It's been ten minutes, and neither of them has said anything. The silence is suffocating, sitting in Roman's car, Peter's head tilted back as he looks at the inside of the convertible roof, the rain pattering down against it. The rhythm of it is a replacement for the usual thrum of Roman's music. Considering about fifteen minutes ago Letha had been dragging his hands over her tits, silence is probably the best answer.
It had taken all of about ten seconds to break it all. Movement outside, a slender figure in the rain and he'd left Letha half-naked on his couch, which was... yeah, probably not the most gentlemanly gesture. Lynda would kick his ass for it later. But, for as much as he'd insisted this is over, he'd chased after him anyway. Roman had grabbed him and he'd stayed and they'd stumbled back to his car.
The Godfrey heir had popped some pills out of that Altoid container of drugs and smokes and razorblades and then they'd slipped into this silence that was treacherous, and seethed with things that Peter didn't know how to say. There was this disturbing desire to start talking, to try and explain, justify himself as if he owed Roman an explanation for anything.
Fuck this, fuck him. Maybe it was juvenile to hold making him care against Roman, but Peter was perfectly okay with doing it anyway. He wanted to apologize and kiss him and the urge made him want to punch Roman's perfect fucking face.
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timeasmymeasure
God I hope this is okayyyyy
Date: 2013-11-06 09:43 am (UTC)It had taken all of about ten seconds to break it all. Movement outside, a slender figure in the rain and he'd left Letha half-naked on his couch, which was... yeah, probably not the most gentlemanly gesture. Lynda would kick his ass for it later. But, for as much as he'd insisted this is over, he'd chased after him anyway. Roman had grabbed him and he'd stayed and they'd stumbled back to his car.
The Godfrey heir had popped some pills out of that Altoid container of drugs and smokes and razorblades and then they'd slipped into this silence that was treacherous, and seethed with things that Peter didn't know how to say. There was this disturbing desire to start talking, to try and explain, justify himself as if he owed Roman an explanation for anything.
Fuck this, fuck him. Maybe it was juvenile to hold making him care against Roman, but Peter was perfectly okay with doing it anyway. He wanted to apologize and kiss him and the urge made him want to punch Roman's perfect fucking face.
So the silence stretched to breaking.