Peter gasps roughly, the sound shifting into a wanton sort of moan when Roman tells him to finger himself. He should tell him to fuck off, make some point about the principle of the thing and how he doesn't listen to what Roman tells him do. Not off the stage. But he's lost, caught up in the moment far too much to strand on principle, not that he ever could when it came to Roman.

So his hand drags up his chest to his mouth, sucking lewdly on his fingers as he lifts one of his legs, letting Roman see when those digits come free with a wet sound and then they're slipping between the cheeks of his ass.

He whines, squirming a little as he presses one finger inside of his body, his other hand stroking over his cock as he moans. He's squirming against the wall of the stall, a whimper as he arches and adds another finger, and starts fucking them into his body.

"F-fuck... Roman--"

No excuses this time, except for the sickening way their eyes meet, and how he wants his cock sinking into him because fingers aren't what he wants. His blue eyes are glassy, gaze fixed helplessly on Roman through the crack in the stall.

"It's not-- I want..."

I want you to fuck me, but he doesn't actually say that outloud. He just writhes against the wall, fingering himself as he makes it three and it's still not enough. Of course with the sound of Roman's voice and his own fingers on his cock, it doesn't take him too long to come like that.

"Roman!"

His name on his tongue as he comes, until he slumps boneless against the wall, panting and gasping, soft moans as fluid spills into his fingers. He can't make himself move for that moment, just stunned by the intensity of it.

"Fuck..."