Hearing Peter is going to do him in. The sound that comes against his shoulder doesn't muffle but vibrates across his skin. He can feel Peter from the inside, how he tenses and tries to relax, and where Roman fails in restraint, he makes up for in pure adaptability. The single, relatively slender tentacle has give when Peter tenses, when he goes so impossibly tight, and it's good that he started with this one rather than the larger one.
Roman rubs a hand over the small of his back, a slow circle that's soothing and at the same time, guides him to move. Peter's rocking in his lap, clearly wanting it even though it's a struggle right now and fuck if that's not the hottest thing he's seen. He's had other people on his lap before, but it was before, he wasn't the way he was now back then. He'd come to terms with the reality that he'd have to extaz someone into not noticing this if he intended to fuck anyone and have the entire focus of it to not be them freaking out, but Peter is so far from freaking out that he almost doesn't feel the thrumming ache for blood.
Almost.
Peter goes boneless in his lap, curled loose around his shoulders and breathing soft and shallow as he kisses him and Roman's struck at once with how fragile he seems, which is so strange because he knows more than most how resilient he is, how he can tear his way out of his body again and again like an endless escape from his skin.
He wants it all he says, and it's barely a heartbeat after he's said the words that the waiting tentacle slips in. It goes in easier than Peter might have imagined or feared, slipping in along side the first, occasionally coiling around its twin inside him, twisting slow and sinewy. Peter wants it all, and oh, but Roman wants to give it all to him. All of it, now, wants to push deep inside him and feel how he writhes to take it... but he's not. Not yet. Gives him time for the second one, and shit, but the fucking restraint it takes not to has one hand curled into a fist, nails digging into the meat of his palm, fist resting against Peter's hair, against his shoulder.
There's a slightly cool, oddly damp feeling over his shoulder blade as Roman's fingernails cut into his skin and blood trickles down over Peter's tanned skin. Roman knows, he can feel the slow seep of it, and his hand slips down in it, smearing it purposefully.
no subject
Roman rubs a hand over the small of his back, a slow circle that's soothing and at the same time, guides him to move. Peter's rocking in his lap, clearly wanting it even though it's a struggle right now and fuck if that's not the hottest thing he's seen. He's had other people on his lap before, but it was before, he wasn't the way he was now back then. He'd come to terms with the reality that he'd have to extaz someone into not noticing this if he intended to fuck anyone and have the entire focus of it to not be them freaking out, but Peter is so far from freaking out that he almost doesn't feel the thrumming ache for blood.
Almost.
Peter goes boneless in his lap, curled loose around his shoulders and breathing soft and shallow as he kisses him and Roman's struck at once with how fragile he seems, which is so strange because he knows more than most how resilient he is, how he can tear his way out of his body again and again like an endless escape from his skin.
He wants it all he says, and it's barely a heartbeat after he's said the words that the waiting tentacle slips in. It goes in easier than Peter might have imagined or feared, slipping in along side the first, occasionally coiling around its twin inside him, twisting slow and sinewy. Peter wants it all, and oh, but Roman wants to give it all to him. All of it, now, wants to push deep inside him and feel how he writhes to take it... but he's not. Not yet. Gives him time for the second one, and shit, but the fucking restraint it takes not to has one hand curled into a fist, nails digging into the meat of his palm, fist resting against Peter's hair, against his shoulder.
There's a slightly cool, oddly damp feeling over his shoulder blade as Roman's fingernails cut into his skin and blood trickles down over Peter's tanned skin. Roman knows, he can feel the slow seep of it, and his hand slips down in it, smearing it purposefully.