Shit, but Peter feels so damn good. So damn hot around him, and he can't help but sink in deeper. Is he ready for it? Fuck, he hopes so, because all he wants to do is slither inside him so much deeper than he already is. It's just one of the narrow ones, slender and easy and cool as it goes in deep. How can he do anything but give him more if it's what he wants, too? If Peter's begging please, please, please and all that Roman wants is to give it to him?
So he gives it to him. Just one tentacle but it's in so deep that Peter can feel that slick friction writhe up along his prostate. There's a second slender one that wants inside but isn't yet doing more than making swirling passes around his entrance, the thicker one coiled and writhing along Peter's cock. And Roman can't look away from how he moves, eyes wide and bright and then distant and lost in feeling and then his head falls back, and Roman brushes a hand up his back to tangle his fingertips in the ends of that long hair.
Roman isn't always very perceptive. Only when it suits him, only when it feeds into what he needs or what he's doing. But Peter? Peter's an exception. There's something about him now, something a little off, a little tense, and he leans in, both hands rubbing cool over the warm skin of his lower back and hips, and noses against his shoulder lightly, and breathes, "Relax, Peter..."
It's not extaz, even though that would make it easier, it'd also make it less real. It wouldn't be between Roman and Peter, but between Roman and someone whose will was taken away. Maybe he's a little tense, but he's not going to push. He'll let Peter come to him, even if it means needing to show some restraint. He knows he has some, somewhere.
His thumbs rub over Peter's hips, impatient, but he's being good. He's trying, anyway, because Peter's body feels so perfect and watching how he squirms in his lap just makes him want more.
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So he gives it to him. Just one tentacle but it's in so deep that Peter can feel that slick friction writhe up along his prostate. There's a second slender one that wants inside but isn't yet doing more than making swirling passes around his entrance, the thicker one coiled and writhing along Peter's cock. And Roman can't look away from how he moves, eyes wide and bright and then distant and lost in feeling and then his head falls back, and Roman brushes a hand up his back to tangle his fingertips in the ends of that long hair.
Roman isn't always very perceptive. Only when it suits him, only when it feeds into what he needs or what he's doing. But Peter? Peter's an exception. There's something about him now, something a little off, a little tense, and he leans in, both hands rubbing cool over the warm skin of his lower back and hips, and noses against his shoulder lightly, and breathes, "Relax, Peter..."
It's not extaz, even though that would make it easier, it'd also make it less real. It wouldn't be between Roman and Peter, but between Roman and someone whose will was taken away. Maybe he's a little tense, but he's not going to push. He'll let Peter come to him, even if it means needing to show some restraint. He knows he has some, somewhere.
His thumbs rub over Peter's hips, impatient, but he's being good. He's trying, anyway, because Peter's body feels so perfect and watching how he squirms in his lap just makes him want more.