Roman kept an apartment in the city.
He couldn't leave, not for good anyway. He knew it was stupid to hold out hope that Shelley might still come back, months later, but he did. That wasn't the only reason he stayed, though. He was in charge of the family business, but he also couldn't leave the house. Not for good, anyway.
But sometimes he did have to get away from Hemlock Grove. From the small town bullshit and everyone's eyes always on him. Peter visited him at home sometimes, slipping in unnoticed, but more often he visited when Roman was in the apartment. This was one of those weeks, and Roman lay awake in bed beside Peter, propped against a pillow, watching Peter sleep. It was well into the afternoon, and Roman was fiddling with a ring, twirling it between his fingers as he watched Peter.
He ran his tongue over his lips and shifted on the bed until he was pressed against Peter, the sheets a barrier between their skin. His attention was drawn to a barely noticeable red smudge on his neck, a mark from the night before, from blood that had found its way to Peter's skin and had been missed in Roman's effort to clean it away with lips and tongue. He leaned down and pressed a kiss there, tongue following, tasting, and he hummed softly, arm coming up around Peter as he shifted, settled his head against Peter's pillow, and murmured, "We should go out."
It wasn't a suggestion, really. He wanted to get out of the apartment, he wanted Peter to come with him, he wanted to see how Peter cleaned up. Roman was accustomed to getting what he wanted, so this really was less a suggestion and more of a this is what we're doing today.
He couldn't leave, not for good anyway. He knew it was stupid to hold out hope that Shelley might still come back, months later, but he did. That wasn't the only reason he stayed, though. He was in charge of the family business, but he also couldn't leave the house. Not for good, anyway.
But sometimes he did have to get away from Hemlock Grove. From the small town bullshit and everyone's eyes always on him. Peter visited him at home sometimes, slipping in unnoticed, but more often he visited when Roman was in the apartment. This was one of those weeks, and Roman lay awake in bed beside Peter, propped against a pillow, watching Peter sleep. It was well into the afternoon, and Roman was fiddling with a ring, twirling it between his fingers as he watched Peter.
He ran his tongue over his lips and shifted on the bed until he was pressed against Peter, the sheets a barrier between their skin. His attention was drawn to a barely noticeable red smudge on his neck, a mark from the night before, from blood that had found its way to Peter's skin and had been missed in Roman's effort to clean it away with lips and tongue. He leaned down and pressed a kiss there, tongue following, tasting, and he hummed softly, arm coming up around Peter as he shifted, settled his head against Peter's pillow, and murmured, "We should go out."
It wasn't a suggestion, really. He wanted to get out of the apartment, he wanted Peter to come with him, he wanted to see how Peter cleaned up. Roman was accustomed to getting what he wanted, so this really was less a suggestion and more of a this is what we're doing today.