Letha kisses open mouthed, pulling Peter practically into her lap. They’re making out on his sofa, to the sound of pouring rain and the smell of stale pot. Peter was expecting delicate, innocence, something shy that would need to be tamed. The male fantasy, of explaining what went where. Of placing Letha’s hand on his crotch, and hearing her gasp and marvel at how big it was.
Letha bites down on Peter’s bottom lip and then sucks it. Peter can’t help but moan as he rocks against her, and her hand threads through his long hair. She pulls away, with a satisfied smile, and then darts forward again to nip his nose.
“What was that for?” Peter asks, and Letha grins.
“You looked stupid.” She says, and flicks his nose with her manicured nail. “All kiss drunk and cross eyed.”
“Shut up. I was not cross eyed.” Peter says, practically with a pout.
“Yeah you were.” Letha says, and she’s smiling with her tongue poking out between her teeth.
“I’m not Roman.” Peter tells her, and this time Letha throws her head back to laugh, exposing a neck that could be described as swan-like.
“Oh my god.” She says, giggling. “You’re terrible. I’m surprised Olivia even lets you in the house.”
Peter waggles his eyebrows. “Who says she lets me in? I could break in through the window.”
Letha punches his shoulder with surprising strength. “I’ll report you to her.”
“Oh yeah?” Peter asks, “What can I do to get out of being reported to Olivia?”
“Hmm….” Letha taps the side of her chin, pretending to think. “You could fuck me?”
Peter blinks, and then grins wickedly. “I think I can do that.”
“Wonderful.” Letha says, and pulls him forward for another kiss.
Neither of them notice Roman watching outside the window.
Roman kisses like he’s scared that Peter will leave at any moment. They’re in Roman’s car, pressed up against each other, Roman’s knuckles white as he grips onto Peter’s shirt. Peter bites and sucks on Roman’s plump bottom lip, and Roman allows it, mouth slack as Peter does what he wants to him.
Peter pulls away, and Roman tries to chase his mouth, eyes fixed on Peter’s lips. Peter instead distracts Roman by running his hands through his hair, and Roman’s eyes flick up towards him.
“What?” He says, sounding annoyed. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” Peter says, and shifts where his jeans are too tight. “You kiss weird.”
“Get fucked.” Roman bristles and leans back, the car suddenly too small to contain their lanky bodies. Roman’s fingers tap against his hip, seemingly anxious for a cigarette, or a joint, or something to distract him.
“Hey.” Peter says, and takes hold of both Roman’s hands. He runs his thumbs in circular motions over the back of them, and Roman snorts.
“You do that to all the girls?” He asks.
“You know it.”
“Even Letha?” The question is casual but loaded with tension.
Peter looks up at Roman from underneath his eyelashes. “I loved her.” He says, and talks quickly before Roman can interrupt. “And I love you.”
“That’s not how it works.” Roman says.
“Too bad.” Peter says. He brings Roman’s hands to his mouth and kisses them. Roman watches him silent, but his fingers flex a little. “I love you both.”
“Peter...” Roman says, the name rolling off his tongue like he’s been whispering the word all of his life.
“Roman.” Peter says, and looks him dead in the eye. There is a heavy silence, the stifled air before the rain.
Roman wets his bottom lip. “I think Letha and I were…. Related.”
Peter inclines his head. “I think so too.” He says, and he thinks he’s known for a long time.
Roman’s mouth quirks upright. “Still love me?”
“Always.” Peter says, and brings Roman forward to kiss him.