Roman hadn't thought Peter would look at him like this when he saw them, imagined it somehow being the thing that pushed all of this between them firmly into the too weird territory. Granted, there's a lot between them that's always been weird, and then it got weirder, so much weirder recently, but this? It's apparently not something he should have bothered worrying over.
He's staring at him hungrily, like what he's found in him now is the best of all possible options, like it's what he'd hoped for. No one's ever looked at him the way Peter's looking at him now, like he's really seeing him. Like what he is is enough. That was all he ever wanted, was just to be enough.
And Peter's begging please, breathing his soft pleas into his skin and whimpering as he moves, rocking in his lap. His reaction's immediate; at 'please' he grips him more tightly, those tentacles coiling cool around his cock, working over him with an automatic ease like they couldn't do anything but seek the heat of Peter's body.
Roman gasps softly as Peter's hand brushes down over them both, over slick tentacles and his own damp flesh, and the drag of his fingers feels good. The tentacles are all so sensitive, to touch and pressure and everything that just that slow stroke, the warmth of his cock below and his hand above, has him thinking of venturing back to slip one inside, maybe two.
He's barely had the thought when Peter says he wants it. He's shifting closer, legs spread and squirming for more, for as much as he can get, and Roman catches him by the hips and holds him close as one of the tentacles slicks its way back between his legs, the tip flicking up between his cheeks, skittering past the opening. He smoothes one hand down his ass, middle finger slipping between his cheeks to rub against him, finding his entrance so the tentacle knows just where to go, where to press. And it does so easily, slipping inside cool and slick an inch or two.
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He's staring at him hungrily, like what he's found in him now is the best of all possible options, like it's what he'd hoped for. No one's ever looked at him the way Peter's looking at him now, like he's really seeing him. Like what he is is enough. That was all he ever wanted, was just to be enough.
And Peter's begging please, breathing his soft pleas into his skin and whimpering as he moves, rocking in his lap. His reaction's immediate; at 'please' he grips him more tightly, those tentacles coiling cool around his cock, working over him with an automatic ease like they couldn't do anything but seek the heat of Peter's body.
Roman gasps softly as Peter's hand brushes down over them both, over slick tentacles and his own damp flesh, and the drag of his fingers feels good. The tentacles are all so sensitive, to touch and pressure and everything that just that slow stroke, the warmth of his cock below and his hand above, has him thinking of venturing back to slip one inside, maybe two.
He's barely had the thought when Peter says he wants it. He's shifting closer, legs spread and squirming for more, for as much as he can get, and Roman catches him by the hips and holds him close as one of the tentacles slicks its way back between his legs, the tip flicking up between his cheeks, skittering past the opening. He smoothes one hand down his ass, middle finger slipping between his cheeks to rub against him, finding his entrance so the tentacle knows just where to go, where to press. And it does so easily, slipping inside cool and slick an inch or two.