The way Peter keeps looking at him make this more than it is. It’s anything but casual in that moment with their eyes locked. He wants more than this, shows it with his mouth and the pull of his hands.
Roman gives him what he wants, sheds the layer of worry that he’s going to give Peter more than he can handle when it becomes clear that Peter knows what he can take and that he wants it.
That groan tugs at whatever lingering threads of hesitance there still were. He can feel it hum around his cock and his lips part with a heavy exhale and a low sound. Fingers rake through Peter’s hair, encouraging, possessive, forehead still pressed to the tile wall as he stares down at Peter.
He keeps moving, hips rolling, the motion between them taking an edge of insistence that’s near as rough as those he’d witnessed before practice, when Peter had been caught between not Roman and a wall, but the two dancers. It had been slow for him to let go in this, to trust that Peter really wanted it, really could take it, but now that he did, now that he knew, he’s letting go, pushing to find out where the boundaries lie between them. Just how much could Peter really take? He’s careful, paying attention for any sign that it’s too much, ready to pull back, slow down or stop, but right now, he’s fucking his mouth hard, spurred on by the curl of fingers digging into his hips as if they’re begging more and harder.
no subject
Roman gives him what he wants, sheds the layer of worry that he’s going to give Peter more than he can handle when it becomes clear that Peter knows what he can take and that he wants it.
That groan tugs at whatever lingering threads of hesitance there still were. He can feel it hum around his cock and his lips part with a heavy exhale and a low sound. Fingers rake through Peter’s hair, encouraging, possessive, forehead still pressed to the tile wall as he stares down at Peter.
He keeps moving, hips rolling, the motion between them taking an edge of insistence that’s near as rough as those he’d witnessed before practice, when Peter had been caught between not Roman and a wall, but the two dancers. It had been slow for him to let go in this, to trust that Peter really wanted it, really could take it, but now that he did, now that he knew, he’s letting go, pushing to find out where the boundaries lie between them. Just how much could Peter really take? He’s careful, paying attention for any sign that it’s too much, ready to pull back, slow down or stop, but right now, he’s fucking his mouth hard, spurred on by the curl of fingers digging into his hips as if they’re begging more and harder.