Chapter Text
Richard had dumped her when she'd told him. Outright dumped her. Turned out that Jenna sleeping with women was fine by him, but the moment she did it with a guy-- a guy she had a friendship with-- that was it. That plus the career stuff- though his career was fine; Jenna didn't understand it-- and he'd gone over the edge. It had been strained for months, she admitted that, but she'd been hoping he'd find his footing and settle down.
No. All that polyamory talk had been a lie. He'd liked sleeping around. He didn't like it when she did it.
It had gone very differently with Elaine, according to what Peter had told her, because it had been no surprise at all to her. Peter had asked her in advance if she'd mind, he confessed, and she'd laughed at him a little bit and taken him to bed. That was the kind of thing he'd mention to Jenna now, albeit diffidently. Their one time together had lowered some barriers between them, apparently. It was, to be honest, making the acting easier.
Peter and Elaine had a relationship that would probably survive anything. Apparently her relationship with Richard had been dead already. And yes, she knew she was moping.
They were filming indoor scenes now, the things they didn't have to do on location, so they were at Roath Lock on familiar ground. Jenna kept to herself but she knew if she hid in her trailer she'd be a downer, so she just sat in a corner of the shooting set and watched, quietly. Maisie was fun on set, and Peter was bonding with her and making her laugh, and vice versa, and Jenna felt like being a downer wasn't welcome, so she kept her mouth shut.
Peter noticed. Of course he noticed. How had she ever expected him not to? He came to her after Maisie's last scene of the day, took her by the arm, and pulled her aside.
"Jenna, sweetheart, are you well? You've been off for days. I'm sorry I didn't ask until now."
"I'm fine, Peter. Fit as a fiddle."
"A fiddle that does a bit of sniffling when it thinks nobody's looking, maybe."
"Yeah, sorry, I am sorry, really. It's just that Richard and I have broken it off and I feel off."
"Oh! Oh. I am sorry. Presuming it's something to regret?" An eyebrow raised in question, and Jenna almost smiled.
"Yeah, I regret it. Not sure why, but I do. I was dumped."
"What a fucking idiot, not to appreciate the wonderful woman he had," Peter said, and the pure outrage in his face was consolation all on its own. "Pardon my Malcolm," he said immediately, looking abashed.
Jenna laughed through the sniffles, because that was so Peter, to swear terribly then be embarrassed.
"Come here."
His arms were open and then they were around her and he was holding tight and rocking her. He kissed her hair and pulled her close. Oh, Peter. Ridiculous sweet Peter. Best hugs ever. Whatever his cologne was, Jenna loved it. She would ask Elaine what it was and buy a bottle and douse a pillow with it to hug on awful nights when she was feeling bad about the end of her longest, best relationship and feeling like she was pure rubbish. And now she was crying for real.
"This won't do. Come on, honey, let's find a quiet corner."
There were lots of places to get lost in the main studio. They both had trailers, for one thing, and there were many storage rooms and strange corners full of bits of set from projects past. If you wanted to get lost in this building, you could. Peter had a word with the runner assigned to him to make sure they could get lost without upsetting anybody for the next couple of hours, and he led her to a room she hadn't been in before, back deep in the older section. This was the storage area, all costumes in mothballs and sets that hadn't been repurposed yet. Dust and quiet.
Peter flipped a switch beside the door and dim fluorescent lights flickered, far overhead. Jenna saw chairs stacked on each other, armchairs shoved up tight, Victorian bric-a-brac, drywall painted to look like wallpaper or faraway scenery. Junk, in other words.
"I call this the velvet room," Peter said. "Because of all the worn velvet shite all over those panels. Some period piece or other left its carpentry behind."
But there were also five or six loveseats and sofas, all pushed up against each other. Somebody had moved one of the longer sofas out a little bit and angled a screen in front of it so it couldn't be seen easily from the door. There was a throw and a battered paperback copy of Moby Dick resting on the arm. The somebody had obviously been Peter, and this was his hideaway when he needed not to be found for real.
Peter moved the throw and the book aside and sat down. He tugged her down onto the sofa next to him and slung an arm around her shoulder.
"Cry if you need to, or complain about him, or talk to me about flowers. Whatever you need, honey."
"Just hug me, okay? Sick of thinking about it."
"All right then," he said, and he pulled her onto his lap and held her tight. Jenna let herself be held. Warm, solid, living, breathing-- another human being touching her, soothing her, kissing her temple. Jenna kissed his cheek in thanks, then leaned over a little to rub her nose against his.
He kissed her the way he always did, gently on the lips, not demanding anything from her. Jenna whimpered and tugged him to do it again. She knew with one little corner of her mind that it was inviting disaster, or if not disaster, at least more distress. She'd been the one with the self-control to stop them after one night together, the one night he was allowed without trespassing on his marriage.
Jenna didn't ask him any questions. Maybe she was afraid of the answers. Maybe she didn't want to think about it, or be responsible. She just wanted him to soothe her. Soothe her, touch her, reassure her, tell her she was worthwhile, that all those things Richard had said when he'd been so angry and upset and jealous hadn't been true. Peter was so dear to her, so special-- a little bit frightening sometimes, with what he knew and how he thought and how utterly kind he was-- Peter was the only one who could make her feel better right now. Or so she told herself. She knew it was selfish.
Maybe she could be selfish just this once.
She was the one who pushed it a little bit this time. She was the one who pulled up his t-shirt and let her hand rest on his bare skin, who made the noises that signaled arousal to him. She was the one who turned to straddle him and pulled her skirt up and out of the way. She didn't want him to feel guilty about it, whatever happened. She wanted it and said so, clearly, and gave him the space to say no if he needed to. But he didn't. He was already hard inside those trousers when she unzipped them, more than willing to help her slip off her knickers, to hold himself while she rose up over him and sank down on him.
God, he felt good. That penis, so satisfying inside her, inside her again. Call her greedy, fine. She was greedy. Selfish. He was, as ever, a gentleman, all courtesy and grace and thoughtfulness, especially as a lover. Maybe that was experience. He knew to rest his thumb on her clit and help her along, to say sweet things in her ear about how lovely she was to him, and how much she deserved pleasure.
It had been a couple of weeks since she'd come and she couldn't help it, Jenna was on the edge so quickly. He kept her there, the scheming bastard, kept her there and teased her with words, told her how wonderful she was, how talented she was, how much she deserved, how far she'd go, until she was ready to scream with need. Then he deliberately sent her over, thrust up into her hard and fast with his thumb against her. Jenna came, and he kissed her hard to stifle her cries.
Sweat on her face, her heart pounding, and she was still straddling Peter, who was hard and thick inside her.
"So beautiful you are when you come," he said, with infinite satisfaction in his voice. "Couldn't see you properly that night. Your face, your eyes."
"Gonna make a joke about how round my face is?"
"It's like your eyes inflate," he said, smirking, and he kissed her.
"How about you?"
"Oh, I don't need it." He said this, even though he was hard and moving slowly inside her, even though she could see the flush on his face.
"What if I want to see you properly? It's only fair."
"Is it, then."
"Yeah. Please. Show me."
"Lie back, please. Wanna be on top."
This was one of the nice things about sex with men, or one of the things she liked, anyway, the time after you'd come but before they had, when you could relax a little and pay attention to them without distractions. Peter was doing all the work, moving inside her with intent. He wanted to bury his face in her neck, but she asked him to let her see his face and he obliged, pushed himself up on his arms and let her see him. Red face, eyes screwed shut, making the same soulful sounds he'd made last time, only choked back because of where they were-- Peter, oh god, she loved Peter, of course she did. She loved a lot of people, and in her life she'd love a lot more. She would probably always love this man a little bit no matter what but right now-- right now she loved him as fiercely as she'd ever loved anybody. Gray and brown hair, those wild eyebrows, that mouth that could do anything, those crows feet that told anybody who cared to look at him how much he smiled-- Peter, lovely sweet Peter, the most amazing man she knew. He was close, she could feel it in the way he was moving, and there he went, going still, gasping, and then pulsing inside her. No protection, and she'd gone off the pill; it couldn't possibly matter this soon afterward; she would be fine-- that was all she could think, because Peter was collapsing onto her now, letting himself yield to that need to bury his face in her neck and nuzzle her and make those soft sounds.
"Honey, Jenna, darling," he said, into her neck, over and over. She shushed him and said her own sweet things back to him. She felt better. Strange but true, she felt better. Something he'd said to her, when she was on the edge of coming, about how much there was ahead of her in her life. Peter knew that kind of thing. Peter was wise. He was wise and kind and infinitely warm, and he'd done something to her that would stay with her.
Like all wonderful moments, this one couldn't last. They untangled themselves from each other and put their clothing to rights.
Peter pulled out his phone and frowned at the screen. "We should be getting back. They'll be wanting us in a half hour or so."
"I need to find a toilet and a washcloth for my face," Jenna said. Such bathos, but that was life.
"Come along, then, oh Companion Mine," Peter said, and he took her by the hand. Laced his fingers through hers, and squeezed. Well, maybe this had been a mistake, but Jenna couldn't bring herself to regret it. Whatever had just happened between them, it was good. It would be worth it.