Sight
Peter lights up at the sight of Roman. Not outwardly, though. He doesn't smile in public at him, no lift of his form unless he seems on the rush. Anyone who didn't know Peter like his closest loved ones did wouldn't think Roman was important. Maybe they would say Peter was exceptionally uncaring about weither or not the other boy was around. More than often Peter feigned a slight look of disgust, just to make their cover clear to everyone else.
But he lights up, in ways only Roman can see. There's the shift of his head, how he watches up until the moment he is directly in front of him. His eyes flutter like merry butterflies. When they talk, his feet point at him. Roman smiles as he sees Peter happy to see him, wanting to be with him. It's the only time he feels truly wanted by another living soul. (Besides his sister of course) when gentle green eyes meet intense hazel, that's when they're most happy in public.
Touch
Roman loves to feel Peter, in every sense of the word. When they lay in his hammock together, Roman rested against the bend between Peter's neck and collar, he would just close his eyes and feel. His hand will travel up and down his chest, from the hem of his shirt to the top o his jeans. His neck was mapped in his mind. Every once in a while his hand would slip under the tattered tee and be greeted by the patch of hair on his stomach. Roman smiles softly. He didn't mind if Peter was a little hairy. It just made him more attractive, no matter how strong the modern avoidance to hair was.
Roman follows the trail over his belly button, circles the small dip, and keeps going. His finger finds softer chest hair. It's warmer there. He feels the pulse under his skin like a steady drum. Then there's Peter's heart. Bum-bump, bum-bump. Beating steady and strong. Bum-bump.
Smell
Roman has a distinct smell, Peter realizes one day when he is pressed against his side, nose mashed into his back for comfort.
First thing is the overpowering cologne. It's something expensive and signature Roman. Classy, sharp, chic. It's probably just one of the many overly luxurious things he has.
Second is the undertoned smell of cigarettes. No one can escape that scent. But that's also somehow soothing. Ever below that is the smallest hint of new clothes, new shoes. Or new car. Leather. Something warm and old-fashioned.
If Peter digs his nose against Roman's skin he smells his flesh. Sweet like sugar. The faint tang of sweat, or even food. It's unique though. He might be over thinking it all.
Sound
Peter likes the sound of Roman's voice. He formed a kink over it, staying up late and just imagining Roman purring in his ear. Sometimes Peter would call Roman, and when asked why he realizes it's just so he can hear him. Roman caught on early, and now he plays this sick little game where he starts mumbling dirty things, or sweet promises. It's almost like being kissed on his brain.
Likewise, Roman grew fond of Peter's voice. He admired the relaxed growl, it's sleepy pitch, and the way he spoke so garavely about some things. It sends deathly chills down his spine. Oh, how Roman loves to hear that voice against his skin late at night. Or in the hall. Or any place they get intimate. He loves to feel the voice in his own mouth. Gentle, sweet, calm, like a howl.
Taste
Peter doesn't know when he developed a habit for licking Roman. Oh wait, yes he does. It was one night, not long after his first change in front of Roman, when the subject came up. The richer of the two said he was glad Peter hadn't tried to attack him with kisses. Not on his clothes. With a scoff it's dismissed.
Later, Roman happens to make the same comment. This time sharper, with more ferocity. He's only in a bad mood. But it stings a little in the werewolf's brain.
Peter swore revenge.
And what started as such quickly became much more.
Now Peter takes his great time to taste all of Roman. He licks from his full, pink lips, stained from intense kissing, to his ear. He licks only for a moment at the ear lobe and continues. He licks down his cheek to his jaw slowly. Long stripes, back and forth. He goes over his pumping pulse in his neck, the hollow dip of his throat, the graceful curve of his shoulder. Roman's chest is like a flat plain. If Peter wanted, he could sit and draw pictures on his fair skin. How was such a beautiful person allowed to exist? His hips are sharp too. That's the part Peter really gets excited about. It always ellicts a moan or two from his hanging mouth. Perfect.
Roman especially likes it down his back. So that's about the time he flips the other over onto his chest, and with his hands on his hips bites slightly into his shoulder. Every crevice of Roman lingers like a map on Peter's tongue. He drags up the taste of sweat, of chemicals, of sweet skin. He savors it all, he savors all of Roman.
Toe sucking was never his thing, but he'll do it for his spoiled rich boy.