poly_chromatic | T H R E E.

[It's unlocked. And there might be the smell of bleach that really over powers for just a moment. Someone tried to clean up any and all evidence. Truth is like a black light. Even if you can't see the proof, it cannot be hidden. There are cigarettes filling up the plate they've been using.

Roman is on the couch. He turns his head to the door, it's not a figment of his imagination.

An up nod greeting is what he can manage.]

[He'd rather smell the bleach than the blood, in all honesty. It's a relief that washes through him like a physical force, that it seems so normal. Like things are... not okay. Maybe never okay, but this is still here, this space that was theirs.

He steps in closer, slowly walking to the couch on uncertain feet. He looks at Roman with too much intensity and too many feelings.]

Hey.

[How is he supposed to take the slow nature of his movements? Is it trepidation?]

I'm not gonna try anything.

[A promise he feels like he can keep. Roman doesn't move from his seat.]

That wasn't me. I know I'm different but that wasn't--that wasn't something I wanted.

[He nods and after a moment of deliberating ends up sitting on the couch next to him. He knows, he does. It's more the terror at his own feelings that have kept him away, as much as the fact that Derek seems to think it's a really bad idea. But he's here anyway.]

I'm pretty sure it was a curse.

[He leans in, just a little, just so that their shoulders touch. He doesn't know what else to say, when there's so much between them right now. About how at the end he let him and that absolutely terrifies him. That he was in his dreams, or that he needs Roman more than he's anywhere near comfortable with. That the blood and the kissing was actually hot until Roman tried to take his eye out.]

This place is fucked up and I didn't even realize how badly.

[It's almost like the apartment has been cold this whole time and there is a heat radiating off of Peter. The time it takes for him to decide to settle is torture. This isn't a high quality couch and it dips and squeaks a little when the other boy sits. Roman's own fingers lace then unlace to comb back through his dirty gold hair.]

Shee-it.

[Rueful. Ironic to his own pain to say something so goddamn light.]

That was not me.

[Such conviction, young master Godfrey. It is starting to sound convincing even to himself.]

Shee-it.

[That echo that's drawn from his lips as surely as they're drawn together. And he just lets the moment linger, lets whatever it is that's stretching between them happen, because he needs this, he needs Roman in his life.]

Which parts?

[He doesn't look at him as he says it, because he's so conflicted, still. And maybe he's making a point, or maybe he just wants to know if Roman really wanted those blood-stained kisses. Fuck he doesn't know how to do this.]

[Silence practically buzzes. Once again Roman folds his hands but his knee is bouncing lightly up and down.]

I've sort of liked how blood's felt and shit. Nothing [he clears his throat and keeps his spooky eyes down] emo or anything, you know? Nothing like that. I don't cut people open or take parts. Fuck.

[He laughs but he doesn't mean it. Sounds like he's a goddamn Jack the Ripper. This is the first time he has admitted to anyone his kink. It wouldn't be hard to guess, he supposes. Something in him feels like Peter is owed so much.]

I don't... mind it.

[The silence that follows that feels swollen and his eyes fall down to the floor, a faint flush at the apples of his cheeks. It's such a strange thing to admit, even to Roman, and it feels like it comes out all wrong.]

Not... the eye thing. [When you were trying to cut it out.] But, I dunno. When it was just the blood and the kissing, that-- That was kind of hot.

[He swallows, casts his gaze to the ceiling she a shake of his head.]

Shee-it.

That was--[hot, really hot. And also not something that did bodily or psychological harm to be true!] that much wasn't the curse. The kissing thing.

[Green eyes feel a little more bold, perhaps to see what sort of reaction will come up out of his words as he looks at the man on the other end of the couch.]

I didn't want to bleed you like a pig.

[A wolf cannot be a pig just as much as a wolf cannot be prey.]

That was all a fucked up version of good things I guess.

Good. Because I like you. And that gets all weird when you go all-- [What the hell even to call it?] fucked up like that, alright?

[Totally not a confession, just a statement. He shakes his head, leaning back a little to look up at the ceiling and he shakes his head, trying to shake the thoughts away. Like the ones about kissing Roman, about how he tastes even with blood on his lips.]

I liked the kissing thing. That wasn't-- [Bad, wrong. Left him shaking for reasons totally different than the sinking terror it turned into.] Even with the blood.

[There's a lull, there's a silence, and he swallows, his blue eyes flicking over to Roman.]

I never did that before.

[That way.]

I mean the fucked up shit. Get me?

[Which is a point that Roman will drive in like a hammer and a nail if it takes that. He's not a freak. It was a fluke. He's a warrior, right? For the greater good with a higher purpose than a blood bath to coat his carnal desires in.]

The rest? [Kissing like that is not something he shrugs off but their eyes meet and the couch feels too long. Roman turns and reaches out to Peter.]

I get the feeling we're really connected.

[Peter nods, and for now at least he's willing to let it drop. It's easy enough to chalk it up to the curse, to tell them both that Roman is the Warrior, not the Dragon. And it's why he doesn't tell him what he is; because it always seems so much easier to stay like this when Roman's still fighting to be the hero. He tells himself that if he gets worse that maybe he'll tell him, try and make him realize that he's so close to falling.

He swallows when Roman mentions the rest of what happened, and his blue eyes are looking over at greens. His heart races when Roman reaches out, and he echoes to motion, letting their fingers catch together. He takes a breath and then he's shifting, moving in closer, because he's right, even if Peter's always been loathe to admit it. It's like that first time he realized they were sharing dreams all over again, except that he's so done pretending they're not connected. Not when their fingers touch and it's almost electric against his skin.]

Yeah.

[His mouth feels dry. It's the first time there hasn't been something flippant or a misdirection. It lingers, hangs as a single word on the air, but there's nothing we that he can say. So he just shifts a little closer.]

[In ignorance he believes that it is a matter of trying harder, being in a better mental place to feel a balance over his desires. The internal struggle he put out to the vargulf now is free floating in the air without a point or reason. A hero needs a quest. A hero needs a dragon to fight in order to be a hero. One can only hope that the struggle in Roman Godfrey remains that of the spirit then a full out true conflict. Ignorance may truly be bliss and safety.

Because of it he believes his a natural, simple being something that understands primal needs that a wolf boy like Peter.

Hand to hand like when he was walking as a young girl, and before that when Peter performed his ritual to speak to Nicholae. It feels more like ritual right now with a two way current of energy humming back and forth.]

I've always liked that Peter. I've always liked you.

[He too comes closer. It is not a timid action but more cautious. Out pourings of his are usually rebuffed or lost with misdirection.]

[Peter had honestly been glad for the quiet. The curses had seemed annoying, frustrating, but not like what had happened that night. Not dangerous, not bloody. Now he knows better, and all he can do is hope that things stay quiet. Hope isn't frequently in his vocabulary, but Roman seems better. Despite how nervous Peter had been about seeing him, he really does seem like he's alright now.

He still has that question in his head: wouldn't it be better to tell him what he is? And Peter still thinks it's safer like this. Roman has never asked him, and he has to know that Peter knows. He wants to let him be the Warrior with his battleaxe, hold onto the idea of being the dragonslayer in those symbols they're both aware of.

He curls his fingers in against Roman's, looking up at him across the distance between them. It's a spark, a current. Somehow, when he's close to him, his fears about all the ways this could go wrong quiet.]

I know. About the blood thing. But it doesn't have to be dangerous. I uh, I looked it up once.

[Of course, Roman probably knows that. Considering the City had decided to fucking broadcast all of that across the network. He shrugs it off, takes a breath. This is ridiculous and he's shit at admitting things, but with their hands curled together he feels the need to say something. Give them some small piece of truth to hold onto.]

I really like you.

[He's not looking at Roman when he says it, but there's still a weight to it. It's impossible for him to pretend he means anything else.]

[Without a mirror of comparison, without guidance Roman is just a fool hardy Godfrey prince who believes in hints and dreams. There was no solution to the quest of his coma. Only more questions. The questions cease with Peter either out of preoccupation or simply because it is true wakefulness. The other boy is grounded and vigilant. Roman truly believes if anything were wrong Peter would tell him.

They're both warriors, they're both scorpions. That's why they found one another. Clearly that is what it is.]

Yeah. [Fuck. He is smiling when it's so fucking stupid. Seemed sort of out of the blue but now it makes sense. Roman nods.] I remember that.

[Palm to palm and no sign of pulling back.]

I don't want how I act on a fucked curse day to take away from that. I'm a dick. A big one. But so far you get the best of me.

[A head turn and tilt and Peter has green eyes looking at his profile.]

It doesn't have to be dangerous. You're right.

[Peter would point out that he's not a warrior. Not without Roman. Without him he never would have chased the Vargulf, never would have been able to face her when Christina took his face. He was important, always had been, and Peter had needed him, even before they'd been thrown across dimensions together.

Their hands touching, laced together, and Peter isn't pulling away. Roman is warm, and he likes the connection, the feeling. That this is different. That he's okay, that the lines that blurred and pushed too far aren't real. It was just a curse.]

Yeah, you certainly are a dick.

[But he grins, and he lightly bumps his shoulder into Roman's side with a hint of laughter. Peter a dick in a different way, but neither of them are exactly great people. Maybe it's why they mesh so well. He's still smiling, face colored with amusement when the words slip off his mouth.]

I don't think I'd mind. If you wanted to.

[He almost doesn't know why he offers, except that there's that memory of the bathroom before it all went pear-shaped. Of blood-stained kisses and how they were both heated against the other's mouth.]

[The curse brought about a means of expressing what was already there. Who wouldn't be drawn into the idea of what it is like to have a secret as big as a life on all fours, a life on the road. It's a folk song of freedom, a great story. That's before getting to know Peter's free and easy way of brushing off anything that would trouble him. Roman's cold mother and cold house preconditioned him to seek out comfort or warmth.]

As long as you know I don't feel like I need to warn.

[He takes the shoulder thump like it is a beating.]

Are you saying you wanna fuck me? [Maybe if it's spoken with a laugh and a lick of his bottom lip it won't seem like Roman's feeling a giddiness well up inside.]

Funny way to go about it. Y'didn't say anything for days.

[As though it was not wounding. Everything's fine. He's here again isn't he? He's not letting go of that hand or allowing his same length fingers to disengage.]

[When he licks his lips, it always draws Peter's eyes. It never stops making him want to kiss him. Really, Roman's lips are fucking ridiculous, and his joke about prison had only been half a joke.]

I was scared.

[There's a pause, as he rather obviously doesn't quite manage to scramble for a classy retort to Roman's question. He feels like he should have asked if he wouldn't want to or just laughed it off, but there's just too much interest in what it would feel like if they stripped away all the layers between them.

It's not as if Roman makes it difficult to think about sex and him in the same sentence, anyway.]

Not of you. I figured out it was a curse and all that shit. But, I mean, I let you. At the end. I couldn't hurt you and so I just... let it happen. And that fucking terrified me.

[He swallows because his throat it tight, and he leans into his side and stays there, hands still clasped. He still doesn't know when Roman meant that much.]

[Fear is a boner killer right now. Not that there actually were any but it shoots down any overt attempts. And they can't just sit there and speak lightly. People die from that sort of an encounter. People go to jail. It's what happens in the real fucking world.

Any smart person would have been afraid. Of course Peter was.]

Hey. If ever given the choice between your life or me doing--doing something like that it's no choice. Get me before I get you. That's how it should be right?

[Survival of the fittest and real discovery channel truth. Roman tries to kick that up over his swollen sense of hurt that what he did made Peter afraid and he just let it happen.]

Nah. I couldn't do it. And not just cause you stole your mouth from some fucking runway model.

[It's a joke. He can make this a joke, right? He doesn't like it when it gets so dark. There was too much death and darkness before they came here. It was what made the curses bearable, or so he'd thought.

But, it's also true. His strength of will doesn't run as deep as anyone else seems to think it does. He's not a fighter. Fuck death and dying, anyway.]

Besides, it doesn't fucking matter. It was just a stupid curse, and it won't happen again. You don't scare me. You don't actually want to eat my eyes. And fuck, I think your blood thing is kind of hot. So, fuck this place.

[Who is he trying to convince? He's not sure.]

[Roman's free hand comes up and rubs over his own face.]

I didn't eat em. I-uh...took em out with my mouth. Fingers sort of [he's trying to recall his exact grim thoughts and put them in language that's not so unsettling] seemed clumsy? I took them out and then put them in a glass on the nightstand. I wanted them to look at just me.

[Yeah. Like that's any better or less fucking creepy. His own sense of repulsion makes him want to let go and shrink away from Peter but that would mean stopping this moment, being afraid himself.]

Fuck this place in the ass.

You don't want me to have eyes for anyone else but you?

[It's teasing, because it's easier to process all of this that way. What Roman had done, how he'd reacted, laugh it off. Make light of it, until how he's leaning into Roman's thin side and how tight he's holding onto those slender fingers don't seem as awkward.

He huffs a laugh, shakes his head at Roman's declaration.]

Not sure it deserves that much play, you know?

[He scratches a finger against the side of his jaw.]

I think I'm gonna stay here tonight.

[He hasn't since before the curse. Since before Derek offered him Isaac's room. It had jut been supposed to be an on-off thing, giving him a place out in the forest. Just a place to be, sometimes, but with the curse he'd been living there the past handful of days.]

Something like that. Just not that cheesy.

[Close. Really close. How come pulling it right up out of a low point isn't some Herculean effort for Peter?]

Did you go anywhere this whole time? I mean, I sort of kept going out but came here.

[Settling into the couch, settling close to Peter it feels like the most natural thing. Here they're safe. And here they luckily don't have the press from anyone or anything for answers as to why they are coasting with this caliber of intimacy.]

Yeah. I was... staying with Derek. He's got this cabin out in the woods.

[He drags his thumb against the side of Roman's hand, touching, holding onto him. If there's one thing that the time about, what happened taught him, it was that he cares. Cares more than he can hope to put into words, but fuck that whole sappy romantic bullshit anyway. He just likes this. Touching him, being around him.

He's quiet a few moments, and then he's grinning up at Roman, lopsided and teasing with a raised eyebrow.]

So does this mean I can kiss you?

[He uses amusement to mask the honesty of the question. Not that he's going to now or anything. Just... that was good. They'd both said so, right? He's no good with this stuff. He wants it to be easy. And maybe it's in the vein, where touch is easier than words that he tugs Roman's hand up and presses a kiss to his bony knuckles.

Roman used to be such a fucking princess. Here things are different, though. If anything it makes the draw stronger.]

Yeah?

[There's a pang right there. Logical. Duh. How comfortable it must be there for Peter. Forest setting even in a strange place. But that doesn't matter because he is here right now. And if the cards in their favor, then he won't have to be troubling this Derek person.

Roman leans a little warily. It's too good to be true. Too straight forward, too man on top but exactly what he's wanted. Even has he feels the light scratch of scruff from Peter's face on the back of his hand he tries to make a face.]

Not if you have to ask each and every time.

[Flat. Bullshitting. That's the expression on his face as he leans in and waits until Peter lets their hands drop.]

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