Harry doesn't shut up about Roman, much to Peter's growing near-frantic frustration. Because the look on Roman's face has changed, and it seems like he knows something, or at least he thinks he does, and Peter almost wants to slap the look off of his fucking face. Draco rocked his hips a few more times and then Peter was murmuring, sucking as his orgasm spilled down his throat.

"So what is it with you two, anyway? Behind closed door does he wrap a collar around your throat and call you his bitch? I bet you'd get on your knees in front of everyone if he told you to."

Peter's flushed, still catching his breath but his blues flash and the look that gazes into Roman's greens tries to lie. "Of course I listen, he's my anchor. It's not like that."

"Honey, I've seen an Anchor and a Rise work together before. That's not what you two do. That's kinky foreplay. Not that I'm complaining--"

Peter's about to say something, try and deny that it means anything, but then fingers clutch in his hair, yanking his head back. Harry's fucking him faster, harder and Peter can't help how he whines.

"Come on. Say his name."

And fuck, Peter can't help it. Not when he's looking into his eyes, when Harry's teasing him on every breath, ever rock of his hips that makes Peter's body jerk. He's so close, but it's not quite right, not quite what he needs. It's maddening, looking into Roman's eyes, his own blues glassy and he almost sobs.

"Just say it."

And Peter does, in a cry, and it's still on his lips when he comes, when he's shaking and spent and holding onto them both for support as his body trembles.

Just. Fuck.