Roman isn't the only one that loves this lift, loves how they fit together, although Peter really tries not to. He wants to remind himself that it's not worth it, that Roman is good, but he's not that good. He's not worth losing everything he's worked for over. But god, he can never remember that when they're this close together. The way that Roman's arms wrap around him and pull him in, hold him close, and there's a security he's never had anywhere else, and he has to try and tell himself it's just the parts that they play.
There's a terrible whisper that says that Roman doesn't fit together like this with anyone else.
They're flush together, his ass to Roman's hips, and he can't help that visceral response where his body jerks and he presses lewdly into the press of his cock. It's not hard to imagine Roman sinking inside of him like this, and he's dizzy with the want of it. He almost thinks he can push it out of his head, but then Roman reaches down, slender fingers cupping against Peter's erection and he curses mutedly, breathless and gasping for air as Roman hums appreciatively against his ear.
His breath is hot on his neck as they finally move into the lift, and it's almost obscene. The energy between them sharp and hot and like they're moments shy of just fucking then and there so that Olivia finally calls them on it. She tells them to take twenty, get a drink of water while she works with them on another scene.
Peter doesn't even bother trying to pretend -- he runs for the bathroom. He needs to get away, needs to put a wall and a lock between himself and Roman, because he's right. Of course he's right. He wishes it was the main bathroom door, but he's not fast enough for that. The Godfrey and his fucking long legs. And so, instead, it's the stall door that he slams shut and ratchets the lock shut. He almost collapses back against the door, his head tilting back as one hand rubs helplessly against the front of his tights.
"You shouldn't--" He tries to catch his breath, make it so he sounds less heated, less wanton when he talks. "You should leave."
Because Roman was right. He was a fucking liar. He wanted him, craved him and it shook through him, set his skin on fire.
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There's a terrible whisper that says that Roman doesn't fit together like this with anyone else.
They're flush together, his ass to Roman's hips, and he can't help that visceral response where his body jerks and he presses lewdly into the press of his cock. It's not hard to imagine Roman sinking inside of him like this, and he's dizzy with the want of it. He almost thinks he can push it out of his head, but then Roman reaches down, slender fingers cupping against Peter's erection and he curses mutedly, breathless and gasping for air as Roman hums appreciatively against his ear.
His breath is hot on his neck as they finally move into the lift, and it's almost obscene. The energy between them sharp and hot and like they're moments shy of just fucking then and there so that Olivia finally calls them on it. She tells them to take twenty, get a drink of water while she works with them on another scene.
Peter doesn't even bother trying to pretend -- he runs for the bathroom. He needs to get away, needs to put a wall and a lock between himself and Roman, because he's right. Of course he's right. He wishes it was the main bathroom door, but he's not fast enough for that. The Godfrey and his fucking long legs. And so, instead, it's the stall door that he slams shut and ratchets the lock shut. He almost collapses back against the door, his head tilting back as one hand rubs helplessly against the front of his tights.
"You shouldn't--" He tries to catch his breath, make it so he sounds less heated, less wanton when he talks. "You should leave."
Because Roman was right. He was a fucking liar. He wanted him, craved him and it shook through him, set his skin on fire.