Now their hands are another affected area on the map of slick, burning touch. It seems like every time Peter's just about to cool off a little, Jason's there with another perfect twist, grab, lick or caress. With his arm outstretched to maintain their palm-to-palm contact, he can more easily arc his back into the feeling of Jason's hot, insistent breath. He's close, now, desperate, rock hard and straining to be touched. Every time Jason snaps his hips into Peter, he's delivering shock after shock of near-paralyzing pleasure.

Jason's voice cracks and Peter chokes out a moan that doesn't ever really become a sound. How is it he can do this to Jason? It makes perfect sense that Jason does it to him -- perfect, brilliant, straight-A's, always-first Jason with his model physique, heartbreaking smile and molten-hot voice -- but Peter? He doesn't see himself as in Jason's league, and that's just another reason he feels terror creep up on him in those quiet moments when he's alone in their room. It's just another reason Peter keeps himself as busy as he does with AP classes, theatre, and TAing. He'd go out for sports if he didn't hate them so much.

Peter's eyes snap open at the question -- had they been closed that whole time? -- and he gently pushes Jason back. He wants to kiss him, wants Jason to touch him, and he wants to see that way Jason looks up at him when Peter's on top of him. He kneels between Jason's legs and kisses him hungrily until his lover is sitting.

"You can do anything you want to me," Peter rasps against Jason's lips. He only pulls away from his lips long enough to straddle his legs and brace himself on Jason's shoulder as he lowers himself down, too eager to drag it out like he originally thought he might.