He’s starting to lose that edge of fear, the constant voice that nags and wonders if Peter’s going to pull away with the next touch or moan or brush of Roman’s hand.
He tasted the blood on his mouth. He’d licked it away from his lips as he teased his tongue in to deepen the kiss. In his mind, there’s no way this is a fluke, some accidental transgression that Peter will backstep away from.
He doesn’t know how things will be, of course. Doesn’t know if it will work out, if it will last, but that’s not the point. Nothing ever really lasts in the end, but there’s one thing that he knows for sure is that this is different than the other times, this response isn’t the flat no of revulsion.
Peter’s just finally stopped fighting it.
Peter leans in, nuzzling against him, and Roman lets out a long breath he’d hardly realized he’d been holding. His body wants to move. He wants to fuck his mouth, wants to watch Peter take it the way he’d taken Draco’s, wants to see his eyes shining and near-overwhelmed.
Long fingers skim through Peter’s hair just because he can. It’s stolen and intimate. He lingers, letting his fingers curl through his hair. He shivers to feel the way Peter moves, how his hands move over his thighs as he hums to himself, lips wrapped around the head of his cock like he’s cherishing the moment.
Roman feels drunk on this. On the moment, on Peter and the way he stares up at him, blue eyes heavily lidded and sultry, inviting. He wants to be fucking him. It doesn’t matter where, maybe against the door, maybe on the floor, hands and knees so he can feel that ass as Peter grinds back on him.
no subject
He tasted the blood on his mouth. He’d licked it away from his lips as he teased his tongue in to deepen the kiss. In his mind, there’s no way this is a fluke, some accidental transgression that Peter will backstep away from.
He doesn’t know how things will be, of course. Doesn’t know if it will work out, if it will last, but that’s not the point. Nothing ever really lasts in the end, but there’s one thing that he knows for sure is that this is different than the other times, this response isn’t the flat no of revulsion.
Peter’s just finally stopped fighting it.
Peter leans in, nuzzling against him, and Roman lets out a long breath he’d hardly realized he’d been holding. His body wants to move. He wants to fuck his mouth, wants to watch Peter take it the way he’d taken Draco’s, wants to see his eyes shining and near-overwhelmed.
Long fingers skim through Peter’s hair just because he can. It’s stolen and intimate. He lingers, letting his fingers curl through his hair. He shivers to feel the way Peter moves, how his hands move over his thighs as he hums to himself, lips wrapped around the head of his cock like he’s cherishing the moment.
Roman feels drunk on this. On the moment, on Peter and the way he stares up at him, blue eyes heavily lidded and sultry, inviting. He wants to be fucking him. It doesn’t matter where, maybe against the door, maybe on the floor, hands and knees so he can feel that ass as Peter grinds back on him.