Up until now, he’s said he doesn’t want him, isn’t interested when he so clearly is. This is a change, and Roman needs to know what it means, why he can’t when they both want it. His hand is curled tight, nails digging into his palm so hard they’re in real danger of cutting the flesh.
“You can’t? What do you mean you can’t?” Roman demands. Peter doesn’t answer him right away, and after a few seconds he pounds the door again with his fist, nails cutting in, impatient and angry and growing desperate. Peter was hard under his hand just minutes ago and he wanted to touch him again, wanted to fuck him, bring him off, feel the way his body moved back and back, harder, needy as he gets closer.
“You can,” he pushes, “Let me in, Peter… I want you. I know you want me, too,” his voice is lower, less like he’s demanding and more like he’s trying to convince him, like he’s trying to extend the force of his will and get Peter to open the door and let him in. Sometimes it works, but he doesn’t know just how or that it’s anything more than charisma, doesn’t know that he needs eye contact, and he doesn’t know that it’s not something that would ever work with Peter, that he’s not someone he can compel. It doesn’t mean he isn’t trying.
His forehead is the only point of contact with the door, eyes cast down to the floor, to his feet and the scuffed black ballet shoes that are worn in and conformed to the shape of his feet. He feels something happen first, before he sees it. Peter leans away from the door, and for a moment Roman thinks he’s going to open the door, but he doesn’t. Stepping back, Roman sees his ankles bare beneath the door and realizes suddenly that he’s taken off his tights.
That he’s naked in there and he still won’t let him in.
Roman bites back a groan and slams back into the door, shaking it on its hinges, and now he’s at the gap between the panels, straining to look in. He can see him, but with how Peter’s leaning against the door he can’t see much.
He realizes that Peter isn’t going to let him in, and something changes suddenly in him and he’s changing his aim.
“Move so I can watch you…” he can tell that Peter’s touching himself, that he’s slowly jerking himself off, but he needs him to lean against a different wall. He needs to be able to watch him, see his face. “Lean against that other wall and keep touching yourself.”
no subject
Up until now, he’s said he doesn’t want him, isn’t interested when he so clearly is. This is a change, and Roman needs to know what it means, why he can’t when they both want it. His hand is curled tight, nails digging into his palm so hard they’re in real danger of cutting the flesh.
“You can’t? What do you mean you can’t?” Roman demands. Peter doesn’t answer him right away, and after a few seconds he pounds the door again with his fist, nails cutting in, impatient and angry and growing desperate. Peter was hard under his hand just minutes ago and he wanted to touch him again, wanted to fuck him, bring him off, feel the way his body moved back and back, harder, needy as he gets closer.
“You can,” he pushes, “Let me in, Peter… I want you. I know you want me, too,” his voice is lower, less like he’s demanding and more like he’s trying to convince him, like he’s trying to extend the force of his will and get Peter to open the door and let him in. Sometimes it works, but he doesn’t know just how or that it’s anything more than charisma, doesn’t know that he needs eye contact, and he doesn’t know that it’s not something that would ever work with Peter, that he’s not someone he can compel. It doesn’t mean he isn’t trying.
His forehead is the only point of contact with the door, eyes cast down to the floor, to his feet and the scuffed black ballet shoes that are worn in and conformed to the shape of his feet. He feels something happen first, before he sees it. Peter leans away from the door, and for a moment Roman thinks he’s going to open the door, but he doesn’t. Stepping back, Roman sees his ankles bare beneath the door and realizes suddenly that he’s taken off his tights.
That he’s naked in there and he still won’t let him in.
Roman bites back a groan and slams back into the door, shaking it on its hinges, and now he’s at the gap between the panels, straining to look in. He can see him, but with how Peter’s leaning against the door he can’t see much.
He realizes that Peter isn’t going to let him in, and something changes suddenly in him and he’s changing his aim.
“Move so I can watch you…” he can tell that Peter’s touching himself, that he’s slowly jerking himself off, but he needs him to lean against a different wall. He needs to be able to watch him, see his face. “Lean against that other wall and keep touching yourself.”