Peter knows what he means. He can tell, can see it in his face, in his eyes. In the way he leans back, hands braced against Roman’s hips as he lets his head touch the wall like he’s inviting Roman to follow him with his hips, with his cock, to fuck forward until they’re close again, until Peter’s got a mouthful of him and not just the head.
He would like to hear him ask for it out loud, but this is enough, it’s an obvious permission even though it’s silent, like he’s afraid that saying something will break whatever they’ve tentatively got here. Roman should be. God, he really should be more afraid of breaking it, of pushing too hard, but it’s finally within reach and he can’t do anything but press on.
The look on his face is a request, it’s a silent push for more, like it isn’t enough to take it at his own pace, an obvious invitation for Roman to follow up that dirty talk with action, to do what he’s suggesting, what he’s teasing him with.
It’s only now, only when it’s this clear that Peter’s asking for it just as clearly as Roman’s saying he wants it, that he presses forwards, fucking into Peter’s mouth, knowing that he’s trapped between him and the wall. He’s not going to push too far, not going to hurt him, not going to ignore signs that it’s too much, but the fact that it easily could be too much, that it’s one step from rough, from the kind of fucking he’d seen Peter a part of earlier turns him on. He wants so much he can hardly stand it. More than this, more than sex, more than fucking him into the wall. He wants to keep him, wants to do this over and over again, wants to learn his body the way he knows it in the studio, wants to learn just how he likes to be touched because it isn’t all about this either, it isn’t all about him, about Peter on his knees.
After that first push forwards, he rocks in again, starting to do it, to fuck his mouth, feeling the head of his cock drag over the roof of Peter’s mouth as he moves in. His arms are braced against the wall, and his head falls forwards against it with a long, slow groan. It’s casual, the way filthy bathroom sex almost always is, but he wants it to be more than that.
no subject
He would like to hear him ask for it out loud, but this is enough, it’s an obvious permission even though it’s silent, like he’s afraid that saying something will break whatever they’ve tentatively got here. Roman should be. God, he really should be more afraid of breaking it, of pushing too hard, but it’s finally within reach and he can’t do anything but press on.
The look on his face is a request, it’s a silent push for more, like it isn’t enough to take it at his own pace, an obvious invitation for Roman to follow up that dirty talk with action, to do what he’s suggesting, what he’s teasing him with.
It’s only now, only when it’s this clear that Peter’s asking for it just as clearly as Roman’s saying he wants it, that he presses forwards, fucking into Peter’s mouth, knowing that he’s trapped between him and the wall. He’s not going to push too far, not going to hurt him, not going to ignore signs that it’s too much, but the fact that it easily could be too much, that it’s one step from rough, from the kind of fucking he’d seen Peter a part of earlier turns him on. He wants so much he can hardly stand it. More than this, more than sex, more than fucking him into the wall. He wants to keep him, wants to do this over and over again, wants to learn his body the way he knows it in the studio, wants to learn just how he likes to be touched because it isn’t all about this either, it isn’t all about him, about Peter on his knees.
After that first push forwards, he rocks in again, starting to do it, to fuck his mouth, feeling the head of his cock drag over the roof of Peter’s mouth as he moves in. His arms are braced against the wall, and his head falls forwards against it with a long, slow groan. It’s casual, the way filthy bathroom sex almost always is, but he wants it to be more than that.