closest he got a relationship with mutual pleasure, working relationship, friends-with-benefits sort of thing. He'd fuck any of them, well, as long as you weren't Roman Godfrey, his co-star.

Roman had something of a reputation for it, to be fair. He'd fuck his co-stars once or twice, and then start fucking other people when they bored him, and by the end of one run of a show, they were out of the company. With his mother running the organization after the suspicious-but-unprovable suicide of her husband, it was no surprise, really. It made it a cursed promotion; none of the other dancers currently part of the troupe wanted it.

Of course, the fact that Peter refused him just seemed to make Roman more intent. Flirtatious looks, lewd comments, stray touches -- there had been attraction since they first looked into each other's eyes. It was about to get a whole lot worse, though. A fact that Peter realized as he looked up to the door on a whim, and his blue eyes locked with Roman's greens. He couldn't look away. And if Roman had been looking for any time at all, it was impossible to miss how he started rocking his ass back onto Harry's cock, or how he seemed to get even more enthralled as he sucked at Draco's dick. Leaning up, letting him sink in deeper between his lips so that it all disappeared down his throat.

Putting on a show. And given that his eyes never wandered, it was impossible to miss just who it was for.