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."

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[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.”