
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1868055.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Hemlock_Grove
  Relationship:
      Roman_Godfrey/Peter_Rumancek
  Character:
      Roman_Godfrey, Peter_Rumancek, Shelley_Godfrey_(Hemlock_Grove)
  Additional Tags:
      I_Don't_Even_Know, references_to_canon_non-con, beastiality...kind_of?,
      homosexuality_slur_used, bloodplay...kind_of?, general_weirdness_and
      grossness, I_apologize_in_advance
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-06-29 Words: 2541
****** Catabasis: An Interlude ******
by days4daisy
Summary
     It was only a matter of time before Roman met Peter in his
     underworld. Their scene in "Catabasis," extended.
Notes
     Heavy spoilers for "Catabasis" and general spoilers for all of Season
     1.
     Also, this is super weird. I apologize -_-
It was only a matter of time before the catabasis led Roman to Peter. Roman is
not prepared for him yet, not after meeting Brooke Bluebell in the school
hallway. Her intestines hung in a bloody coil from her abdomen. “You said you
would give me a ride,” she said. Her smile was like sugar.
Brooke wore one of her preppy schoolgirl outfits. Roman could never stand those
looks on her. The clean-cut, All American mirage. He preferred her in near-
transparent dresses that barely covered her ass, five-inch heels, and big gold
hooker earrings.
That was Brooke’s truth. No shame, no secrets.
Peter is outside the abandoned Castle Godfrey, his arms folded on the railing
overlooking the water. Roman walks to him slowly. His pulse should be racing
from this relentless nightmare. Blood and guts. Forked tongues. The echoing
cries of Francis Pullman - I don't want to see that! I don't want to see that!
Roman should be angry too. It hasn’t been long since that night of rage,
standing in the rain outside the Rumancek trailer.
But for now, Roman's fury and fear are distant. He just nods at Peter when he
joins him on the walkway.
Upon Roman’s arrival, Peter looks him over. "Is that blood?" he asks. Peter is
nonchalant but somehow more perceptive than anyone in Roman’s life
Roman turns to face him and stands up straighter. His white t-shirt soaks
through with blood in the circular shape of a snake eating its own tail. He
smirks. The wound is a badge of pride.
Then, Roman turns, breaking his eye contact with Peter. His rage returns in a
strange way, focused on the birds hovering over the water. They're too dumb to
know north from south. Deceived by the trickery of nature itself.
"Stupid ass birds!" he shouts. One by one, they fall to their deaths with a
final splash.
Roman convinces himself that they deserve it. They're too stupid to be alive.
He has nothing to do with killing them.
"Are you ok?" Peter asks. He has a way of looking at Roman that is both
dismissive and interested. He cares about Roman, but he isn't concerned. Not
the way he would be about Letha.
Roman returns to that night in the rain. It was cold and dark where he stood.
But inside the trailer, it was golden light and warmth. Peter was on top of
Letha, her arms pinned behind her head. He kissed her with all the concern and
desire he would never give Roman or anyone else. Letha twisted under him
blissfully.
"We're in this together," Roman insists. Maybe here, in this underworld, he can
get Peter to acknowledge the bond between them. If he can't make the real Peter
understand, then at least he can convince his own mental construction of Peter.
Behind them, there is a growl. Hungry, primal. Peter's eyes widen and he
stutter-steps backwards. "Holy fuck!" he shouts. Roman can't remember ever
seeing Peter so afraid. He follows Peter's gaze but sees nothing. Just the
shadows of nightmares that exist only within the mind of Peter Rumancek.
It's good to know that Peter is also afraid of the unseen. No, it's better than
good. It's downright hilarious. Roman bursts out laughing.
"Say what you have to say to me." Peter is angry.
Roman isn't sorry, but he also doesn't feel the need to push. "We're in this
together," Roman says, gentler. "You and I."
Peter's eyes narrow suspiciously. "Why do you need that to be true so badly?"
It's just like Peter to want to analyze him over admitting truth. He truly is
the personification of the wolf, seeking the scent above all else.
"Why can't you admit it?" Roman grits.
Peter's gaze softens under his frustration. "I guess we're both scorpions," he
concedes. The words sound surprised, like this is the first time Peter has come
to this realization.
"Is there anything I can do to fix this?" Roman asks. He blurts out the
question, but even he isn’t sure what he means. What does he want to fix? The
threat to their town? The rift between them?
Peter does not have an answer. He closes his eyes and rubs his face as if
struck with a sudden fever. It is a fascinating expression, something painful
and longing. "It's like the hottest, wettest pussy on earth," he whispers.
"...What?" Roman isn't sure whether to be amused or disturbed.
Peter drops the hand from his face and looks at Roman closely. "That's what
fear smells like," he explains.
Roman stares at him, stunned. "Is that...what you want with Letha?" he asks,
cautious. Peter smiles, he has the nerve to smile of all things.
Anger knots tightly in Roman’s stomach. He grabs a fistful of Peter's shirt and
shakes him. "Is that what gets you off, you dirty fucking gypsy!? Fear!?"
Peter holds his hands out at his sides, a sign of innocence. Just like Brooke
Bluebell. He never stops smiling. "Are you afraid of me, Roman?" he asks.
Roman removes his hand from Peter's shirt, but it stays between them, balled
loose and useless. "I'm not afraid of you”.
"Are you sure?" Peter goads. His smile deepens into something more knowing,
more threatening. He leans forward, his face inches from Roman's jaw, and takes
a deep breath.
Roman swallows hard. "Get away from me," he says. His instinct is to shove
Peter off of him. Or worse, grab him and throw him over the rail. Watch him
fall with the birds. What a confusing death that would be.
"You're afraid, Godfrey," Peter whispers. Roman can feel the lust in each word.
He snaps.
Peter is pushed violently against the rail. His body hits the metal post with a
clanking sound that echoes through the empty air around them.
The impact should have injured anyone. Peter just laughs.
He tilts his amused gaze upward, right into the line of Roman's fury. "Your
fear doesn't smell like pussy, Roman," he muses. "No. It smells like something
different. Something..." Peter’s lips graze the column of Roman's throat.
"Totally different."
"Get off me, you fucking faggot," Roman rasps. Only, Roman is the one on top of
Peter. His weight pins the smaller man firmly against the rail.
Peter kisses his neck again. Roman sucks in a breath. He can almost see those
yellow, soulful eyes. Hear the panting breaths of the animal. Feel the power
beneath that thick, black fur.
"Dirty gypsy. Faggot." Peter purrs the words, mocking him. "Anything else?" He
slides a hand between Roman's legs. Squeezes his crotch in his cupped palm.
Roman shudders, drained of his willpower. He drops his head and kisses Peter
roughly.
Animal.
Roman takes Peter's face in his hands. Thumbs his bearded jaw and tastes
Peter's mouth with his tongue. "We're in this together," Roman says against his
lips. "Say it." He's desperate. "Say it."
"You're beautiful," Peter replies. Roman recoils as if burned, releasing
Peter's face from his hands.
Peter watches him with dark, hungry eyes. His mouth is a tauntingly serene
smile. "Stop it," Roman says.
"You're beautiful," Peter repeats. He closes the distance between them, his
body against Roman's again. He kisses Roman's jaw and continues down to his
neck. The swell of Roman's Adam's apple is traced with his tongue.
Need slices like agony through Roman's body. "Don't," he begs.
"I won't say you're ugly," Peter says. He lifts his head, eyes glinting. "I'm
not Ashley."
"Shut up!" Roman staggers away from him like a drunkard.
Peter chuckles, unfazed. He tracks after Roman, the predator. His hands drag
down Roman's body without permission. All the way to his pants.
Peter undoes them with far too much ease. He reaches through the folds of
fabric and draws out Roman's arousal. Roman is already hot and thick, filling
his hand. "Is this what you want?" Peter asks, like he's speaking to a child.
"Do you want to be ugly?"
"You goddamn asshole. You're fucking my cousin!" Roman shoves Peter back.
The action makes his chest seize up, and he cries out with alarm. When Roman is
able to look down, he can't make out the snake stain on his t-shirt. His entire
shirt is soaked through with blood. Red drips like shower water to the walkway
grating around him.
The loss of blood should make Roman weak. But it doesn’t. He feels powerful,
like he can own the world. Like he should own it.
Why not? He should own everything. Even Peter Rumancek.
"Do it," Peter dares, reading his thoughts. He holds Roman's stare with a
smirk. "What's one more Godfrey conquest?" The unspoken meaning is obvious.
Rape me. Like you raped her.
"She thought I was beautiful!" Roman screams. His cock throbs painfully between
his legs. "I had to show her- I had to show her what I was."
"Show me," Peter murmurs.
He pushes Roman's blood-soaked t-shirt up to his chest for access. Blood coats
Peter's hands, red liquid gloves. He continues without care, tasting Roman's
torso. His mouth covers Roman's stomach, his ribcage, his chest. Roman groans
his pleasure.
Peter peers up at him. His face is smeared with blood, a carnivorous mess.
“You're beautiful to me, Roman," he says.
Roman risks eye contact, but he can't meet Peter's gaze. Peter’s face shifts
and stutters. He isn't real. None of this is.
Roman sinks down into the pool of blood that has formed around his feet. He
wraps his arms protectively around his knees. Blood crusts on his face as he
rests his cheek against his kneecaps.
"I'm ugly," he hisses. "This thing...this thing inside me..."
"We're all animals, Roman."
Roman squeezes his eyes shut against the sound of Peter's voice. "Leave me
alone," he pleads. "Go fuck Letha. That's what you want, isn't it? Go fuck her.
She's beautiful. Angels fuck her, she's so goddamn beautiful."
He feels the presence beside him. A head nuzzles his. Peter's head. No...
Yes. Peter's head.
Roman lifts wide, wet eyes. Peter sits beside him in his wolf form. The golden
eyes of the animal observe him closely.
After a moment, the beast advances. Does he mean to comfort or kill him?
Roman is tired. Wearily, he rests his forehead against Peter's fur. The beast
exhales, allowing him. Roman scratches behind his ears, massages the scruff at
the back of his neck. Peter, in kind, licks his hair and cleans the flaking
blood from his face. He takes a deep breath, absorbing Roman’s scent.
Roman rests his back against the railing. Eyes on the wolf, he removes his
blood soaked t-shirt. Underneath, his body is a disaster. The symbol of the
snake is a charred brand on his chest. Blood oozes from the tattoo, soaking his
skin. It dribbles gently down into the open V of his unzipped pants, staining
the base of his cock. His shaft still stands hard, red and waiting.
Peter steps between Roman's split legs and bows his head. Slowly, lazily, he
licks away the blood from Roman's torso. His tongue, strong and feral, devours
Roman's abdomen, stomach, chest. The wolf's snout grows moist with blood.
Peter closes his eyes as he tastes. Roman’s head swims dreamily. It takes all
of his energy to lift his hand and run it through Peter's fur.
"Good boy," he whispers. Peter growls, understanding the words perfectly. Roman
smiles.
He is still chuckling when Peter lowers his head into his lap. The wolf grunts
and nuzzles his crotch. His tongue drags up the length of his cock. Roman makes
a soft, surprised sound. But it's not really a surprise, is it?
Roman lifts his hips. "Go on," he says.
Peter ducks his head and proceeds to taste him. His tongue moves in rapid
milking, licking him raw. A low, guttural sound rises in the animal's throat.
Hot breaths burst impatiently from his snout.
Roman grasps weakly at the rail bar behind his head. His breaths grow heavy,
unsteady. Is this what Brooke felt, he wonders. Did the animal lick out her
cunt before it tore her in two? Life and death in one perfect, primal moment?
"Ah - Peter!" he hisses, his hips rising. The wolf growls and bares its teeth.
But it is his tongue that continues the work. It laps at Roman with a single-
minded focus - no human thoughts or obligations to distract it. The sole
purpose of existence in that moment is to possess him.
Likewise, the beast steals Roman's human thoughts. The order of the dragon.
Ouroboros. The identity of his father. The ugly secret growing inside him,
clawing to get out... All of it is consumed by this primal need to be devoured.
He finishes with a cry that leaves him startled and shaken. It feels like
something inside him has shattered. Something he'll never get back.
Peter sits in front of Roman patiently. He is cleaning himself, Roman's blood
and arousal mixing as one.
Roman sits forward suddenly and grabs his fur just below the neck. "What do you
know?" he demands. His voice shakes. "Tell me."
The wolf sets its paws on Roman's chest. As an animal, he is smaller than
Roman, but he is easily more powerful. Roman is forced down under his weight,
the back of his head connecting with the rail bar. Peter lowers his head to
Roman's neck, a deep rumbling in his throat.
When the beast bites him, Roman moans and turns his head. Blood trickles
sweetly from the wound, the red streaks standing out against his pale, cleaned
skin. Roman's eyes roll back, blissful.
"We're animals," he whispers. Is he laughing or crying? Roman himself can’t
tell. Gratefully, he strokes Peter's fur with trembling fingers.
"Roman!" His head turns sharply, as does the wolf's. In the entrance to the
steel mill is the beautiful form of his sister. Shelley, his little glowworm.
Her skin is an unearthly blue.
If she is shocked by what she sees on the walkway, she betrays nothing. But her
voice is urgent. "Roman, come on! We don't have time!"
"You heard the lady." Roman's head snaps back around. Peter, in his human form,
is leaning on the railing opposite him. There is a drop of blood slipping down
a corner of his mouth.
Peter collects it with his thumb and licks it away. "Go on," he says, nodding
in Shelley's direction.
Roman stands up and zips his pants. He pulls his t-shirt back on - his white,
perfectly clean t-shirt. Runs a hand through his hair. He is back to being
composed, cultured Roman Godfrey. All that remains is the swollen redness
around his eyes.
Turning to leave, Roman pauses and thinks better of it. He crosses to Peter and
kisses him. His fingers slide possessively into Peter’s hair. "Once you claim
something, its a two way street, Rumancek," he mutters.
Peter chuckles. "You need to go with Shelley," he says.
Roman sighs and pushes off of him. He’s right, Shelley is waiting. This journey
is for a reason. Staying here is not an option.
Roman walks quickly to his sister and does not look back. Peter - the beautiful
Peter of his subconscious - is left behind. He watches Roman until he
disappears from sight.
*Fin*
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