Roman Godfrey (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
godfreyupir) wrote2013-11-03 12:32 am
godfreyupir) wrote2013-11-03 12:32 am
Entry tags:
Because I Know What Money Smells Like
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."
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."
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.”
no subject
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.
no subject
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.
no subject
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.]