saturniapavonia | (no subject)

I'll wait for you.

[He smiles, warm, and briefly touches fingers to Roman's shoulder as he walks over to the bar. Sure, it would probably have been better to talk about at home, but with his luck, Roman would see him as he left, and by the time he got home it would have been more of a thing than it needed to be.

So they could talk it out here. Not that there was much to talk about; just that there wasn't much reason for Roman to hide it from him, which in hindsight he was pretty sure he had been.

Sure, it was ironic as fuck, but that didn't mean he was going to mock him for it. His Godfrey name can't pull money out of trees here, he guesses, even if that should have been obvious. And between them, Roman was the only one really bringing in money. Peter brought home clothes, DVDs and other odds and ends he 'acquired' when they caught his eye.

He sipped at a beer and tried to keep from watching him. But, Roman made it hard. Green eyes and a pretty face.]

[Wait for him? Roman's lips want to move and say something stupid. Congratulations for getting him so very off guard, Peter. The usual arsenal of unsavory, caustic shit he can spew out is stopped up.]

Okay. It shouldn't be too much longer.

[The touch and his shoulder and sheer lightness of the exchange is...refreshing. His pretty face feels hot. If he can play it off like this isn't the strangest thing will be an accomplishment.

Just think. A Godfrey with a job is nothing on a mad werewolf. The perspective is slowly making it less of a deal. Speaking of his table gets occupied. The short game of poker takes forever.

It's like he feels two warm beams of light watching him from at the bar.]

[If he realized just how off-guard he'd caught Roman, he might have patted himself on the back, or some shit like that. Instead, he just sips at his beer and he waits, trying not to stare too obviously. He knows this has to be awkward as fuck. Peter's the only one here who knows just how out of character it is for him to work for a living. And maybe that's part of why he appreciates it so much. Roman's really trying; to fit in, to make whatever fucked up place this is work out.

He tries to casually chat up the tender, keep his mind off Roman, but it only works so well. But he stays, waiting until Roman gets up and walks away from the table and then he moves after him. He stuffs his hands in his pockets, trying to see casual and not like he's trailing on Roman's heels.

Even if he maybe is, just a little.]

[Thin, long fingers loosen his tie. There's still a constricting feeling. He snags a water battle from the bar and keeps moving until they reach a cluster of tables. Not gambling tables. The kind around for people to relax, smoke, enjoy themselves.

Perhaps the location will eventually perk Roman's mood. They change sometimes for lesser reasons.

Finally turning he faces Peter.]

I know you want to laugh so come on out with it.

[He unscrews the cap on the water and waits a moment.]

Shit, it's funny isn't it?

[Except he's not laughing.]

I'm not gonna laugh. I mean, I get it.

[Peter looked at Roman in a way he hoped was reassuring. He got it, after all. The fact that Roman was a Godfrey and had millions in the bank didn't mean shit here. It was work for it or go without, and while Peter was generally more than willing to go with the later, they both knew it wouldn't work for Roman.

Peter kept their house stocked with things, and there was always enough money for two packs of smokes on the kitchen counter, but Peter didn't know how to work for a living, how to exist with an apartment and other things you were expected to pay for regularly.]

Besides, you look hot in the uniform.

[He grinned a little bit impishly. He couldn't take it entirely seriously. Besides, if he wanted to make the point that it was fine and normal and he wasn't going to judge him for it, he certainly wasn't going to play it funeral solemn or some shit.

And he wasn't joking about the uniform thing, either. Fuck.]

[A more insecure, more clingy part of Roman believes that he will. Anyone would. This is unheard of. The Godfrey family spent their time working for money with the founding years as part of America's history. He wasn't meant to get his hands dirty. Mentally he is also ashamed to be so adverse to doing things the hard way. He's not a pussy. He's a warrior.

He's a person that needs money. Another sip of his water. His head is starting to clear and the words finally hit him. No blushing girl the words have an impact. Damn, Peter. Scooping up his ego like a diamond out of the gutter. Roman doesn't feel so much like a blue collar fuck. Hot he says.]

Standard issue.

[An extra tug on his tie.]

What uh brought you in? I didn't think you were a gambler on anything that wasn't a street corner.

Oh yeah? You should wear it home some time.

[Peter leans back in his chair, letting it tip a little on its back legs as he gives Roman a slow once over with his blue eyes, not even pretending to hide what he's doing. Sure, he could have given him shit about it, make him squirm, but there are more fun ways to push at the other teen's edges.

Peter isn't usually quite so overt, but it fits the moment. Fits how he wants to tangle fingers in Roman's tie and drag him halfway across the table. Roman does things to him, and it's not fair, but he's come to somewhat deal with it anyway.]

I check out casinos now and then. They just tend to be meaner if you get caught.

[There's a shrug to his shoulders though, that says he's not going to fuck around somewhere that Roman works. Not in a place like this, where they can't just vanish, disappear on the dust and the wind. He'd like to show Roman the world- their world- if they ever get back home.]

I might now.

[Rather than putting it back in the locker or whatever hamper they got. It's a old time casino. There is wash rooms and dining rooms, all on account of Meyer's taste. He's an actual retro gangster. Roman appreciates the attention to detail. It feels a little comfortable to dress up. Hiding it and slipping back into his slower end designer jeans and tee with blazer to slip back home has made him feel like a pretender or a liar. Sharp blue eyes looking at him without any ridicule are enough to change his mind.

Pretend all you like yourself, Peter but Roman knows the look. He's done it before himself. The casual try is particularly intriguing.]

You got to try and be a careful winner. I can me mean too you know.

[To those that would be mean to Peter. Or Peter himself. The fun is in the lack of specification.]

Oh, really? Is that a fact?

[Peter was messing with him, but that was no different from breathing for the two of them. The assertion that Roman could be mean struck him as hilarious in a coy, sort of sideways way. Roman had pulled his eyes out once, but he never thought of him as mean. Not to him. And fuck it; sometimes he liked pushing his buttons. Not hard, not enough to make him bristle and snap, but just enough to goad him a little.

Peter still had that same quality of questionable fucking judgement, but he was grinning. Maybe it was just to hide the fact that the uniform seriously made him hot around the collar. It was like Roman in that fucking Halloween costume. Sheeit.

Never was there a day he wasn't under his skin.]

[Fidgeting this way and that, touching his nose, touching the bottle of water he drinks from comes to a halt. What now, Peter? What's that? Don't believe in Roman's meanness? He snorts. It should be funny. Fuck should. It is. There's a shred of indignity. Godfrey by name gets him shit in reputation to be sure. The rest he has earned!

Roman leans and points to Peter, shaking that finger to scold him.]

Careful. If you wanna play mean, I might like it too much. Then you'll be really fucked.

[Hanging around wiseguys helps him poster better. Feeling satisfied, he leans back once more.]

Except I'd wreck a suit. I don't know if I'm allowed to get more than one at a time.

[Hopefully he is just as convinced there's that much care in cloth and stitching. It's disposable. These emotions that the bright eyed gypsy boy brings up in him are worth far more.]

Oh yeah? Promise?

[Peter grins, a wag of his eyebrows and a curl of his mouth as he leans in. It's still new to him, that this is acceptable and okay; the flirting, the admittance that he wants him, wants to touch and taste and feel so much it makes him shake. And there's no one here telling them it's wrong or waiting to catch them looking too long, and that's still sinking in.

He can show up at where Roman works and tease him on his lunch break and he's adding it to his list of reasons that he likes this place. Why even with the curses he doesn't want to go home.]

What, saying you don't know how to be careful of a suit? [Even if Roman is probably more worried about Peter.] 'Sides, I'm pretty sure those ones are replaceable, hate to break it to you.

[No expensive Italian tailors when it comes to work uniforms, unfortunately for Roman. He tugs at the tie with a grin and a flash of teeth in his smile.]

Edited 2014-06-02 20:52 (UTC)

You're a masochist.

[Making Roman a sadist. Isn't that supposed to be some sort of a match made in heaven? So much for trying to be a tough guy. His smile about cleaves his face in two. It almost hurts. Sister-less, cousin-less, penniless and somehow, some how happy.]

I don't want to waste a fucking paycheck on something you ruin. I do know how to take care of a suit. Do you? [That tug pulls it farther from it's carefully undone loop and closer.]

If I wasn't, I wouldn't be involved with you.

[Peter points it out with a raised eyebrow, but he's grinning, a warmth in his eyes. It's true, though. In that fucked up way that they fit together, like two equal sides of the same bad idea, and somehow that makes this work. Roman isn't the only one that finds himself happy in spite of all the pain and all the bullshit.]

Maybe. Are you ask me to to all nice?

[He's being a brat and he knows it, punctuated by the waggle of his eyebrows as he pulls that tie loose from Roman's collar. He lets the fabric drop to the table, slipping slowly, almost sensually from his slender fingertips.]

[True. So true. Roman shakes his head a little. Peter's fucking crazy.]

Peter, can you please, please not treat my suit like you do everything else you own?

[Even though he does absolutely nothing to stop the finely made silk threaded garment to touch the table. In fact he doesn't even look at it. Just at the scruffy boy's face so very near.]

You know that shit's not made like me.

[Who can stand to be scratched, scraped and pawed.]

[Of course he is. So is Roman, for that matter.]

I'll do my best.

[It's noncommittal, and he laughs, a curve of his mouth, a flicker of eyelashes as that tie falls from Roman's collar. His hands reach up, undoing buttons with a bit more care than he usually affects.]

And whose problem is that?

[Certainly not Peter's, or so he would claim, leaning in to nip at Roman's lips because, god, who could resist?]