i slither into you. with every thrust your eyes change to a new color.

[blood_kink]

Things were weirdly... normal. Well, as normal as could be for them these days. For them being what they were, for all that's happened between them. Roman knew that Peter was having a hard time. He didn't know what it was, but he could tell when there were times when he was anxious, when his pulse raced and he sat tense or paced the floors. Or left for a while. He let him have that space even though sometimes he couldn't help a nagging fear that when he left, something would happen and he might not come back.

He'd always come back to him up till now, but there've been times when he'd really thought he'd seen the last of him. Now, there's all that leftover worry from when he thought he'd really lost him, when it turned out that Olivia had taken him. He still hadn't really recovered from seeing Peter in that cage so small he hadn't been able to stand, clothes torn and hands bloody from how hard he'd tried to escape. That's in the past now, but Roman has this feeling that there's something going on, but he doesn't ask what it is. He just tries to trust that if he wants to, he'll bring it up himself.

So things carry on, almost normal. Lynda helps with the Adara now that she's been cleared of charges, and Roman sometimes wonders what life would have been like if Olivia had been more like her. Watching her cradle the baby, or sit on the floor playing with her, and Roman doesn't remember being that young but he's still certain Olivia had never done any of those things.

One night a couple of weeks back, after everyone else had gone to bed, Peter and Roman had settled down on one long sofa to flick through tv, try and find a shitty horror movie to watch and mock, and had landed on some old B-Movie called From The Void that was just remarkably full of vaguely horrific, entirely surreal erotic situations. And since then, it had sort of become a running joke between them. When one or the other of them would think up a good one, they'd text it to the other. Peter has started texting them when Roman's in meetings and, well, he'd be in real trouble if he didn't own the company, because he's unable to read most of them without laughing.

However, as the messages have been sent back and forth, they've started to get more. Well. Real.

Some highlights from the past several days:

Peter: if u like piña coladas / and fear the thing in the drain

Roman: with every thrust your eyes change to a new color

Peter: i vanish like a cheshire cat leaving only my smiling lips wrapped around ur dick

Roman: u touch my hand & every dog within a hundred miles starts to whimper. they know what u are

 
Tonight, they're occupying separate sofas in the same room. Everyone's asleep, again, which seems to be a trigger for late night bullshit. Movies have become a thing, but so has drinking and getting high and just laying tangled together and talking. Right now, they're not there yet. Roman's laying flat on his back with his iPad propped up on his chest, flicking through something he'd found online and Peter... well, God knows what he was doing before he sent a text. 

From across the room. 

As if they couldn't just talk to each other out loud. Roman hears the ding and doesn't even look at it first, just turns his head to the side and catches Peter's gaze with his and makes a face that just says really. 

Then he reads it.


Peter: my skin cant contain my love 4 u

Is that how it is, now? Roman's mouth curves into a mischievous grin as he shoots off a text that's a little too close to home, but this is a game and it's safe to tread too close to reality because it's all bullshit anyway.


Roman: i slither into you

Comments

[velveteenwolf]

Being trapped in a cage still haunts Peter. He'd turned on the wrong moon, tried anything to break down those bars. He'd been fed like a dog, certain he was going to die like this, and that no one would come for him. And then Roman had been there, like something out of a fucking dream. Undoing the cage, and Peter had launched himself at the upir almost the second the door swung open. Roman had held him until he stopped shaking, told him about the baby, gotten him dressed in clothes too big for him, and let him hold her, let him name her.

An upir breathed him back to life. After that, even Destiny held her tongue about fate lines and dating upir. Things were... almost normal. Peter couldn't have told you when it was that him and Lynda more or less moved in with Roman, but it was at least partially because of the nightmares. The other part was the nightmares. The cage had scarred him, and when he woke up screaming, he needed Roman. He pressed himself into his arms, and held him until his body stopped wanting to shake apart.

It was how the dumb horror movies had started. Curled up together and with Peter unable to get back to sleep, they'd ended up watching Maximum Overdrive, and making dumbshit comments and laughing so loud they almost woke the baby. It had become a thing. A thing that ended with perverted, elderdark sexts that Peter would intentionally try and send when Roman was in a meeting. Roman would send them back. It didn't mean anything.

my skin cant contain my love 4 u

Except that it did, he meant it, in a weird sort of way that only these fucked up terror-infused sexts would really explain. Peter didn't really have the words for it, and that's why he sent it when they were hardly ten feet away from one another. It hardly moments later when his own phone gets hit back with a text and he smiles, shakes his head, tries to brush it off.

He's on edge sexually, though he's doing his best to not look into the why. His skin is flushed, and it's embarrassingly easy to get a rise out of him. One Roman texted him and he ended up jerking off, not that it really helped, simply because it takes so little to have him whimpering with need. It's his shift, he knows it's connected, but he doesn't want to think about it.

He finds himself thinking about that dream he had last week, with him and Roman, Peter on his knees, and finding Roman had tentacles in his pants instead of a cock. It hadn't stopped him; instead his mouth moved between them, jerking with slick fingers, and trying his best. He can't help but wonder what it would be like to get fucked like that, if they'd slither inside of him...

His heart is hammering, his skin hot to the touch, breaths coming shallow as he finally shakes it off enough to finally text Roman back:

whatever parts u got under there, i want them inside me

[blood_kink]

In the seconds after his text chimed into Peter’s phone, he could feel a change in him. He could hear his heart begin to race, his pulse quickening, loud in his ears even across the room. Startled by what he hears, he turned his head again to look and see the cause, and that’s when the pieces all slot into place.

He’s flushed and he knows he’s not embarrassed because, well, this is Peter they’re talking about, Peter who’s just as in your face raunchy as he is half the time. Then his attention skims down Peter’s body and stop at his groin. He’s hard.

Roman’s eyes widen and he wonders if he was hard the last he looked over. He wasn’t, was he? Was the erection what started this, or was it the effect of his last text? He’s barely begun to wonder when his phone chimes.

He can barely manage to pull his open-mouthed attention away from Peter to look at his phone, and suddenly this doesn’t feel like a game anymore. Peter can’t know. He can’t know, can he? If he did, he wouldn’t be sending things like this. He’s got to just be playing along.

But he remembers that dream, that dream that he’d hoped to hell was his alone, with Peter on his knees and not bothered by what he found in his pants. Jerking them and taking them into his mouth in turn like it turned him on… fuck, what if Peter had really been there?

His immediate reaction to that thought is how annoying it is that Peter won’t stay out of his dreams and let him have a simple sex dream in peace but it’s immediately followed with a twisting uncertain hope. Is it possible that Peter really knows and still wants it?

It’s clear he’s aroused, just looking at him. What’s unclear is if he really has a grasp on the situation.

What else is unclear is how the fuck did Peter get that horny that damn fast?

Roman just stares over at him. He’s not texting back after that one. They’re a little bit beyond that. His eyes bore holes into Peter, and it feels like a long time before he says anything.

“…what do you mean ‘whatever parts’?” he asks, trying for casual. Trying to sound like he doesn’t secretly have tentacles and is trying to feel out the situation.

[velveteenwolf]

"I mean exactly what I said. Whatever you've got in your pants. It's not like I've seen your dick."

He talks a little too quickly, but his voice is still light, playful, even as his blue eyes, dark with arousal, look at Roman with too much intensity. He almost leaves it there, but looking at Roman, he can tell that wont cut it. That Roman needs to heard something more, and Peter knows that if this is an issue, he's got to be the one to jump off the bridge. So he shrugs his shoulders.

"I had this dream last week. It felt like one of the ones where you were there with me." He's never admitted that he can tell the difference; when Roman is there, his Swadisthana hums. "You were in it, and I ended up sucking your dicks. You had three of them, except they were.. kinda like tentacles, I guess."

He looks at Roman, and he shrugs his shoulders again. "Point is, I don't care. If I'm a sick fuck, and you just have a big dick, or if you do have three tentacles in your pants."

He swallows, and he's trembling, a low whine in the back of his throat as he tries to look reassuring. "I still want you to fuck me." He looks down, then, like he's not sure if he's said too much. He hadn't really meant to say it outloud, and now it's right there, on his tongue and in the space between them.

"I need you."

[blood_kink]

He still just doesn't know at the first response. It's not like I've seen your dick. It could still be just some joke, and he barely dares to breathe. He can't look away from Peter, blue eyes dark, aroused, intense. Roman's sure that if he keeps looking, keeps staring into his eyes like that he'll provoke the wolf, but he's just as sure that if he looks away he'll miss the lunge.

Then he starts talking about the dream. Roman sets his iPad aside, drops his phone on the sofa, and pushes himself up, sitting perched on the edge of the sofa, legs wide, hands gripping the sofa cushions tight. Peter was in the dream with him. Peter knew he'd been in the dream with him. Could tell the difference. Roman's brow furrows and he wants to say something indignant about why the hell hadn't Peter said something about knowing when the dreams were shared? But he can't, because of what Peter says next. Because he says dicks. Three of them. Tentacles. He knows.

But he doesn't. He doesn't know for sure, that becomes clear, but he also doesn't care. He'd doubt him, question it, but again, that racing pulse and the obvious bulge in his pants aren't lying, and that's doing things to Roman. It's got him aroused, and it's different now than it had been before. Different from Peter. Now, it came slick and with a slow, sinewy motion that begins to grow impatient. Rather than show the outline of an erect cock, there's almost a wriggling.

This, it had been unsettling at first. This change was the least welcome because, well, he'd liked his cock. But he'd quickly decided he liked it. It was more sensitive, more agile, and best of all he found he could get himself off without even using his hands, just letting the three tentacles coil together and work themselves off. He'd decided that when it came to it, he'd just tell potential sex partners that what they saw was a normal cock, force them to see what wasn't there so they wouldn't freak out. But that would never work with Peter because he couldn't impose his will on him, couldn't use that against him.

Apparently, he didn't have to.

Peter's whining and Roman has to close his eyes against the sound. Then he says he still wants Roman to fuck him, and he blinks his eyes open and stares at him.

"Fuck," he breathes. Then he leans back, hands moving over his thighs, inviting him. "Come here, Peter..."

[gypsywolf]

It's a simple request, but it's like it's the thing that Peter has been dying to hear. His body is shaking, and more than anything he just wants to throw himself at Roman. But he doesn't. Instead, he spends a few short moments kicking his jeans to the floor, and pulling his shirt off over his head. Thankfully Peter hated shoes, and wore them as infrequently as possible. He's standing naked, his cock aching, and there's a moment, as he starts closing the distance, where his eyes flash gold through the dark strands of his bangs.

He's across the distance in two bounds of bare feet. And that's when the lunge comes, when his hands catch on Roman's shoulders, and he all but climbs onto him, into his lap, letting his cock press into the other teen's hip. He's breathing heavily and he nestles his head just beneath Roman's collarbone with a low murmur, almost a whimper. He's clinging to him, in what has become a not altogether strange turn of events, but the situation, the reason for it is.

He had seen it. Before he moved, when he'd been watching from across the distance. The way that there wasn't the outline of a cock in Roman's pants, but a wriggling, something almost serpentine. One hand reaches down between their bodies, stroking over Roman's groin, touching, his blue eyes looking up at him, and it's more awe than fear.

"I want you," he breathes it like a secret, like a universal truth. "Want to feel you inside me." Tentacles and all. In the dream, one had been larger than the other two, and while he'd done his best sucking on it, he was a little bit timid about the idea of trying to get it to fit inside of him. He trusted Roman, even if everyone looked at him like it made him a grade-A moron. Roman was different.

He tried to trace the outline of the moving shafts, touch each of them, learn the shape and feel, even through the cloth barrier. His other hand tugged at Roman's shirt, pulling with a lazy grin curving his mouth that was an unspoken request for there to be less clothes involved in this. He wanted Roman naked, he wanted to be naked on top of him, feel those tentacles on bare skin.

Roman's skin was like ice, and it was soothing, the contrast to how Peter was nearly burning.

[blood_kink]

Peter’s heart is beating so hard and so fast that Roman feels like he’ll drown in the sound of his blood rushing. He wants that, too. Not just to sink into him and feel his body tight around him, but to tear into his flesh. To sink his teeth in and spill his blood, and wouldn’t he just pull out the wolf beneath the man? Couldn’t he keep ripping one Peter away and freeing the next one waiting beneath, poised to spring out, blood-soaked and reborn?

Couldn’t he endlessly swallow him down past the point where anyone else could survive, until he’s full of nothing but Peter, senses dull to anything but the taste and scent of the inside of his skin. Roman can’t help but wonder if they’d ever get their fill of each other.

Just imagine what a state the room would be in when they were done, torn flesh and fur and sprays of blood in the wake of their devouring.

And then Peter’s moving across the room towards him, and it’s difficult to pull his mind from the dark, rushing places that it slips to when lulled away by the beating of Peter’s heart. He’s peeling off his clothes and Roman watches, hungry like the wolf that Peter is, eyes bright with it.

There’s that lunge and he’s got a sudden lap full of warm, naked Peter, and he clings right back, cool hands on hot skin feel the rush of veins beneath. Then a hand slips down, warm and insistent against the front of his pants and his eyes flutter shut for a moment, and he’s betraying himself easily. He wants this and there’s no hiding, no point in trying, because there’s only ever been one person he couldn’t hide from, and that’s Peter. Peter, who always knew. Even knew before he did what he was.

His hips shift under the exploration of that hand because he can feel how deliberate it is, can feel that Peter is following the line of each one even as it moves. Now he knows and still wants.

The tug at his shirt is answered quickly as he shrugs it off and gives it a toss carelessly, leaving him bare from the waist up and with Peter looking only at him.

He can feel how much he wants, and Roman answers that want with a hand curling in Peter’s long, messy hair to pull him in for a biting kiss, their mouths crushed together like finally, like there’s no gentle after waiting so long.

[velveteenwolf]

He can feel the hunger that radiates off of Roman, and he accepts it as he always has. It's a part of him, part of what he is. Roman might be darker than Peter can willingly meet him with, but that doesn't change that they're both strange, that they both meet somewhere in the darkness. Sometimes in dreams and sometimes it's more visceral, but it's always Roman.

He shivers as Roman's cool hands catch against his skin, his blue eyes heavily dilated, and he slowly starts to work Roman's pants open. First the button, then the zipper, then fingertips softly touching through his underwear. "I want this, need you," his breath is coming fast while his words come short, and all he can do is lean in, rocking his nude body lightly against Roman. He's shameless and needy, a faint sheen on sweat on his forehead.

He murmurs in appreciation as Roman's shirt comes off, allowing him to lean in so he can press their bare chests together. His head tilts into the pressure of a long, thin-fingered hand as Roman grabs the back of his head, pulling him in for a kiss. Peter's desperation is easy to taste, easy to feel as he whines and whimpers and meets Roman for every bite, takes that bruising pressure like it's what he craves.

Peter doesn't want gentle, it's not what he needs.

[blood_kink]

If he didn't believe the way that Peter had thrown himself at him or his words, that he wanted, needed this, then he would have believed his mouth. The way he surges forward into it says he's just as desperate as Roman, maybe more. He wouldn't have thought that possible, that Peter could want this more, but the way his hands scrabble to get him out of his pants and the whimper lost between their mouths tell a story that he hadn't realized was playing out in Peter. This kind of desperation...

But there's hardly time to think on it, hardly time to even turn it over in his mind, and questions of what's going on beneath the surface slip away and all that's left is Peter and his lips and sharp teeth. Roman's hands pull away from him and move down, help Peter with his pants and then he lifts his hips and pushes pants and underwear down at once. The way they're seated, he can't push them down very far, but it's more than far enough.

He glances down as the tentacles slip free of his clothes and reach for Peter, wetly curling against his body, and then back up at Peter, needing to see his face, see his reaction to this. They're cool against Peter's skin, even though they're just marginally warmer than the rest of him. There's a part of him that's briefly uncertain whether Peter means it, that he wants this, or whether he'll freak out now that he's seen it, now that these slick, deep red tentacles seem to be trying to wrap themselves around anything of Peter that they find. One's rubbing back behind his balls slowly while another moves to coil around his cock. Roman can control them, move them at will, but if he's not actively thinking about them, they'll still move and curl and search for what felt good.

[velveteenwolf]

There's a gasp that turns into an encouraging murmur as Roman's hands join Peter's in trying to remove his pants. Roman is far more graceful about it; lifting his hips and shoving them down, and Peter moves to try and shift so he can get them out from under him a little, expose himself a little more to the wolf's blue eyes. He doesn't flich, doesn't look away. There's a tilt to his head, and it's almost like awe at seeing them for real and not just in their dreams, which are admittedly almost more true than reality some times.

There's a sharp gasp and his body jerks, leaning into it as the tentacles reach for him, curling against him. They're wet and slick, and it sends a shiver down his spine, his face flushed so he almost looks feverish. They're a deep red, like they were in the dream, and Peter can't help how he clings to Roman, flat nails scratching lightly against pale skin as he presses his face into his chest.

"Fuck, Roman, please--" His breath comes as hot as his skin, trailing off into a whimper. His hips rocking softly against how Roman's tentacles touch against his skin, slick and cool and it feels so fucking good that he's not sure he could have stopped this if he wanted to -- which he doesn't.

He reaches down, letting his fingers loosely stroke over his own cock and Roman's tentacle that's curled around it. He's looking into green eyes, breathing heavily and moaning, watching him to see how he responds. He lets his fingers trace over the third, the one that's just wetly touching against his skin, leaving trails on his body, and maybe it's weird, but Peter thinks it's maybe the fucking hottest thing he's ever felt.

"I want you inside me," he breathes, shifting his body, leaning in so he's closer, so he can give the tentacles better access. "I need, you, need everything, please Roman--" The heat is building inside of him, and it just makes him more desperate, more needy. He's squirming in the upir's lap, but he's just trying to get closer.

[blood_kink]

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.

[velveteenwolf]

Peter has dreams of jellyfish the color of sunsets that swim through galaxies of stars, blood that spills silver from his own fingertips. On full moons his bones crack and he sheds his flesh and his skin and devours it. He's never been the sort of be pushed away by weird. Pain, expectation, connections, feelings -- those are the things that chase him away, and Roman's slid in under that. He saved him, and after that, Peter had no defenses, no ability to keep him at arm's length.

And maybe Peter likes the weird, because seeing them ran a shiver through his body, and fuck, but feeling them is even better. They're slick and cool and his body is so hot it feels like the best thing in the world. He whimpers, whines, can't help how he pleads to be touched, for Roman to give him what he needs. It's obvious, even if Peter can't help but say it. He's never been good at please, but right now it keeps tumbling from his tongue.

Roman's enough. Maybe more than enough. He needs him, even if he doesn't know how to put those feelings into words. Begging for the sexuality, for the ability to feel Roman inside of him is the closest that he can get. He gasps, his blue eyes wide as Roman catches his lean body by the hips, holding him close as Peter's legs spread to give the upir what access he needed to give the wolf in his lap more.

His breath comes out in a stuttered shiver as the slick tentacle slips up between his thighs, a low moan as one of Roman's slender fingers rubs over the opening. And then the tentacle is there. Slick and firm and slithering in slowly. His head fell back, hair falling down his back as he shifted, slowly, uncertainly pressing back against the tentacle pressed into his body.

If Roman was perceptive, he might pick up on that jittery uncertainty in Peter. He'd never done this before. Not just with the tentacles, but at all. He'd never wanted this before, never been willing to be like this with someone.

[blood_kink]

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.

[velveteenwolf]

Peter moans, leaning in, trying to muffle sound into the other boy's skin, but it doesn't entirely work. It twists so it's almost a sob when it presses against his insides. He's fooled around with toys a bit with Letha, but this is different. The way it slithers, feels like it touches every inch of his insides with quiet intention. He can feel the second one touching against his entrance, not forcing it, but just a soft reminder that there's two more, and that right now Peter has just one of the smaller ones inside of him.

It makes his head spin a little, unsure if he can take it, if he can actually fit all three inside of him. He's getting ahead of himself, but he wants it. There's so much heat inside of him, and he wants Roman to fix it. He wants Roman to fill him, give him all of it until he's so full he can't possibly still ache with this craving.

He's moving after cool hands touch against the low of his back, his hips. He murmurs breathily in response to that soft-spoke command. It's not reinforced with the power of his eyes, but it has that quality of insistence spoken by someone accustomed to being obeyed. Peter's leaning in, rocking a little, shyly, even as there's that tension in him, nerves that haven't quite settled.

There's finally a stuttered exhale, arms wrapping loosely around Roman's shoulders and Peter goes nearly boneless. He presses soft, clumsy kisses to Roman's collarbone, breath coming in soft gasps.

"I want all of it," he breathes, even though he doesn't even know how that would work, if it's possible, just that he wants.

[blood_kink]

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.