Peter can't stop, can't get control of himself. All that he can do is lean into Roman, into his hands, into his lips. Because it's true, horrifyingly true, that Peter does want him. He wants his kisses, his touches, and he can't help how he moans and gasps against his dancepartner's mouth. Roman is beautiful and he feels so good against him. Warm and strong, and he needs.

He's so caught up, trapped in the feeling of their bodies, their mouths pressed together, that he doesn't fight, doesn't struggle. Doesn't resist this. Not as Roman moves them away from the stall and is pressing them in towards the wall. His body shakes every moment he can feel Roman's erection brush against his body and he wants. He wants to touch, to feel him, feel his pleasure.

There's a list of reasons a mile long not to, all the things he's told himself before, but for the moment, he's forgotten. Too overwhelmed to remember the reasons why not. He pulls back from the kiss, breathing heavy and his blue eyes lust dark.

"Roman..."

So many things he should be saying, but none of the words come to his lips. Just a look. A look that's far more desire than refusal.