According to Peter, Roman Godfrey was a beautiful disaster. Stunning, beyond words. Roman brought out the wolf in him, and not in the bad way either. The wolf in him wanted Roman just as desperately as the human did.
His wolf saw a mate in that pale man. The pale man with blood running down his nose, and yet managing to look like a majestic masterpiece. There was a beast in Roman , and that beast attracted the wolf like no one else. And Peter knew just how wrong it was. The boy was Upir and they weren't supposed to be friends, Peter wasn't supposed to crave him like this.
But no one had ever looked at him in such a manner before, no one had ever showed an interest in him like that. Never had Peter let an outsider seen him change. Just letting him in on the matter that yes, indeed, those fucking rumors around town were the damn truth, that yes indeed, he was a werewolf. Just that alone, was wrong, and was certainly supposed to scare him more than it did. But it didn't, and it felt damn good to have someone look at him change in awe.
Letha? It was just a cruel joke, even she knew it. She was sweet and beautiful, had a charm only apparently Godfrey's possessed. She was the closest thing to Roman the gypsy allowed himself. And it made him feel bad, because he really did love the blond. But it was different. He loved her, but not in the burning, all consuming, painful way he reserved all for Roman, only for Roman.
And she knew it, she knew she was not the one to occupy his thought. Her words one night when she believed the wolf to be sleeping still rang clear in his head. "Now I know how mom feel." the worst, wasn't the words, but the acceptance in her voice. It killed Peter but he just couldn't do anything about it, and perhaps, he might understand how Norman must have it.
Roman was too destructive, did too much drugs, painted himself too often with his blade and Peter was torn between wanting to pull him in his arms, comfort him , but also just watch the boy torture himself, because in the most morbid of senses, it was fucking beautiful. Roman was his drug, even when he wanted nothing more than tearing apart because he was a rich brat, with no insight of consequences, no morals, no nothing.
"Roman?" Peter questioned as he neared the still not fully developed Upir. The boy was high as a kite and there were blood everywhere. Roman looked up, his eyes wide and raw with pain. "Fuck off, gypsy." Roman spat, and turned to the glass table and snorted the last line of coke laid out.
The werewolf moved closer with weary movements. It was too close to the full moon and the beast was constantly scratching the surface. And with Roman so close, and in this state, the wolf wanted more than nothing to break free. Protect his pack, protect his mate. Peter felt it begging him to let loose the wolf within him.
"Don't act like I've done something wrong." Peter replied, and lied through his teeth because he knew he had hurt Roman and that was wrong, no matter what. The alarming fear that Roman would overdo his coke, or slit his wrists too deep was starting to get too overwhelming for the gypsy. Partly because that would only released a monster Peter didn't know if he could tame. Mostly because Roman had no clue it wouldn't end him, and reach the end was indeed his goal. It was a dangerous game the rich brat was playing, and it was tragically beautiful.
"You, you and that whore. You go fuck off into your damn fairytale land with that angel spawn and stay the fuck away from me." there was a tremble to his otherwise cold voice. Peter let out a shaky laugh and he placed his hand on Roman's, the pale hand clutched tightly around the blade. "Roman, drop the blade. Shee-it, Roman. Don't, you rich bastard."
"Shut up." the Upir commanded, and Peter felt his heart clench. The blood dripping down Roman's nose was worse than ever, it just flowed and flowed along with salty tears. With his tongue tied, as literal as it could be, Peter swung the other arm across Roman's shoulder, tugging him close. The pale heir's clenched hand loosened up and the clink of metal falling to the ground echoed throughout the entire room.
Roman clutched the werewolf tight, and Peter wanted so badly to comfort him, to stop his tears, stop the blood. He didn't care that his clothes, his hands were covered with blood. They stood there for what felt like ages, and Peter didn't know how to be of any help. Really, these were the times he usually ran. "Please, please talk." Roman pleaded, staring up at him with wide eyes, and Peter felt a weird sensation through his body and suddenly, he had free will once more.
"Roman, don't do this. I need you, I can't fight this alone. I need you by my side." Peter grumbled and grabbing the brat's chin, forcing him to look at him. "You're a fucking idiot." the werewolf said, before crushing his lips against the Upir's, finally giving in, giving the werewolf what it wanted, finally gave himself what he wanted. He had tried desperately to contain those emotions, but it was impossible. Roman was all he needed, even if it was supposed to be wrong. Even if an Upir and a Werewolf were supposed to be mortal enemies. It didn't fucking matter anymore. Nothing did. It was the two of them together against the Vargulf, against this damn town.
Roman moaned against his lips, like a cheap whore but it just made him crave him worse. The heir's blood was coating the both of them and it just made it all the hotter really. "Shee-it." Peter grumbled against his lips, tugging him closer. "Shee-it." Roman replied with a shaking laughter and grabbed Peter's brown west, as if making sure he didn't run off. Peter didn't blame him really. Roman was scared he'd follow his nature and run. Peter was scared he'd follow his nature and destroy himself. The fright fueled them.
Even if the Upir wasn't developed, it was clear. The both of them were beasts, beasts whom craved each other in the most sick ways. Teeth and nails were cutting skin, it was a wrestle, it was loud, it was bloody, and it was ecstatic. It was a high like nothing else.