Chapter Text
There were many things in the world that hid from human eye; monsters masquerading as humans and myths of their existence being just a story. Something that shouldn’t exist, something that didn’t exist. Something you read about in fairytales, ghost stories and see in midnight, B-movie horror flicks. For all its lack of existence there was still a great deal of knowledge surrounding the supernatural. Legends, sightings and stories, but lurking in the dark behind all of these great monsters was science. Whether it was the notion of infection, the belief of curses that carry on to other generations, there was usually some degree of science involved in some way or another.
Lycanthropy was no different. It could be said that it’s existence could be disproven by science, that it was an illness that effected the mind and the body. But science could not explain how a man could rip free from his own prison of flesh and walk the world on four, furry limbs. It could, however, dictate its biology. Lycanthropy wasn’t entirely a curse, it was a genetic mutation. It was steeped in the world of things that were more mythic than scientific but it was a mutation nonetheless. Mutation as it might have been, all things at one point were mutations, and all of those things still had the desire to procreate. Human as they might appear their genetic code held a different set of rules.
Though it had no name in the past when the belief of lycanthropy was fresh and new, the genetic code of each werewolf was the same. There was a piece of it that could activate at any age after thirteen, on any day, that told them to breed. From dawn until dusk unless they finally gave in and mated, or more commonly, masturbated until it stopped. Because werewolves were rare as it was the information was not widely spread as it didn’t happen to everyone; there was just a chance that it could.
Peter was one of the unlucky few who suffered from this condition. It started when he was fourteen and had plagued him three more times since then like a curse that sometimes seemed far worse than ripping out of his own skin every month. That was just pain and it was over quickly. This was a different kind of agony. A desperation so intense that he felt it might drive him mad one day and he would not come out of it the next day with any sanity.
The fourth time it happened was very inopportune. Tragedy had befallen them with the kidnapping of Miranda and Nadia. Peter had been spending most of his time at Roman’s in his guest bedroom out of fear of what he might do if left alone. He wasn’t going to run this time. He had nowhere to run to, and he couldn’t let Roman go through tragedy again like last time. He’d lost the last piece of Letha he had, not to mention Miranda. The woman he, or rather they, loved dearly. It wasn’t a time to leave and it certainly wasn’t the time to be writhing in agony in bed for a whole day. He could only pray the morning it started that he could get it to stop before Roman came home.
He slept most of the day to try to ignore the fact that it was happening, only waking to attempt going through the motions of trying to piss with an erection because even a breeze would make him hard. So every time he ended up in the bathroom he didn’t leave until he’d jerked off enough to come, so he could at least get back to the bedroom and sleep without the incessant painful nagging of an erection. If there was one thing good about all of Roman’s help dying a few weeks prior it was that he could be alone in his pain without having to worry about making too much noise.
But of course he couldn’t be alone forever, and Roman wouldn’t be away until the next day. He shouldn’t have been surprised by what inevitably ended up transpiring when he awoke late in the day in such agony that he had to do something about it then and there. He was stripped down to his boxers due to the fact that he felt like he was on fire but he had given up on the fact that he’d be wearing them much longer. He had nothing to clean himself up with, nor did he feel like dealing with having to clean the sheets. He was just desperate enough to use them as a receptacle for the time being.
He reached between his legs, beneath the mess of sheets tangled around his hips to at least give him some semblance of privacy even if he was alone. Gentle as he tried to be with himself it was painful. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been hard exactly but he was desperate to not be anymore. He merely palmed the outside of his boxers, rolling his hips against his hand to get some kind of rhythm, so that he wouldn’t make a mess anywhere else. How long was it going to be until this happened again, though? What would he use then? He could presumably use them again in a different manner but the thought was sort of gross. This thought was fleeting as getting off was really one of the only things on his mind at the moment. He had barely even eaten anything. Trying to just made him sick.
It didn’t take him long to near that peak. He knew the reason for this; knew the reason for the entire thing. He was lucky enough to have a family member like Destiny to tell him shit he didn’t understand. It was awkward as hell of course but she didn’t seem to think so. Destiny was shameless in that aspect. He knew that this was meant for breeding; to get off as many times as he could would only ensure more of a chance to continue his bloodline. But Peter was a guy with no woman to impregnate in his time of need and his hand had to be good enough. Still, his body couldn’t exactly differentiate from his hand and pussy.
He had to bite down on his lip to stifle the noise as he came because he felt like he might have heard some movement downstairs. He was not entirely quiet, a muffled groan slipping past the barrier. He was sated for nearly two seconds until he was both surprised and terrified.
“That’s a really weird way to jerk off,”
His eyes shot open in surprise and he did what he could to cover himself even though he was technically decent. He heard Roman laugh at this spectacle but it was only half-hearted.
“Jesus Christ, fucking privacy man, God!” Peter let out a huff of annoyance and bunched the sheets around his middle as he sat up, annoyed that Roman’s mere presence was making him hard again. Everyone had known to give him his space the last two times it had happened. He’d never actually been in the presence of someone else and it was taking all he could to not jump him right now. “How long have you been standing there? And what the fuck do you want?”
“Long enough. Is this all you do when I’m gone?”
“No,” Peter huffed out, trying to avert his gaze not only from embarrassment but he wasn’t sure what would happen if he kept looking at him. “What did you want?”
“Fuck if I remember. Probably wasn’t important.”
“Then fuck off,” Peter growled, sitting up in preparation to shoo him out but the shift in position not only made him dizzy but incredibly aroused. The sheets brushed against his groin and sent the mildest of shockwaves into his abdomen but it still made him double over and let out one of the most pathetic sounding whimpers he’d ever made. Like a kicked puppy, perhaps.
Roman seemed like he was about to retort but found it best to drop it. He wasn’t like himself lately, and that was understandable. That mild bit of banter he’d given him moments ago was one of the rare moments Roman actually seemed more or less human. He turned to leave but Peter found himself calling out to him, mentally wanting to kick himself for even saying anything.
“Wait…,” he said, and Roman looked at him inquisitively, waiting for an answer. An answer he had to give because he’d already started it. It was his full intention to tell him to forget it but what ended up coming out was “I really need your help.”
“Okay…but you’re going to have to give me more than that.”
“Look,” Peter started, swallowing and trying to stop himself from opening flood gates that really needed to remain closed. Because he was definitely about to complicate things if he didn’t keep his mouth shut. But it was hard to think straight when his mind was so preoccupied with the desperate feeling in his groin.
“I can’t explain this to you right now but I’m going out of my fucking mind and …I really need you to fuck me right now, or find someone who can, because I can’t take this anymore.” As he spoke it was strained, like his lungs constricted on every word and it was almost a growl. It was desperate and he was nearly at the point of crying as he finished speaking. It was clear that some change had taken place. He could see just by looking at him that Roman knew something wasn’t right. That maybe even had he not been gripped by depression he might not joke about this.
“And if-…If you can’t help me you need to leave, because I don’t know what I’ll do to you if you don’t.”
Had his mind not been so consumed by the thought of procreation, Peter would have felt much worse. He was basically threatening him, or maybe it was more of a warning. Regardless this was an awful time for this to happen. He shouldn’t be trying to coerce his friend into bed after he’d just lost his niece (or whatever she was to him). He would understand, on any other day, if Roman declined him just based on that fact. But he couldn’t think of that right now. True logic was something he was lacking when his mind was consumed by the fog of fucked up biology.
But what he didn’t know was that asking Roman for this favor was even worse than he could have imagined. Because he wouldn’t decline; he couldn’t. What Roman saw in him, the moment he walked in, was something else. Something that was far past logic and reason; something animal. It scared the shit out of him and Roman needed Peter with him. He didn’t need some creature that was just one step up from a vargulf. He didn’t want to fuck this up and have him leave. Aside from Shelley, Peter was truly the only thing he had left. Sex wasn’t something he was exactly feeling up to. It wasn’t something that had been on his mind, as it was too clouded by thoughts of his daughter, but this was far more than just sex.
He truly had no idea what was going on with Peter other than it seemed as though he was slowly losing himself. For all he knew, he might not come back. Sacrifices had to be made and Roman found it far simpler to do it himself than to involve people he didn’t know in their shit. Prostitute or not, he didn’t want to bring someone back to his home. Still the entire ordeal left him without words. He gave Peter nothing more than a vague hand gesture and headed off into the house.
For a moment it filled Peter with despair. It seemed like Roman was blowing him off. Okay, that was fine. He just had to forget that he was in the house. Maybe he could jerk off again and fall asleep and forget that he’d ever said something so unbelievably stupid. But he had been introduced to something now that he’d never known; just how it felt to be around someone in such a state. It made the need so much stronger and he almost didn’t think he could take care of it himself anymore. He leaned forward enough so that he could lay against the sheets, which now seemed so hot and stifling he almost couldn’t breathe.
He was so lost in his own head, which was actually nothing more than just a buzz of desperation, he didn’t notice that Roman had returned. It was only when he felt a hand on his shoulder, feeling far cooler to him than his own skin due to how hot he was despite the fact that Roman was more or less a normal human temperature. It startled him and he found himself sitting up suddenly to find Roman looking slightly worried.
“I’ve been calling you for at least a minute,” he said. “Do you have a fever or something? You feel like you’re burning up.”
Peter shook his head, though he wasn’t really sure what he would call his vastly increased body temperature. It wasn’t technically a fever, or any kind of illness.
“No,” Peter said, “I-I don’t know.” He was incredibly confused, and even the simplest statements took some thought. “I thought you left.”
“To get this,” Roman said, very briefly flashing him the bottle of lube he was carrying. He was doing just what Peter asked, and he was not at all disappointed. “I don’t know if you can understand me but …you look horrible. And I really appreciate that you’ve stuck around as much as you have and I can’t let you sit here and go through this. You gotta come back to me.”
Peter nodded, getting the basic gist of it and feeling his heart nearly stop when Roman sat in front of him on the bed. So close; so fucking close and Peter wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off him in a minute.
“I’m so sorry…” he breathed, finding now that respiration was something far less important to him now than sex.
“It’s fine, whatever.” Roman responded. “Just don’t make this weird. I do this and then we forget about it. Okay?”
“Yeah,” Peter said with a very brief nod. Truthfully it wasn’t like they hadn’t shared a bed before, but there was something missing now that made the whole situation more taboo. There was nothing to bridge the gap; to make a comfortable distance between them. Nothing to absorb the shock. He knew Roman in ways most friends could say they didn’t, and they shouldn’t, but at the moment he was willing to take it a lot further.
Roman was nervous; he sat there for a few seconds and it was clear he wasn’t quite sure what to do. His movements were jittery and he wasn’t sure where to place his gaze. To Peter’s surprise he made the first move and took away some of the responsibility.
Roman grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him forward, kissing him with a calculated precision that was both hard and tentative. It was all that Peter needed for that switch that stopped him from touching him to be flipped, and there was no going back. He gripped the side of Roman's face and held him there as he kissed him hard, breathing deep and audibly through his nose. He smelled like expensive cologne and he tasted like iron and a bit like cigarette ash. It wasn't what he was used to but that somehow made it all the more enticing.
He felt like a girl and if he weren't so desperate to get fucked he might want Roman to blow him because his mouth was perfect for it. A girl who tasted like and embodied all the evil things in this world that hid beneath the surface of reality and held a scent so foreign and yet so familiar. He lamented the feel of his mouth as he pulled away suddenly, eyes black pits of desire and lips so beautifully kiss swollen he couldn't wait to taste them again.
He took in a sharp gasp as Roman suddenly shoved him hard against the headboard to pull the sheets away from him and grip his thighs to guide them around his waist. It was a bit of an awkward position but he could work with it. He needed to touch him; to kiss him again and get back that missing puzzle piece. He reached for his shirt to slip his hands beneath the fabric until Roman grabbed both of them and pinned his arms above him to the wall as he leaned in to kiss him, using the wall to support him. It was torture; he wanted to touch but he couldn't. He was pinned and vulnerable and God it was driving him insane.
Roman shifted his hips beneath him and Peter was forced to press his against him. He couldn't quite get the right angle and it was frustrating but it was enough to feel good, and he breathed out a moan into his mouth. He found he’d had enough with being pinned down and urged Roman to move by pushing his knee beneath his ribs until he got the hint. He backed away suddenly, releasing him and looking almost confused.
“Fuck…” he breathed out, as he struggled to catch his breath. “Sorry I just…didn’t know how much I wanted something like this. It’s kind of overwhelming, I got kind of carried away.”
“Something like this?” Peter asked, for the moment having the presence of mind to ask what he meant.
“Sex, I mean. I haven’t...” he stalled, “Not since Miranda. I didn’t think I wanted it but I do.” He avoided his gaze now as he spoke but Peter could still see how blown his pupils were, and how hard he was beneath him. He definitely wasn’t backing down. “I mean in general. Not with you.”
“Thanks,” Peter said sarcastically. “Don’t do that again unless I ask for it.”
“I’ll try not to,”
Roman placed his hands on Peter’s hips, his fingers griping at the waistband of his boxers to pull them down and slowly expose the skin beneath. The position was awkward; it took a little longer than he’d have liked but he ended up naked eventually. Roman was able to undress without moving him too much, which Peter might have been more impressed with had this been any different.
“How much have you done this?” Roman asked, running one of his thumbs along the skin of his hip.
“Fucked someone?” Peter asked, in his mind the only thing he could think to clarify.
“No…I mean jerked off, you. Your dick looks like someone took sandpaper to it.”
It was clearly an exaggeration; true it did look chafed but not that badly. Then again, someone could punch him in the face and he might not acknowledge the pain right now.
“I lost count,” he replied shamelessly. He had a feeling he was going to regret everything he’d done and said the minute this was over with. Very deep in the back of his mind he could imagine he’d probably have to end up moving back to Destiny’s from the shame and awkwardness of it all.
Roman did not respond, instead gripping him hard by the hips and both sliding out from under him and pulling him down the bed slightly further, so that he was leaned comfortably against the pillows and not forced into a sitting position. He could see some hesitation in him, like maybe he was starting to see that this was a really stupid idea. A really fucking stupid idea that Peter should have had the strength to not suggest.
“You want me to fuck you, right? Actually fuck you?”
He only nodded, and this was enough consent apparently, as he grabbed the lube from where it’d been kicked to the side of the bed and poured a generous amount onto his fingers, slipping his hand between his legs with purpose and calculated movement. It was cold and wet but it quickly warmed from the amount of heat his body was putting off, and it didn’t take long for his body to relax enough so that Roman could get one of his fingers in.
He knew what he was doing, more or less. Not with men but he’d been there when Roman had fucked Miranda with him. It was a memory that, he was ashamed to admit, sort of turned him on even when he wasn’t in such a state. He remembered her sitting against his lap, buried in the heat of her body and the sudden tightening as Roman slid into her from behind, and he could feel him between that thin membrane that separated the two of them. He had not actually seen him prep her, but he was assuming he must have, given that there wasn’t much resistance. But he remembered feeling him so close. Something so sinful, something you shouldn’t ever feel with a friend. Shouldn’t be able to map out the shape of your friends cock by the way it feels in the girl you’re fucking.
But Roman had his fingers in him now; actually in him, not just close to him. It filled him with a buzz of arousal, his whole body alight and his nerves so sensitive he could probably come from this alone. It took him a moment for him to realize Roman was trying to speak to him.
“Peter!” he shouted, which finally got his attention.
“What?” he said, in a sort of unhappy whine that made him sound like being spoken to was the worst of offenses.
“You checked out,” Roman said. “Like you were in some weird fucking trance. I just wanted to make sure you were still here.”
“I’m here, I just-…” he trailed off, feeling his mind started to become overwhelmed by his current affliction again and short circuited. Roman brought him back, but not in the way he expected. He pushed his fingers against his prostate, probably not as hard as it felt but it brought him back to reality nonetheless. It was probably an accident but fuck if it didn’t feel good.
His breath caught in his throat momentarily before he realized he was coming, and he stifled himself by biting down on his fist, the fear of being caught still somehow engrained in his psyche despite the fact that the only person who would catch him was there with him. Roman let out a sudden noise of surprise, probably unsure of what he’d just done or why.
“Uh...do you…should I stop?” Roman asked.
“No,” Peter said, finding it difficult to speak. “For now,” For the moment he was sated, as sated as he could be, and there was the realization of what he was doing now. How embarrassing it was for him to try to talk to him, because he still coming, probably all over him with the way it seemed to be dripping out of him more like water than anything with volume.
“It happens…A f-fucking lot,”
He was ashamed of the way he struggled to speak and the way his lungs and his abdomen contracted around every word, and just how vulnerable he was right now. Showing Roman things he should never show him, letting him into a world he had no part of being in. As he finally started to come down the moment of shame diminished to the point where he had no problem with begging.
“Just fuck me,” he said breathlessly.
“Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t notice if you punched me in the face right now, you can tear me apart for all I care; just fuck me before I lose my fucking mind.”
Roman didn’t answer him but he seemed to understand, and Peter merely waited for what he knew would probably be painful but at the moment he didn’t care. He laid heavily against the pillows beneath him, one arm splayed out beside him as he closed his eyes, to try to calm himself. To stop from jumping him and forcing himself on him with enough desperation that he would probably end up doing himself a lot of harm. Instead he gripped onto the pillow to ground himself. He listened to the silence of the room, to his own breathing, to the humming sound of the A/C somewhere off in the distance. Roman’s house was always painfully silent.
He felt the bed shift beneath him and the way his heart picked up speed in reaction. He opened his eyes finally as Roman gripped both of his thighs and wound them around his waist, and he could feel the slickness of his cock somewhere along the side of his leg and inner hip. He watched as Roman slipped his hand between the both of them, gripping his cock to try to steady it; watching with a look of concentration as he tried to line up with him. He did, but his body did not relent quite the way he wanted it to. He experienced a moment of clarity; perhaps the realization he was finally getting what he wanted brought him back to the real world and he could feel everything; really feel everything.
It wasn’t just pleasure, it was pain. On one hand he was practically begging for it but his body was doing what it needed to; to fight off intrusion and Roman could not get in. It was so fucking frustrating, and Peter thought he’d probably punch himself later for the annoyed whine he gave out when he realized it wasn’t working. Roman took this as a sign to stop but Peter wouldn’t let him, instead wrapping his thighs around his hips as tightly as he could and pulling him forward.
“Jesus fuck, Peter.” Roman groaned out between gritted teeth, relentlessly forced into him despite his body’s insistence that this was wrong. When it started to give way it only made him more insistent, and he shifted his hips up, bearing down with his muscles and pushing him forward until finally he was finally opened up enough that Roman actually could continue.
The both of them cried out in unison; one in relief and the other in sudden pleasure. He waited for Roman to compose himself, released his hold on his hips and waited, his breath labored and his entire body feeling like it was vibrating. It felt like it took forever for Roman to move, but when he did it made Peter more desperate. He shifted his hips up again, back arched slightly and his fingers gripping what they could of thee sheets, a silent plea begging him to go deeper. He watched as Roman held his breath, concentration evident in his form as he pushed as deep as he could go before he let it out, shuddering and labored.
The upir leaned forward, using one arm to brace himself and the other to run through Peter’s hair. He was practically nose to nose with him, the scent of ash and blood filling his nostrils as Roman breathed against him.
“This is a stupid fucking idea,” he said suddenly.
“Yes,” Peter responded, “It’s fucking stupid, but please don’t stop.”
“I won’t,” Roman responded. “I just want you to know it’s stupid.”
Peter could not have known the reasoning behind this statement, as it was far deeper and more complicated than he could currently comprehend. The moment Roman sheathed himself, deep inside a heat hotter and tighter than he could imagine, there was a moment in the back of his head that said this would be the death of him. This, here, was his mistake. He would look back on it one day and remember how much he’d fucked up. Because here he was, wrapped up in something so fucking ethereal, so special, that he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to go back. How could he come back from this? Could he truly pretend this hadn’t happened? Could he lie to himself and tell him he didn’t enjoy it?
Because it was so fucking taboo that he only craved it more. Roman was collected, as he could be. He was the thing that hid in the shadows, that smelled of blood and fear and evil. He was ugly, broken, evil and completely fucked. Peter was good; he was wild. He was the thing that smelled of the Earth, and the embodiment of the wind in your hair when you drove with the top down. He was wild, he was inhuman, animal, fucking beautiful. He was everything Roman wasn’t. So incompatible, from such different worlds. That’s why it was so taboo, because the both of them were so different they could never truly find happiness like this. He didn’t deserve Peter and he never would. He didn’t deserve him as more than a friend, if he even deserved him as a friend at all. He was almost no different than cocaine and Roman was terrified he might get addicted.
When Peter kissed him, after moments of Roman doing nothing but staring at him and feeling sorry for himself, he was broken from his trance of self-pity if only for a moment. He could get wrapped up in this if only for a moment. But this was not Peter’s intention. He of course knew nothing of this internal struggle and only kissed him because he felt he had to. Like he was on fire, and his lips burned and tingled, begging to kiss someone; to kiss the person who’d given him mercy. It was all Roman was at the moment and in his moments where he could think, Peter felt like shit. He was only using him. He would destroy him in this moment, body and soul if he had to, to get what he wanted.
He gripped him by the hair, held his face as he kissed him. He shifted his hips in desperation, kissing him like he didn’t need air and begging for more. He wanted him so much, in so many ways. He wanted to take, to take all he could. Drain him to nothing and then some, fuck him until there was nothing left. Lycanthropy was truly a terrible affliction, if not just what it did to the body, but at this point, to the mind. This was not Peter, this was a monster.
“Please…” he breathed, breaking away finally and mumbling against his lips. Wordlessly, Roman complied, pulling out just far enough so that he could push back in. It was gentle, barely there but Peter still breathed out what was almost a sob, more so from relief than anything. Roman worked himself into a rhythm and Peter worked back, meeting his shallow thrusts and tilting his hips so that he came closer to his prostate each time. He still only brushed it but for the moment it was enough.
The more they continued, the less Roman forgot about being gentle. He pushed one of thighs against his chest, driving in as deep as he could with every thrust. Not that he wanted Roman that deep but there was a certain type of thrill about it. It was almost painful, it was rough and it was purely at this point for Roman’s pleasure, but Peter didn’t care. He wanted this, and in the back of his mind something was begging to make Roman come in him. But with one thrust, that changed things, because it was unexpectedly painful and caused him to give out a pained cry that stopped Roman in his tracks.
“Fuck…Did I hurt you?”
“Kind of…you’re too deep.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I didn’t care. Go shallower, go up.”
Roman did as he asked, and with the angle of his own pelvis his he finally hit him where he wanted. He gasped sharply, cursed beneath his breath and gripped the back of Roman’s neck, his other hand meeting his shoulder. He felt the need to hold on because every time he thrust into him he felt like he was coming apart. He dug his nails into Roman’s skin, heard him groan out in agony and pleasure before he silenced himself by lowering his head and sucking welts into his neck. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, but he knew this wouldn’t be the last time he came either. And good lord, he was fucking loud. Loud and ashamed, he muffled himself with the back of his hand because he was still somehow worried someone would hear.
Roman wasn’t too keen on this, and he grabbed his wrist and pushed it to the bed, kissing him and breathing in every moan and gasp until he felt satisfied to kiss down his jaw. He gripped his jaw, tilting his head back, sucking welts into the other side of his neck until he did more than just suck, he bit him. He bit him fucking hard and it hurt. It was no surprise that Roman was a biter. He remembered watching him nip at Miranda’s neck but he never bit this hard.
“Fucking asshole!” Peter shouted, grabbing his hair and pulling. Roman all but growled at him and sunk down further, and Peter knew he was bleeding. He could feel it dripping down his shoulder, and he could feel teeth in his neck and the skin giving way beneath them. It hurt but it was almost erotic.
“Stop it!” he said, this time with far more authority, pulling his hair again until he finally stopped. He pulled away, looking annoyed but almost guilty. Peter wasn’t sure what drove him to do it but he gathered the blood forming at his neck on his thumb, pressing it against Roman’s lips which he eagerly took.
He sucked away the blood like a man starved, then sunk his teeth into his finger but not enough to do damage. He pulled away, smearing the blood down his lips, reveling in the way they parted, swollen and wet with spit and blood. The way he breathed against him, heavy but higher in pitch. When he looked him in the eye Peter lost it, he came suddenly and hard. He was sure he drew blood with the way his nails sunk into Roman’s skin, crying out broken moans as he painted his stomach white. He watched Roman’s eyelids flutter momentarily, teeth sinking into his lips as he looked down and stopped only momentarily. He was glad he didn’t have to tell Roman to keep going.
He kept fucking him and it was almost like he never stopped coming. Physically he did, but he was so oversensitive that it was mind blowing until he finally started to calm down. Still, he craved it. Knew it wasn’t enough; not yet. But he knew Roman couldn’t last much longer and he only prayed that he could keep going just long enough.
“If you come now I’m gonna kick your ass,” Peter breathed out. “You better find a way to keep going.”
“I’m fucking trying,” Roman ground out, and he stopped momentarily, leaning his head against Peter’s shoulder. He could feel how close he was; physically feel him. He could feel it in the way his cock pulsed inside of him that he was barely hanging on by a thread.
“Don’t,” he threatened. “I swear to God…”
“Shut up,” Roman said, his tone sharp, quick and bitter. It seemed the need had abated and he let out a heavy breath. “I can’t…I can’t do this much longer,”
“Then make me come,” Peter threatened, or he tried, but it came out as a desperate whine. “I don’t care what you have to do, just do it.”
“You’re real fucking high maintenance,” Roman growled, reaching between the two of them and gripping his cock with purpose. It hurt; he was right, it was chafed, but he didn’t care. He used the copious amounts of come that had soaked the both of them as lubricant before tilting his hips up as far as he could and fucking him hard in time with the way he jerked his cock.
Peter didn’t ever think he’d truly been fucked that hard before. It felt good; it felt so fucking good it hurt. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t even speak. It felt like getting kicked in the prostate and it was too much. He almost wanted to tell him to stop but the only thing he could get out were broken moans, breathless and sharp as they left his lungs. It didn’t long at all for Roman to make him come again, but this time it was different. He had never come this hard in his life. There was something so mind blowing about it that he lost track of reality for a moment until he realized Roman wasn’t moving. He couldn’t move; he was physically stuck, because his muscles had tightened around him in an unrelenting grip that was preventing him from doing anything.
“Holy fuck,” Roman cursed, burying his face in Peter’s neck and holding him like he was breaking apart, and Peter did the same, because he was almost barely present and he, too, needed something to ground himself to reality.
He listened to Roman’s broken, shuddering moans as he finally came in him, and he had the feeling that this was something new for him too. That there was a strange and new intensity that neither of them had ever experienced. Something neither of them would ever experience again. Something that was beyond just sex, it was the strangeness of biology. Of werewolf mating; his body had actively been trying to take in semen. It was apparently confused at his gender because this would do nothing in the long run.
But apparently this was enough for his body to realize it was done torturing him with sexual frustration. The final time he came down from one hell of an orgasm, he did so to find Roman very rapidly exiting the room. That was when the shame hit. He felt as though he’d done irreparable damage. That he’d shown Roman a side of him that he would much rather have kept locked up. It was a side of him that even he didn’t know he had because this had never happened before.
He knew what had happened wasn’t entirely his fault, but he wished that his mind would have at least blocked out the thoughts he’d had during it. Instead he remembered everything. He remembered the thought of hurting Roman, to take everything he had. He couldn’t fathom how that thought could ever make sense in a time that wasn’t dominated by a desperate arousal. Was he any better than a rapist at this point? Had he coerced Roman to his bed, with no care for his feelings?
But he remembered that Roman did this willingly. He told him to walk away, he told him that he wasn’t sure what he’d do. He was eternally grateful that he’d broken this spell biology held over him but he was also guilty. In some way he knew that this wasn’t just sex for the both of them. He felt disgusting, mentally and physically. He was an asshole and covered in lube and the slickness of his own fluids. His body was too weak and heavy to move, and he was almost content to lay here and fall asleep so that he could hate himself in the morning for allowing this to happen.
To his surprise, Roman entered once again not much different than how he had left. He was slightly cleaner but his face still held the slight stain of blood, and his hair was mussed. He was carrying a wet rag but Peter was far more interested in what he didn’t have; clothes. It was bizarre to him because Roman never let his guard down like this for him. He had seen him naked before, in the throes of passion and aroused, but he had never seen him like this. He had never taken notice of a form that was natural and innocent, and surprisingly uncut. That was something he could’ve gone without knowing. Not that it bothered him, as he was too, but it was strange. He wouldn’t have put it past Olivia to mutilate Roman before he could even function.
Roman unceremoniously tossed the rag at him and fidgeted slightly where he stood before making the move to leave. He could have been wrong, but Peter saw hesitation. Roman didn’t want to leave. Not that he wanted to stay with Peter specifically, but he knew Roman was lonely. He knew he went to bed alone every night and didn’t actually sleep until late, because he heard him walking around sometimes in the wee hours of the morning in silence. That he was probably wound so tight he was about to snap. Peter knew that if he said nothing Roman would go back to his room that night, and he would do the same thing as always.
He knew what he was about to ask would probably be met with a no, or further complicate things, but after what he’d done he thought he owed it to Roman to give him some company at least once.
“Don’t,” Peter said. “Don’t leave.”
“Seriously?” Roman asked. His tone was full of what sounded like disgust, but he knew it was only there to mask the fact that he truly sounded hopeful and confused.
“Yeah. I hate kicking girls out of bed,”
“Fuck you,” Roman said with a soft laugh and stalled for a moment before heading over to the bed. He sat as far as he could from Peter, covering himself with the blanket and avoiding looking at any part of him. Peter was grateful for this because he didn’t want Roman watching him while he cleaned himself off. It was all but graceful and in all honesty probably gross. He threw the rag into a hamper at the corner of the room, but he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to use it again as it was covered in blood, lube, and come.
“What happened to not making this weird?” Roman finally asked.
“It’s already weird. We can’t make it any weirder.”
He pulled the blanket over himself in silence, staring at the ceiling and finding that maybe Roman being here was weirder. It was awkward, like there was an elephant in the room that you couldn’t talk about being there. He just wished Roman would stop sitting there. That he’d speak to him, however weird that might make it.
He finally did the minute Peter closed his eyes, laying down next to him and facing him without actually looking at him.
“At the risk of making shit weirder….what the fuck,” Roman asked, though the way he said it sounded more like a statement.
Peter only groaned, running a hand over his face as he dreaded trying to explain this.
“It happens to us,” Peter said. “I mean to werewolves, but only to some of us. Lucky fucking me,” he mumbled. “It’s like some primal urge to mate. It drives us crazy until it finally wears off.”
“So if I hadn’t…helped you,” Roman trailed off, hoping his message was clear enough.
“I don’t know. People usually know to stay away but…every time it happens, I’m never sure if I’m going to come out of it with my head intact. But I’ve never been around a person before and that’s the worst it’s ever been.”
Roman didn’t respond to this, and he fell silent again for a long while, until the sun began to set fully and darkness began to settle over the room like a thick blanket.
“Sorry about your neck,” he said finally, just as Peter had begun to fall into sleep.
Peter let out a soft laugh as he spoke “Sorry about your dick.”
It was Roman’s surprised chuckle that Peter heard as he drifted off to sleep, but it was something very different that awoke him. He wasn’t sure what was happening at first until the presence of something hot and wet pressing against him, and the sound of a very repetitive noise startled him, and he made a noise of surprise and attempted to jerk away from whatever it was before he realized it was Roman. It seemed to startle the both of them and Roman’s gut reaction was to flee, and though half-awake Peter grabbed him by the first thing he could reach to still him until he could assess just what the fuck was happening. Sleep addled as his mind might have been, he realized that for whatever reason Roman had been using him to cry on.
Peter was bad with this kind of thing. He was bad at giving comfort, bad at making things better when he knew there was nothing he could do, so he did the only thing he could think of. He forced him back down to the bed and pulled him close, so that his head was resting against his collar-bone. Roman fought him for a moment until he finally gave up, and wrapped his arms around his back and cried harder than he’d ever heard him do. It wasn’t surprising to Peter. He knew Roman was suffering and he didn’t find it strange, and he thought that maybe Roman might do this in private. Or maybe he had truly broken after fighting for so long to keep up a front that was calm and collected. He was always alone, and Peter had never given him such closeness as he had tonight. Maybe that glimpse of companionship was all Roman really needed to realize just how lonely he was and how much he needed someone but was too afraid to ask.
Peter truly wasn’t the best person for this; he was emotionally unavailable where it counted but he could be there as much as he could, when he could, if he could. He accepted this, but what was truly weird was how Roman, a person who was exponentially taller than him, could feel so small and fragile. Even with how much he could feel of him; the way his leg slotted between Pete’s thighs, maybe a little too far for his comfort, and the way that even resting against him he was nearly enveloping him. But still, Roman felt small.
He wouldn’t ask what the problem was. Roman could tell him when he wanted, if he wanted, but for now he stayed like this until Roman fell asleep. It was already weird, why not make it weirder?
