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you and roman work well together. it’s fucked up, but it works.
he doesn’t have a moral compass (never even pretended to have it), and yours is somewhat questionable at best, at least when it comes to him. with anyone else, you’d probably draw the line somewhere. but roman doesn’t believe in lines. he believes in pushing until something breaks, and you… well, you’ve always been a little too willing, too happy, to let him.
he’s probably the funniest person you’ve ever met, in that specific, deranged way that keeps you watching him instead of any other person or anything happening around you, hanging on his half-muttered commentary, snorting when you shouldn’t, and he knows it. roman drinks it in every time your shoulders shake, and every laugh you give him is stuck in his fucked up brain, boosting his ego.
you are touch-starved, and he is hands-on, greedy even, happy to grab your waist like he owns it, put his fingers in your hair or your mouth, cuddle you and bury his face in the crook of your neck and stay there for hours.
and when he’s not trying to make you laugh or fuse himself together with you into one mutated roman-you monster, when something real cuts into him like work or family, and he comes home twitchy, angry, feeling small and wanting to bite at something just to feel in control of things again, you let him, like now.
he’s standing above you, perfectly tailored slacks still on but tugged down so he can have his cock out. his shirt is untucked, sleeves rolled sloppily to his elbows, showing off his forearms, tie hanging loose around his neck like he yanked at it once in frustration and then forgot about it. his eyes are dark and sharp and set on you, and he’s already palming himself slowly, cock half-hard and growing, fist tightening at the base as he looks down at you like you’re the reason everything went wrong today, like you’re the person who made him mad, like you insulted him to his face.
you’re already on your knees. your hands are tied behind your back with his leather belt and looped around your wrists, pulled tight with a practiced tug. your cheeks are already flushed, eyes wide and glassy. he hasn’t even touched you yet, and it’s killing you.
“you look pathetic,” roman mutters, more an observation than an insult. his voice is low, and you can hear the familiar excitement in it. “like, seriously. you’re on your knees, and you’re already drooling. i haven’t even done anything yet.”
he strokes himself once, slow just for you, so you can catch the movement without missing anything. the tip’s flushed, wet already, and he breathes heavier just from watching your eyes follow his hand.
“you’re so fucking easy,” he laughs, all bitter and mean in that usual roman way. “jesus. what, you just get off on being treated like shit?” he steps closer. his cock brushes your cheek, just barely, the smallest skin-to-skin contact. your hands twitch behind you. you want to reach out so fucking bad, touch him, help him out, anything. but you can’t, and that’s the point. you gave him this, you offered, you told him he could do anything, and you would obey, just so he could blow off some steam and feel better. and he did, obviously. why would he reject such a nice, sweet offer, right?
roman tilts your chin up with his two fingers of his free hand, careless, almost like he doesn’t even want to touch you, probably thinks that’s too much of a treat that you don’t deserve right now. “open,” he says, no please, no coaxing.
and when you do, when your lips finally part, and your tongue flattens, and your eyes stay locked on his, he exhales a soft ‘fuck’ and slides his cock into your mouth, slow and shallow, just the tip. he doesn’t want to fuck your throat. he just keeps his hand on his cock, jerking himself off into the soft, warm heat of your mouth, watching the way your lips immediately close around the head, watching your tongue catch the underside when he pulls back and pushes in again in a lazy, mean rhythm.
he suddenly spits down at you. it lands on your cheek, and you flinch in surprise. he takes a tiny step back so he can remove his cock from your mouth and smear the spit with the head.
“you look like you’re gonna cry already,” he murmurs, and a breathless laugh follows after the words. “that’s so fucked. you’re-jesus, you love this, huh?” his hand starts moving again on his dick, with more speed now, and wet sounds fill the space between you. he doesn’t break eye contact, still keeps watching you from above, with you beneath, physically and metaphorically.
“bet you’re fucking soaked,” he sneers. “bet you’d hump my leg if i let you. pathetic little baby,” he coos at you.
you whimper with a quick nod, horribly needy. you try to move, to chase him, to prove him right, but he steps back again, just slightly, and clicks his tongue. “ah-ah,” roman hums. “stay still. you don’t get to do that right now. don’t piss me off.”
you whine, again, like a dog, and he just laughs, louder this time. fuck, he’s mean, meaner than usual, and you’d probably love it if he at least gave you something, anything.
“c’mon,” he mutters, fucking his fist faster. he steps forward, closer to you again, and lets the head of his cock nudge your lip. “stick your tongue out. be a good little pet for me. that’s all you are right now, right?”
and you do, with a nod, because that’s what you’re here for, because you want to make him happy by being whatever he needs right now.
your mouth opens in an instant, obedient, perfect, tongue out, no hesitation. your eyes stay locked on him the whole time. you're shaking already, and roman sees it all. the tension in your thighs where you're squeezing them together, the desperate look in your eyes, the heat flushing your cheeks. you're teary with how bad you need him, and you haven’t even been touched yet, and you don’t think you will be tonight.
he groans, soft and disgusted. “jesus christ,” he mutters, his breath catching just slightly. “you’re like a fucking stray, y’know that? just… mouth open, tongue out, begging. no shame. none,” his fist slows on his cock, deliberate now, drawing it out. “god, look at you,” he sneers. “dripping down your thighs, and all i’ve done is talk. you should be studied,” he murmurs. “or put down,” he giggles at his own words.
he steps in close enough that the tip of his cock brushes your waiting tongue again, fucking finally. your lips don’t even get the chance to close around him before he pulls back again with a sharp inhale through his teeth.
“nope. that’s it. that’s the most you’re getting,” he reprimands you as he drags his fist down again, slow and tight, inches from your mouth. “oh my god. you thought i was gonna let you suck me off, didn’t you?” he grins, breath hitching in the middle of it. “you really thought you earned it. that’s so fucking cute.”
his other hand tangles in your hair, and he yanks your head back into a position he likes with your jaw still open, eyes watering even more from the angle.
“stay just like that,” he says quietly.
he jerks himself harder now, the slick, perverse sound reverberating in your ears. he spits down again, and it hits your tongue, mixes with the taste of him already there. you swallow straight away, there’s a small hitch with the way your throat has to adjust at the awkward angle, but when you do, you open your mouth again, tongue out.
“look at you,” he mutters to himself. “fucking mess. and i haven’t even fucked you. haven’t even touched your cunt,” he laughs again, but quieter this time. less sharp. his knuckles brush your cheek, wet with spit and smeared pre.
your whimper slips out before you can stop it, it’s small, ugly with need. it embarrasses you immediately, and you don’t even try to swallow it back down or act like it didn’t happen, you’re in too deep. it’s like muscle memory took over before the rational part of your brain (that has some dignity and shame) could catch up. your tongue trembles where you’re holding it out for him, your thighs are squeezed together so tight they ache, and your eyes stay on him anyway.
fuck, you need him so bad it almost hurts. you need something, anything, you don’t even care. even just the tip in your mouth, for a teeny tiny second.
“f-fuck, rome, please, please,” you whine, voice coming apart, breath hitching between the words. it sounds pitiful the moment it leaves you, like you’re begging for basic life necessities instead of his touch, his cock. it’s like your own personal maslow’s pyramid is just roman stacked five times on top of himself, on the top, on the bottom, in the middle. “just-just lemme help, please.”
roman freezes. he stares down at you, mesmerized. he loves you like this, all pathetic and needy for him, desperate just for crumbs he might be willing to offer (but probably won’t).
“oh my god,” he breathes, a laugh slipping out with it. “do you hear yourself?” his grip tightens at the base of his cock. he’s fully hard and leaking, the tip shiny with precum that keeps threatening to drip onto your tongue again. you can feel your mouth water just from looking at it.
“‘rome please,’” he repeats, quiet and mocking. “jesus christ.” a soft snort. “you’re so embarrassing. i could post you online like this and ruin your whole life if i wanted to,” he grins. if someone other than roman said that to you, you’d probably get nervous, scared even, but for you two, it’s basically just dirty talk.
he steps closer. the head of his cock presses against your tongue, finally back right there, and your lips start to close around it on instinct, forgetting what he told you before, and he pulls back again. “ah-ah.”
your breath breaks. a small, frustrated groan slips out of you before you can stop it, thin, frustrated and helpless, and you see roman grin, wide and delighted. your tongue trembles again, still out, still waiting. and you’re still hoping.
“nuh‑uh. don’t get greedy,” he jerks himself slowly right in front of your mouth again, just to make it worse for you, watching you track every movement. “you don’t get it just because you beg pretty.”
he leans down, and his voice drops. “actually,” he adds softly, eyes sharp and glittering, “the more you beg, the less i wanna give it to you,” he says and watches your face fall.
“see, this is so fun,” he continues casually, like he didn’t just break your pathetic little heart with just one sentence. “i had a shit day. everyone was annoying, and now i come home, and you’re on the floor, crying because i won’t let you suck my dick,” a breathy laugh punches out of him. “this is therapy. fuck actual therapy. this is, like, way hotter and you don’t have to pretend you respect the person.”
he lets the tip brush your tongue again, slow this time, giving you a small hope, just enough for you to taste him, just enough for a broken, relieved, little moan to slip out of your throat. and then he pulls away again, of course he does. what did you expect, hm?
“you want it so bad it’s actually kinda gross,” he mutters, almost thoughtful, like he’s considering if he can make you even worse. “like… i could tell you to bark and you would.”
roman exhales through his nose, watches the way your mouth stays open anyway, as he instructed you to at the start. good pet. then his gaze drops between your thighs. he knows you’re soaked, he knows you well, too well, maybe.
“keep begging,” roman murmurs, jerking himself just out of reach of your mouth. he swipes his thumb under the slit and groans. the head’s swollen, angry red, and at least you feel a small comfort that he’s desperate for release too. “i wanna see how pathetic you can get.”
“please,” you whimper again, and this time your voice just… breaks. your lip trembles, and then you’re crying for real now, tears spilling over without warning, sliding down your cheeks. “just-anything,” you choke out. “i don’t care. i just need you. so much.”
“oh my god,” roman laughs. he exhales, stepping back just slightly, one hand still wrapped around his cock, the other leaves your hair so he can drag it down his face like he genuinely can’t believe what he’s seeing. “you’re fucking broken. like… so much.”
he looks at you, you on your knees, wrists so tightly bound it aches, tears streaking your face, mouth open, drool pooling at the corner, shaking, crying because of him, or for him.
“‘need you so much,’” he mocks, pitching his voice in a cruel imitation of you. “ohhh, rome, please, ruin my life, i’m already on the floor, just spit on me and kill whatever self‑respect i had left-” he cuts himself off with a disbelieving snort, shaking his head.
“you think this is about you? think you get to be the little victim? poor baby? newsflash: i had a bad day,” he grabs your face, squeezes your cheeks until your lips pucker up under the pressure. he forces your eyes to meet his. “go on, keep crying,” he murmurs. “maybe if i like it enough, i’ll let you lick it off the floor,” he smiles faux sweetly.
you whimper again, softer this time, more broken. at this point, it’s like a whimper is the only sound you can make. you move, just a little, teeny tiny bit, shifting on your knees, thighs rubbing together in some pathetic attempt at relief. you rock forward once, involuntarily, like your body’s trying to chase anything if roman won’t give it to you. just a bit of pressure, a contact. you’re not even aware you’re doing it, but roman sees.
“ohhh my god,” he groans, too loud and disbelieving. “are you seriously humping the floor right now?” he laughs, so fucking thrilled. you’ve never met someone so happy at their partner’s misery, but that’s just roman for you. “you’re like a fucking dog. no, worse. a bitch in heat. just… dripping and crying and grinding on nothing,” he lets out his feral, high-pitched giggle.
his hand moves faster on his cock, more rhythmic now, like seeing you flushed and dripping with eyes still wet and uselessly trying to relieve the ache between your thighs is finally properly getting to him in that sick, satisfying way.
“you don’t even care, do you?” he pants, staring at the way your body rocks in those tiny, helpless movements. “n-no shame. not even-fuck-pretending. it’s kinda incredible,” his breath hitches. his strokes grow tighter, more frantic. he’s close, you can tell, he can’t even keep up the whole ‘above you’ thing he had going on. he’s panting, groaning. he’s flushed, sloppy and needy, same as you.
he jerks himself once, twice, chokes on a breath, and comes. the first spill lands on the floor in front of your knees, the next hits your cheek. the rest spills across the floor, streaking the polished wood.
roman moans, low and breathless, half-laughing as he shakes himself off and lets his cock hang wet and twitching in the air between you. he exhales hard, wipes sweat off his brow, glances down at the mess, then back at you.
“go on,” he murmurs, voice quieter now but still sharp. “be a good girl,” he nods to the floor. “clean it up.”
of course, you move, like a trained pet, like a fucking animal. your hands are still tied behind your back with his belt, so you move all clumsy, unbalanced, but you don’t even hesitate. you just shift your weight, inch forward on your knees, and almost hit the floor face-first before you catch yourself. it’s pathetic, sad, but perfect to watch for roman.
he watches you widen your legs, slow and awkward, just to balance yourself, spreading yourself like it’s nothing. all just so you can lean down, close to the mess he made. and then your tongue darts out and laps at the spill of his come on the floor.
“oh,” he exhales, breath shaky, shocked at your obedience or maybe depravity. or both, yeah, definitely both. “oh my god.”
he makes a step closer again, watching the way your tongue traces through the come, the way your knees shuffle for balance. for a moment, his eyes flick to the untouched streak he left down your cheek.
you lick at the floor again, tongue pressing flat against the hardwood to get the rest. and when you finally lift your eyes, just slightly, after the floor’s clean and after you swallow, like you want him to see how good you’re being, roman gives you a wide smile.
“jesus fucking christ,” he says, voice going higher and all giddy. “you’re actually- you’re like my fucking pet.”
he tugs his slacks back up, buttons them and then crouches in front of you. his eyes are locked on yours, and he drags his thumb from your cheek to your chin, smearing the spit and come across your face, rubbing it in.
“you licked the floor for me,” he grins, and a breathy, unhinged laugh escapes him. “you licked the floor. for a little bit of come.”
he tips your face up quickly. before you can even realise he’s already holding your jaw in place.
“fucking disgusting,” he giggles happily, delighted. “so hot.”