Jason wishes he could share in Peter's devout faith. But with all of its demands and expectations, Catholicism is essentially another extension of his family's aspirations for him. Jason prays, and he sits through Mass, like a good Christian. But while the priest recites the homily, or while he's standing and mindlessly wording the lyrics to the current hymn, Jason's mind wanders - to what he really wants from his life, to what he would do if he felt he could escape his family's disappointments. But almost always, his thoughts in church drift to Peter, and how much he wants to simply hold him in his arms and forget about the rest of the world.

Peter's face while he balances himself, caught between pleasure and determination, is a fragile, lovely thing; it reminds Jason of the veins in the stained glass windows in church. He feels his own name pressed into his lips like an obscene prayer. His hips jerk in response, and his thrusts increase in frantic energy as Peter's arm drapes it across his neck, bringing his fingers through Jason's hair. Jason's breath catches, and he nearly sobs from the sheer pleasure of it as he leans into the touch.

He maneuvers his own arm to better hold Peter in his lap, tightening his hold a bit as he pulls Peter's hips down against him to meet his thrusts, his other hand increasing its pace as he does so, twisting and tugging in the ways he knows Peter likes. Their touching and kissing is fast becoming their own secret language; they are scholars in translating their own desire. The sight of Peter with his head tipped back provokes a desperate need in Jason, and he winds up pressing his lips incessantly to the sweat-soaked skin there, letting his teeth graze against it and letting out all sorts of encouragement.

"God, Peter," he says between biting kisses. "Do you know how beautiful you are like this? God, you're so gorgeous. So beautiful. Peter." His sense of coherency is faltering, and his words are gradually dissolving into desperate whimpers and moans.