Rollercoaster

To be in a relationship with Peter London was like a rollercoaster ride. You may have been happy together, feeling like you were on top of the world, and then suddenly, before you would realise it, you crashed down. Hard.

When Martin started dating Peter, everything was perfect. In that fairy-tale, happily-ever-after kind of percfect, holding hands and sneaking out before the shows to have sex on the toilette and laughing like retards at something no one else found funny.

It lasted exactly three months before Peter got bored with Martin and cheated on him. The first time, he believed Peter's excuses about how he was drunk and that he didn't mean to. And then the next time... and the next time... and the next time, and it still hurt equally much to see Peter disappear in the backstage, leading one of the pretty, young and willing boys from the audience with him. Every time, Martin would go and cry in Dave's arms and swear that he would give Peter one last chance. Just one more chance.

And then Dave killed himself and their worlds fell apart to the tiny crumbles. It was too much for either of them to deal with on their own, and they grew closer again as Martin cried harder than ever and Peter held him quietly because no words were good enough.

He thought that maybe it would be better now. That Peter won't cheat on him on every possible opportunity. That he won't hide from everyone to get back together after being stabbed in his chest over and over again. That he won't be such a sissy anymore and just leave Peter.

Nothing changed and it took Martin months, months until he left the other after he had found him in their apartment in the bed with three naked boys that couldn't be older than sixteen. Fucking jailbats.

He walked out and moved back to his parents', not leaving the apartment for weeks. He barely ate, slept most of the time and ignored all the calls because he got them from everyone but Peter. He cried so much he couldn't cry anymore and missed Dave so much, missed someone who would have understood why he was still loving Peter so desperately.

And then he got a text message, from Peter's number, being asked for a meeting. It seemed to him like barely seconds passed between when he confirmed the meeting and when he was sitting in the bar, drinking his second beer and waiting for Peter.

The first sign the other didn't change; he was late again. The second sign was that when he did show up, he didn't look guilty or devastated like Martin felt; he still looked the same, all styled up and making Martin's knees feel weak.

The only reason why Martin didn't get up and leave was that Peter leaned forward, and his eyes were completely honest when he whispered: “I miss you.”

“Why? Can't you get anymore willing jailbats to suck you off?” That was harsh and Martin just said it to hide that he wanted to forgive Peter everything.

Peter's expression didn't change for a second, and then he looked down. “I'm sorry. I miss you... come back.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you.” It was all Peter said, and Martin couldn't...just one more chance. Just one more chance for the butterflies Peter was still giving him, for the band and for the desperate love that filled his whole world.

Peter leaned across the table, and pulled Martin for a kiss roughly, tasting of cigarettes and chewing gum and smelling of hairspray and perfume. He could feel Peter's fingers move down his arm, and before he could say anything, Peter dragged him to the restrooms. Pressed up against the wall, the tiles feeling cold against his shoulders, he had Peter pressed up against him and kissing him with as much emotion and skill as always.

“I missed you, so much,” Peter kept whispering between the kisses as he fumbled with Martin's belt and pants. Then he moved his hand inside and grabbed handful of Martin's hair, forcing him lean his head back to ease the pain and expose his neck. He bit down hard as he stroked Martin's erection, turning him into a whimpering mess. “Don't leave me again.”

“I won't,” Martin promised immediately, bucking his hips in Peter's hand and not caring how many times he will regret this again. He just cared about how good Peter was at this, bringing him to his orgasm in a matter of few minutes.

And then when he was on his knees, his eyes shut and his mouth open and Peter's cock disappearing inside, he knew nothing changed at all. It was still a fucking rollercoaster ride.