It is only after Jason has buried his face in Peter's neck that Peter allow his eyes to close; he refuses to miss a moment of the was Jason looks over him, inside him, all around him, especially straight at him with those big, blue eyes. Yeah, he can remember buckling under the first glance from those crystalline pools. He can still see their warming, soothing shade of blue when his eyes finally shut against the weight of Peter on top of him.

Every contact point feels independently alive to Peter, from caress to intrusion to soft lips and hot breath, each seems to warm to a glow, like a map of all of the territories of Peter's body that are Jason's, only.

The fingers of his left hand have, unbeknownst to him, been curled tightly in the top sheet for an unknown period of time. He slides his hand from the back of Jason's knee, up to his thigh, and over the tight, maddeningly soft skin there. He doesn't squeeze or slap, but just spends some extra time there on his way up Jason's entire body.

"Jason," he whispers, mirroring his lover's ecstasy before volleying it back to him. Their bodies are slick, now, and it facilitates movement well. He's bucking underneath Jason, palming his damp shoulder, his toes curling and uncurling with every move.