He can tell because if he’d showered, his hair would at least be damp, even if he’d skipped washing it. But when he moves close it’s obvious that he might have cleaned up, but he still smells of sex. He wears it like a perfume or a secret that can only be known when you come in close enough.
He wants to be repulsed, to have the reminder that other men had fucked him turn him off, make him want him less, but it doesn’t. If anything, he wants him more. Wants to pull him from rehearsal and lay claim to him, wants to move with him like Harry and Draco never could, wants to give him what they can only mimic and strive for. Peter should be his, and dancing with him today, knowing what he’s just done, having watched him come in the dressing room is making the dancing difficult.
It’s not as though they’ve ever gotten these sequences right. There’s always been too much tension between them, and it’s made the scenes with Odile work in a way that makes the air between them crackle with desire, but it doesn’t work here, with Odette. Their energy is off, and Olivia keeps stopping them, reprimanding them, reminding them how it should be and Roman knows what she means when she lets her gaze linger on him after her comments. He ignores her, because it’s quite hard enough to handle this without the knowledge that his mother and quite probably the entire company feels that they should just fuck through this blockade between them.
The tension is reaching a crescendo and it’s quickly approaching the point that something will have to give. The reigns of Roman’s control are held tight, but they’re straining, and all that he allows himself is to push. And push he does.
There’s a movement where Peter’s meant to stand in front of him and bend at the waist briefly before moving into a lift, and Roman takes that opportunity of having Peter, of the sequence necessitating their proximity to let himself brush against Peter’s sheer-tight-clad ass. It’s subtle, but with the show of aggression they’ve been putting on as they struggle to tone it down for Odette, eyes are on them and someone else is bound to notice.
It may be subtle, but it’s not entirely brief. It lingers and Roman makes a point of shifting his hips, grinding the thick bulge between Peter’s cheeks, showing him that, yes, Harry was right, he’s as big as they said he was, just what Peter apparently craved. And now, Roman knew that he wasn’t just capable of taking it, but that he wanted it. Wanted him.
His hands come to Peter’s hips as they prepare for the lift, and the beauty is that Peter has to move closer to get in position for it. He’s got no choice but to stay, or else he risks ruining the sequence again. They have to get in close so that Roman can lift him straight up, Peter’s body flush to his for a breath of a moment.
His hands are right where Harry’s were less than an hour before. He wonders if Peter’s hips are bruised, and holds him tighter, digging in, incase they were. He wants him to know, not to just have seen, but feel it in his skin that Roman saw him. He wants him to feel the possession that Roman feels, wants him to feel his hands like a brand, claiming him though he’s already bruised by another.
He’ll just mark over it, and then he’ll find a fresh place to leave a mark, and mark that beautiful skin until there’s no shadow of a doubt whose he is.
It’s not cocky or presumptuous now, because he knows it’s true. He watched Peter come over the dressing room table with his name on his lips. It’s no secret anymore.
“You can fuck the whole company if you want to, but we both know they can’t satisfy you…” he breathes in Peter’s ear.
no subject
He can tell because if he’d showered, his hair would at least be damp, even if he’d skipped washing it. But when he moves close it’s obvious that he might have cleaned up, but he still smells of sex. He wears it like a perfume or a secret that can only be known when you come in close enough.
He wants to be repulsed, to have the reminder that other men had fucked him turn him off, make him want him less, but it doesn’t. If anything, he wants him more. Wants to pull him from rehearsal and lay claim to him, wants to move with him like Harry and Draco never could, wants to give him what they can only mimic and strive for. Peter should be his, and dancing with him today, knowing what he’s just done, having watched him come in the dressing room is making the dancing difficult.
It’s not as though they’ve ever gotten these sequences right. There’s always been too much tension between them, and it’s made the scenes with Odile work in a way that makes the air between them crackle with desire, but it doesn’t work here, with Odette. Their energy is off, and Olivia keeps stopping them, reprimanding them, reminding them how it should be and Roman knows what she means when she lets her gaze linger on him after her comments. He ignores her, because it’s quite hard enough to handle this without the knowledge that his mother and quite probably the entire company feels that they should just fuck through this blockade between them.
The tension is reaching a crescendo and it’s quickly approaching the point that something will have to give. The reigns of Roman’s control are held tight, but they’re straining, and all that he allows himself is to push. And push he does.
There’s a movement where Peter’s meant to stand in front of him and bend at the waist briefly before moving into a lift, and Roman takes that opportunity of having Peter, of the sequence necessitating their proximity to let himself brush against Peter’s sheer-tight-clad ass. It’s subtle, but with the show of aggression they’ve been putting on as they struggle to tone it down for Odette, eyes are on them and someone else is bound to notice.
It may be subtle, but it’s not entirely brief. It lingers and Roman makes a point of shifting his hips, grinding the thick bulge between Peter’s cheeks, showing him that, yes, Harry was right, he’s as big as they said he was, just what Peter apparently craved. And now, Roman knew that he wasn’t just capable of taking it, but that he wanted it. Wanted him.
His hands come to Peter’s hips as they prepare for the lift, and the beauty is that Peter has to move closer to get in position for it. He’s got no choice but to stay, or else he risks ruining the sequence again. They have to get in close so that Roman can lift him straight up, Peter’s body flush to his for a breath of a moment.
His hands are right where Harry’s were less than an hour before. He wonders if Peter’s hips are bruised, and holds him tighter, digging in, incase they were. He wants him to know, not to just have seen, but feel it in his skin that Roman saw him. He wants him to feel the possession that Roman feels, wants him to feel his hands like a brand, claiming him though he’s already bruised by another.
He’ll just mark over it, and then he’ll find a fresh place to leave a mark, and mark that beautiful skin until there’s no shadow of a doubt whose he is.
It’s not cocky or presumptuous now, because he knows it’s true. He watched Peter come over the dressing room table with his name on his lips. It’s no secret anymore.
“You can fuck the whole company if you want to, but we both know they can’t satisfy you…” he breathes in Peter’s ear.