Poger #2 (feat Jeith)

(Also) only 1 part

"Oh for Christsake, we have a gig tomorrow!" Pete griped as Roger sat down with another drink.

"It's only my third," Roger protested, "and you never said anything to Keith and John..." He glanced over at the two, who had probably each had more to drink than he and Pete had, combined. They were giggling like fools. Keith had made his way into John's lap, despite the fact that it now seemed likely they would knock over his chair and wreak havoc in the cramped, out-of-the-way pub. Pete followed Roger's gaze to see Keith leave a sloppy kiss on the side of John's face. John smiled and drew his arms further around Keith's waist. Pete felt put off and looked away.

"Hey...why don't we head back to the room?" Keith slurred, in what he apparently thought was a seductive manner.

"Yeah, all right," John agreed.

Pete rolled his eyes as the two stumbled off of their chair and out of the pub, hanging all over each other.

"Think I'll head back, too. It's pretty late," Roger decided. As he stood up he turned to Pete and added, "you coming?"

"Nah. I'll catch you up later."

"Suit yourself." He sauntered out the door.

Pete sat at the table, wallowing in his bad mood. This was partially due to John and Keith. Not only were their shameless displays of affection embarrassing to him, but they made him feel strangely jealous. The other contributor was a sense of dread around going back to the hotel. They had only been able to book two rooms this time, and since the events of the night quite obviously indicated that John and Keith would be sharing one, that left Pete with Roger. He found Roger insufferable. At least, that was what he called it. The incessant charm he exuded. That annoyingly perfect smile. He wasn't sure if he wanted to punch him or kiss him. Probably both. Pete finally sighed and slowly stood up from the table. He paid and left the pub, still moping as he trudged down the street to the hotel.

Pete entered the room to a frantic-looking, pajama clad Roger and some very suspicious (although not at all surprising) noises coming from next door. Roger turned to him immediately.

"Oh, Pete, thank God you're here!"
Pete's heart skipped a beat.
"You wouldn't happen to have any earplugs, would you?"
Pete's heart sank.

"No, I don't have any," he snapped.

"Christ, Pete, it's fine, you don't have to get-" he trailed off as Pete stormed past him and started rummaging furiously through his suitcase for his own pajamas.
"What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? It's all your fault!" Pete spat over his shoulder, his drunken emotions getting the better of him.

"My fault? I didn't do a thing! You're just blowing up at me for no reason!" Roger looked about ready to start throwing punches.
Pete hesitated for a moment, hunched over his suitcase, thoughts racing, trying to decide what to say, before straightening up and turning to face Roger.

"You just- you keep- you keep being YOU, Daltrey."
Roger lowered his fists. Something about the way Pete said it...

"What do you mean?"

"It's very frustrating. Why does everyone like you so much?" Pete demanded, stepping closer. Roger shrugged.

"I'm sure the-"

"YOU and your whole beautiful-frontman bit! It's just cause you can prance about and sing without a shirt on and look good!"
Roger resisted the urge to laugh suddenly. Despite his anger, Pete was only complimenting him.

"Pete, are you-"

"Shut up! You think just because you've got all that pretty hair and your nice singing voice and..." Pete faltered. Why was he saying all this? Roger couldn't know. He needed to stop. But he looked at Roger's face, at this point so very close to his own. His expression was astonished but curious, waiting for him to continue, eyes wide, lips parted--gorgeous as always. Pete sighed, although it came out as more of a frustrated grunt, and continued.
"...you think that everyone should love you! Well I hate you!" There, that ought to throw him off. But to his surprise, Roger was smiling.

"I hate you, too," he said, without the faintest hint of actual hate in his voice. On a long-standing impulse, Pete decided to kiss him. As strange as this choice seemed, it felt like the right one. He barely had to think; It just sort of happened. Pete's hand just sort of appeared on the side of Roger's face, guiding it up to his own. And their lips just sort of pressed together. To his immense relief, Roger didn't pull away. Roger's lips were soft and lovely, and sent a little thrill through his chest every time they moved against his own. The kiss went on for a while longer. Pete buried his hands in Roger's curls as the blond slid his arms around Pete's waist. Intoxicated, from both drinking and kissing, neither of them had really thought about what they were doing at first, but soon enough the realization crept into Pete's mind. He abruptly pulled away and stared at the ground, ashamed. Roger didn't say a word as he withdrew his arms and sat down on his bed. Pete cleared his throat to break the silence.

"Right, well, um...I'll have to..." He absently picked up his pajamas and wandered into the bathroom to change. He remained inside after doing so, thinking about what had happened. Roger hadn't resisted him at all. Was it, then, that Roger actually felt the same way as he did? Or did he understand how Pete felt and want to mess with his mind? Or was he just drunk? Pete couldn't exactly ask, in fact, he didn't know how he could ever speak to Roger again.

Roger was deep in thought as well. Himself, he wasn't sure exactly why he had let the kiss happen, why he felt strangely at ease with it. Perhaps he had subconsciously seen it coming. He was surprisingly amused by the whole thing. And poor Pete probably thought he was livid...he did seem to be hiding out in the bathroom. Roger figured he ought to go talk to him.

Pete heard a knock on the bathroom door, followed by Roger's voice.

"You all right in there?"

"I'm fine."

"...look, Pete, um, are you...upset about what happened?" No response. "Because I'm not, really. I don't know why, I just-anyway, I'm not gonna kill you over it," and with that he walked away.

When Pete finally left the bathroom, the lights were out. As he walked toward his bed there was a rustle of sheets and a whisper, "Pete," from Roger's bed. Pete stopped. It came again. "Pete. C'mere."

"What do you want?" Pete inquired, sitting down on the bed. Roger didn't answer. Instead, he grabbed Pete tight around the waist, drawing him further into the bed.

"Rog, what the-"

"Ouch!"

Pete had fallen backwards and hit Roger.

"Sorry. Although actually, that was your fault." For the first time all night, he said it with a laugh. He repositioned himself so that he was lying next to Roger.

"Shut up," Roger protested, although he was laughing too. He slid his arms up behind Pete's back and pulled himself in close to the other man, nuzzling face to chest, a satisfied little sigh escaping his mouth. He was so lovely it made Pete's heart ache.

Pete began to absentmindedly play with Roger's hair as he asked, "what are we doing?"

"I dunno," Roger said drowsily, sleep finally impending, "don't really care..."

Knowing that everything would probably be back to normal in the morning, that this lovely truce was likely temporary, Pete stole another kiss before falling asleep himself.