Peter can't help himself, even if he's still scared, he's caught up in the moment, in the feel of it, in how Roman's hands curl in his long hair, their eyes locked as the other's hips rock against his mouth. He can't help leaning into it, begging for it with lips and fingers and sighs that muffle into the other dancer's thick cock. It's better like this. Better than Harry and Draco, better than any of the other boys in the company that he plays around with. There's a connection Peter's trying so hard to ignore, but it's there anyway.

He wants more, wants Roman to bend him over, fuck him so hard he forgets how to breathe, but he wont let himself. He pulls away just shy of it, except for this one moment, where he's strung so tight that he forgets all the reasons for fighting it. Because Roman feels so good, tastes so good, and with blue eyes on those too-bright greens, there's nothing casual about it. Sucking, moaning into his flesh as Roman fucks him against the wall, hands keeping his head from bouncing with the force of it. It's rough, and it's hot, and it's so fucking good.

Once it sinks in, he'll pull away, but right now, all he can do is press into it, tilt his head just so. He's letting his tongue slide against Roman's cock as he fucks into his throat. His face flushed, blue eyes glassy with how much he needs this, needs him, even if he's too scared to say it, to let it happen.