Because I Know What Money Smells Like

[godfreyupir]

Cael Rich -- fucking ironic fucking name -- was a fraud. Roman was sure of it in a bone-deep sort of way, something he couldn't quite explain but he knew it was a truth. As certain as the sky was blue and a Godfrey's eyes were as green as money, Cael Rich was not from money. Roman had only transferred in a few days ago, but his attention to Cael was slowly becoming intolerable, and he was well aware of it. It was intentional. He wanted to make him lose his cool, he wanted him to fly off the handle, he wanted him to tear that mask off in his attempt to get at Roman so that the upir could taste his desperation as his mouth tasted his true nature from his throat.

He could almost hear the strands of restraint snapping -- and Cael didn't have many. Roman watched him through gym class, as they ran  track, and when they were shepherded out onto the basketball court, Roman made a point of caging him in, using his 6'4" frame to be in his space in a way that violated in every small way that was invisible to everyone else. He was faster, stronger than everyone, when he wanted it to be. It was easy enough to me just a hair too close for a fraction of a second.

And then they were back in the locker room, and Roman was dressed, leaning against a locker and watching Cael. Watching as he got dressed, and then lingered like a threat he didn't even know he couldn't follow through with, and Roman licked at the back of his fangs. It took an act of will to retract them so they weren't showing when he spoke. He was closing the distance, using those long, slender legs. He didn't have his sunglasses on here; barely any light filtering through the windows. People over whether he had an eye condition or whether Roman was just a pretentious fuck, even in a school full of pretentious fucks -- most people thought it was the later.

"Is Rich even your last name?"

The smile that curved those lewd, cock-sucking lips was hard and cruel. He wanted to cage him in against the lockers, but failing that, he wanted to be close. Close enough to breathe him in -- earthy, something vague and familiar he couldn't entirely place. Close enough to make him nervous, put him on edge when every boy here seemed to play to the whole heteronormative bullshit. Roman had worked through his problems, more or less -- dying does that to you. He wanted cock, he'd wanted a very specific cock, but the asshole coward had run. He'd run because that's all gypsies knew how to do.

"Because you're not, are you? Rich. You put on a good show, but it's all bullshit. I doubt you can even afford this place. I come from money older than this fucking country, I know what privilege smells like. And you smell like just another fucking street rat."

Comments

[not_rich]

The worst part about this con was school. He was used to buffers in small doses, used to pulling quick in and out cons and getting back on the road, but this was different. Going to school with them, pretending to be friends with them, it all meant hiding his utter contempt for them.

For this. The money, the privilege of living under three million dollar roofs, expecting a future of going to hundred thousand dollar a year colleges, everything. He hated them for what they had, but it wasn’t because he wanted it, he just didn’t get the point. Why bother? Why get so tied down to a life that consumes you, that wraps you in an endless web of responsibility and commitment until freedom is a word tossed around at election time, something that other peoples’ kids die for, but you never really understand.

He missed being free. He missed the road, traveling. He was used to slipping in and passing long enough to get away with it, but there was no end in sight here, and the longer he lived like this the more claustrophobic he felt. Some nights he slept in the empty pool just to have room to stretch, to get some air and see the stars.

He didn’t do well being closed in. Roman seemed to know that. He was new, had only been in school this week, but he’d immediately become preoccupied with him. Cael had no fucking clue why, it wasn’t like he had a giant sign on his forehead that read fraud. But he was paranoid that he did, that something gave him away, that his contempt had bled through and Roman could smell it on him, just knew he didn’t belong. They were long past the time when they should have cut and run, gotten back on the road… he knew this was coming. It was rule three, cash out before you pass out. They were in over their heads.

At least, Cael was, now.

Roman was tall, half a foot taller than he was, and he was dangerous. During gym, he’d been too close, in his space, and Cael was on edge. He wanted nothing more than for Roman to keep his fucking distance, but he wasn’t. It was like he was unable to stop pushing, and Cael felt the strings inside him snapping one by one until he was dangling, dangerously close to out of control.

Roman was pushing every last button he had, and the truth was that Cael’s temper really didn’t live far below the surface. He wasn’t violent, really, but Roman nailed it with his insult. Like a street rat, if he was cornered long enough, he’d attack to save his skin and get away.

He’d been fine to ignore him until then, until he called him a rat, until he pushed him too far.

“Oh, yeah? I bet you know what cock smells like, too, with enough of it on your fucking breath, faggot.”

[godfreyupir]

"Yeah, I do. Bet I suck dick better than your girlfriend. You probably want to find out, don't you, under all that heterosexual rich fuck act you put on. But you know, even if you stick your fucking dick in my mouth, it wont change the fact that you smell like a fake."

He grabbed him, fast, impossibly strong hands on his shoulders as he pinned him back against the lockers, his green eyes looking down at Cael as he pressed in close. Their chests almost touching, and Roman's grip was still tight, but not ridiculously so; surprising for his thin frame, but still human. He tried to be careful. However much he might be mocking Cael for his secrets, he had his own, too.

"So what are you, street rat? Kid of some street level drug dealer? Not good enough to get into the business?"

There's contempt on his lips and in his hard green eyes. He can't explain what it is. Usually, he wouldn't have cared, wouldn't have given two flying fucks, but there was something about the act that got under his skin. Something that made him need to hold him down and prove that you're not better than me.

"Faggot." And that's when he kisses him, hard, and it's all teeth, all control and dominance like he's got something to prove.

[not_rich]

Roman’s not backing off and it has Cael on edge. There’s nowhere to go but backwards, and he can’t do anything but let himself be cornered. His mind is racing to assess the situation and the options available to him, most of which involve fighting dirty. He’s not above it if it will get him out of a tight spot, but he’d still prefer to outwit someone than resort to desperate measures.

It’s difficult to try and figure his way out of this, because the closer Roman gets, the more he’s talking about sucking cock. Sucking his cock, and it’s not an invitation but that doesn’t stop Cael’s mind from following those words right to the inevitable mental image; Roman, with all his self-righteousness, on his knees at his feet, lips made for sucking cock wrapped around him.

The real edge of fear is the only thing that manages to keep him from getting an immediate erection. Roman’s strong hands pressing him into the lockers and how he’s invading his space in a way that’s not as arousing as the image of him on his knees and vulnerable. Cael is pushing him off, or trying, and they’re grappling in the moments between Roman’s insistent questioning, what are you? and the hard kiss that comes on the tail of faggot.

It’s completely unexpected, and it stills the fighting, stops him, his hands bunched in the fabric of Roman’s navy jacket, but he’s not pushing him away anymore. He’s not pulling him close, either, he’s just frozen.

There’s an element of shock. He can’t quite believe this was happening, that after days of Roman fixating on him that when he finally gets his hands on him, this is what he does. The reactionless shock only lasts a moment or two before he pushes back, because he likes hard, but he’s not going to let Roman have the control here.

He’s pushing at Roman’s shoulder, trying to dislodge his grasp. He wants to turn them, wants to slam the taller boy into the lockers and crack that hard shell of dominance to get at what’s underneath. That’s all it is, just a fragile shell to conceal a soft broken core that needs. Cael can see through it, feel through it; it’s something harder, sharper than the display of dominance, it’s a kind of silent desperation, a plea to be broken.

And maybe in that moment, Roman can tell more, too. Like Cael can tell that control isn’t what Roman wants to have, maybe Roman can tell that drug dealer isn’t the truth he’s covering up, that it’s traveler, it’s gypsy that he’s hiding behind rich fuck. It’s hard to pinpoint just what gives him away. Maybe it’s how he knows himself, knows how to use his body despite Roman having half a foot on him, how he manages to gain an edge on him and turn them, struggling to push Roman into the lockers, but gaining every second. It’s more than that, though; it’s how rough his hands are, it’s the scent of earth on him like even though he’s trying to sell the lie he can’t keep himself from laying in the grass at night to look at the sky.

[godfreyupir]

Cael pushes at his shoulder, and Roman gives a little, lets the other push and shift them. Roman hides it casually behind how his hand moves to curl at the back of the other teen's head. Holding onto him, tasting him in the kiss. And he tastes like starlight, he tastes earthy and sweet and familiar in a way that he can't quite place. Not until their tongues swirl, chasing each other, fighting, refusing to give up dominance, control. Or, more that Roman needs to make Cael work for it, fight for it. He wants him on edge, pulse racing.

It's a faint scent on his skin, in his mouth, on his tongue. It's lies and it's it's too many places, and it's freedom, a sort of freedom he could never understand, even if he'd tried. And he had. God, but he'd tried. When they part, Roman sucks in a stuttered breath that feels almost too thick in his throat, and the hand that's still on Cael's shoulder doesn't let go. Fingers tighten in his jacket, holding tight as he looks into his eyes.

"Gypsy trash," he breathes it on a shaky exhale. Usually those words are full of contempt, hatred, suspicion. When Roman says them, they're filled with hurt and longing and heartbreak. He almost wants to break him. Almost wants to hurt him, bruise him, taste his blood on his mouth for every time that Peter had hurt him. But the moment hangs still, it stretches as they look into each other's eyes.

That shell he fit into so well, that control and dominance that he wrapped himself up in shattered in pieces between them. Roman had been broken before, he'd kissed a gypsy before, and words still echoed in his head, even if his mother was dead in a room in the White Tower.

A gypsy is a gypsy is a gypsy; they will steal the rings from your fingers and the love from your heart.

[not_rich]

Cael’s used to people figuring it out. His cover’s been blown before. He knows the look people get on their faces as they connect the dots. Whatever insult is slung is usually punctuated with contempt or hatred, and that’s honestly what he’d expected from Roman, especially after the last few days, after calling him a fraud, insinuating that he’d already known…

It different suddenly. The confirmation stole the contempt from his voice, and left behind something he recognized all too well. Heartbreak and hurt, and when their eyes meet, he sees it there, too, clear in those green eyes.

Sometimes he’ll come across someone who hates him for a reason more than rumors, someone who’s been robbed by gypsies before. They’re more suspicious, quicker to attack and faster to recognize him for what he is. There’s no question that Roman has known others, and there’s no question in Cael’s mind as to what the last gypsy stole from Roman. His heart.

In the long moment as they stand, staring into each other’s eyes, fists curled into the other’s jackets, Cael knows this is a bad idea. He should let go, shove him off, get the hell out of here.

But then Roman breaks again, and he can see it. There’s a change, like everything that had been hard had fallen away. Cael stays still, watching, taking it in, blue eyes scanning Roman’s face just a moment longer, and then, against his better judgment and survival instinct, he curled his fingers tight in the fabric of Roman’s jacket to pull himself in. This time he wasn’t just being kissed, he was kissing Roman, taking the aggressive, making it clear that Roman wasn’t the only cocksucker in the room willing to show his hand.

[godfreyupir]

He knows that Cael can see through him. He knows that he's looking into him, through him, and that he can see -- maybe not everything, but the important parts -- what Roman's hiding behind that icy shell he wrapped himself up in. The heartbreak, the vulnerability, the fact that for all he might seem hard and cruel, turning into a full upir had not ruined him. He was not his mother. He was just... different. He didn't even know what he was, not entirely.

But, in the moment, nothing mattered. Nothing except for the fact that all of the harsh things he could have said, Cael didn't. Instead, he just kissed him. It made those soft edges okay, drew him out so that he was melting against Cael's mouth. Roman's hand moved from the gypsy's shoulder to cup against the side of his face, and the way he kisses him is hot and desperate and agonizingly needy.

Having Cael kiss him like this, that admittance that's better than words is like a spark. Roman has always been sexual, worse after turning, and he's hard against Cael's hip as they kiss. His tongue winding with the other boy's, but it's different, it's wordless pleading, it's need he hates he's still soft enough to give into. He wanted to be cold, hard and sharp as a knife. Strong enough to not need Peter.

But the terrible truth was he was still in love with him, even as he hated him for leaving.

[not_rich]

There’s a part of him that can’t get over the fact that he’s making out with a buffer. He can’t blame Roman for this anymore, it’s not just an attack in the locker room that escalated; he’s kissing back. He’s turning them, pushing Roman against the cold metal of the lockers, pulling himself in close with hands fisted in his jacket like he can’t get close enough.

He hates buffers, hates the way they live and what they value. But he doesn’t hate them enough to stop kissing Roman, because he’s different. Maybe he’s so far the other direction he doesn’t register, or maybe it’s something else he can’t put his finger on yet, something dark in Roman that speaks to something wild in Cael, something that’s just as afraid of being tied down as Roman is afraid of being alone.

Roman’s hard against his hips as he presses in close, and it pulls a low hum of appreciation from him as his hands begin to roam. It was the last gym period of the day, the locker room would be empty until the track team came after school for practice. His hands slip beneath Roman’s jacket. He feels strong beneath his hands, lean muscled body, and he’s so tall. He’s remembering how easily Roman had had him pinned to the lockers now as his hands move over his chest. It’s not slow or sensual, really, it’s that desperate kind of teenage groping, that need to feel, need to experience, need to get as close as possible.

It doesn’t matter to Cael that Roman’s probably still in love with someone else. This isn’t about that. They’re not even friends, let alone more. Cael doesn’t know what it’s really about. Later, when he’s laying on the cold tile at the bottom of the pool, he won’t know what possessed him to do this. Maybe just some need to not feel so fucking alone all the time, so cut off from anything and everything that meant something, that made him feel good. Cael just wants to feel good, and right now, Roman feels fucking good beneath his hands and against his body, and that’s all that matters.

[godfreyupir]

It might be a prep school for rich kids, but the truth is that Roman is as far removed from them as Cael is. Roman lacks not just an appreciation for the sort of kids that make up the bulk of the school, but an understanding. My mom will probably buy my way into someplace decent had been what he'd told Peter's mother, not disingenuously. None of this bullshit matters to him, like the fact that they're both missing their last class. Who the fuck cares? All this place is going to give him is a piece of paper that money can buy.

Roman can taste it on his mouth; how he's wild, and just like Peter, afraid of being tied down. Roman is too intense to be anything except for a trap, a noose cinched too tight. He's needy and desperate and he clings to Cael as surely as he does to Peter, moaning as hands move over his chest.

It doesn't take long for Roman to join in. One hand stays with fingers curling in his hair, but the other is raking nails down his chest, groping, touching, fumbling with buttons and trying to shove that jacket off his shoulders. He wants skin, he wants contact, he wants to feel him under his hands, he wants to wrap those slender, deceptively delicate fingers around the other boy's thick cock.

It's stupid, ridiculous, doing this. But it''s undeniably tied up in the fact that Cael is a gypsy, but he didn't break Roman's heart. And in some fucked-up, ridiculous kind of way, there's a thought that maybe, just maybe, this can somehow be okay. That Cael can fuck Peter out of his veins and out of his dreams.

[not_rich]

There isn’t even a passing thought given to the class that they’re missing except for how it works to ensure they’re not going to be bothered here for over an hour.

Roman feels good against his body, hard lines and tall enough that Cael has to stretch up, has to pull Roman down.

This is different than it is girls - hell, this is different than with most of his experiences with boys, too. His first time with another boy had been kind of like his first time with a girl, awkward exploration and not as good as he’d imagined, but he’d quickly found what he liked, what he was good at. Roman wasn’t the kind of guy he typically went for, not even remotely, but that doesn’t matter. He’s different than anyone he’s ever met. He doesn’t know anything about him, but he still knows that he’s just as different from everyone here as Cael is. In a different way, surely, but they’re both outcasts, and Roman’s intense, dangerous in a way that’s absolutely intoxicating.

Roman still has a hand in his hair while he’s fumbling his jacket off, and he’s not going to say it aloud but he likes the point of contact, likes the anchored refusal to let go. Cael is quick to shrug the jacket off when Roman tries to push it off; he doesn’t like it anyway, it doesn’t feel right on him. He can tell where this is going, can tell what Roman wants and where his hand is going.

He pulls from the kiss just enough to breathe against Roman’s lips, “Get on your knees.”

[godfreyupir]

For Roman, Cael is exactly his type. At least, he's the type he likes, secretly and intensely. He's fooled around with more than a few other boys over the months since Peter left. Peter had been both a revelation and an explanation -- why it was never good with girls. Why it left him feeling empty, disgusted, just sharpened his hunger. Peter had proved that it could be different, it could be better, it could be good. After Peter had left he'd picked up a guy on a low night, just needing to know if it was just Peter. If it was just that stupid fucking connection, the dreams they shared.

Some nights, he still saw him in his dreams. He couldn't stop himself from crying when he woke up, knowing that the piece of shit gypsy was still out there and that he wasn't his. Letha had hurt, but this, this was tearing him apart. It made it that much easier to fall into Cael, so he's sinking to his knees, easy, and almost obedient, if such a word could ever be applied to Roman Godfrey.

He grins up at him, a spark in his green eyes as his hands stray up Cael's torso, undoing the buttons of his shirt. It might seem like he's being a tease, avoiding what they both want, but then his head ducks, and he's navigating the closures of Cael's pants with just his mouth as he tries to het the other boy's shirt undone. He needs skin. They're alone, have at least an hour, and so Roman wants him naked. He wants him warm skin against him own, he wants to feel him slide into him, hard and slick and everything he craves.

He catches Cael's underwear in his teeth, a hint of a smile on those lewd lips as he drags them down until his cock pops free and then he grins. "Fuck," he breathes it as a sigh, one hand curling around the base as he nuzzles in against his thick girth. "Do you want your cock down my throat?" He licks his lips, provocative, intentionally just a little slutty. He likes it.

[not_rich]

Roman has no business being even remotely that hot, and fuck but he knows it, if the way he looks up at him is any indication. He’s sinking to his knees and looking up his body. The look in his eyes alone could undress him, but he’s stripping him down, undoing the buttons of his shirt and, fuck, he’s using his mouth.

He can feel Roman’s breath on his body, against his belly and through his trousers as his mouth manipulates the closures, teeth catching the elastic of his underwear. He’s holding his breath, body tense with anticipation and the shivering sensation of Roman so close to his cock, freeing him from his underwear.

Then he’s swearing, his hand curling around the base of his cock and nuzzling in against it, and Cael can’t tear his eyes away.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice shaky from arousal. “Yeah,” there’s no hesitation, because yes, he wants that, he wants Roman to put Cael’s cock where his mouth is, wants to know if he’s just as good as he claims he is.

He wants more. He wants to fuck him, wants to peel Roman’s expensive clothes off his body and push him against the locker and take him, but right now he can’t get past the image of his lips. The way he licks them, slow and intention, traps his attention. He’s eager, too eager, and when Roman doesn’t immediately give him what he’s teasing, Cael rolls his hips, cock pressing back against his cheek demandingly.

“You’re such a slut,” he breathes, because he knows, or he’s gambling, that pushing like this isn’t going to stop him, it will only urge him on. He can’t help himself, not with how perfect Roman looks with his cock pressed against that sinful cheekbone.

[godfreyupir]

[Roman is a Godfrey; he would happily inform him that being hot is genetic or some shit. He can't help it anymore than Cael can help smelling like the wind and the rain and freedom. He grins quietly, against the other boy's skin, coming out as a low murmur as the gypsy shit curses and that agreement is all the encouragement he needs.

But it's not fast enough, and there's a low, guttural laugh when Cael jerks his hips, his cock sliding against his cheek, calling him a slut.]

Fuck yeah, I am.

[And maybe if he wasn't moving to put his cock in his mouth in that same breath he'd be smiling. Instead, he's pushing down on him, eager and those bright bright greens look up at Cael, eager and wanton.]