Roman lets Peter in because that’s all he’s wanted to do since the start. Peter leans in and Roman moves back, guiding, leading him from the stall and backing them towards the wall, making slow headway, hands still at his hips, guiding him in.

He doesn’t understand Peter’s reluctance up until now, but this feels like he’s finally given up his hold on it. What he’s saying with his mouth and with his body is that he wants this, that the blood on his lips isn’t too much, isn’t going to chase him away like it has the others.

There’s a thrill of elation to know that it’s not too much, that Peter’s not pulling from him, disgusted at the smear of blood over his mouth. That instead, he’d dragged a tongue along it as if to savor the last, moaning as the flavor must have burst over his tongue.

He shivers as he feels Peter curling around him, hands at his shoulder, at the back of his neck, and he wants to turn them, push Peter against the wall just to gain the leverage to press their bodies that much closer, but he’s afraid of breaking this spell. Still, no amount of fear of ruining the moment can do anything to flag his erection which, as they move together, brushes against Peter’s body now and again, much less deliberately than it had in the studio. Roman wasn’t trying to make a point anymore. That point had been made. They both knew it was true, that Peter wanted just as much as Roman did.