The guilt doesn't usually set in until the last light is off and they're settled in their separate beds. Sometimes Peter tries to stave this off by requesting they share a bed that night, but he knows that it's too risky. So many nights, after Peter and Jason have spent a never-long-enough night in their private world, Peter's heard the master key in the lock. It's just a curfew check, but Peter feels like it's also a decency check. Which isn't to say Peter and Jason are being singled out, as the dorm checks are random and they do a complete sweep of the floor every time, but he knows the Catholic church and has been properly raised to fear repercussions, both tangible and not.
That night, though, Peter feels especially confident -- however falsely -- that he will dodge the demons. What's just happened is more loving, more desperate, more alive than they've ever been together. He feels like this year is finally going to be different.
Yet guiltless and light in the fuzzy afterglow, Peter shifts his weight off of Jason to his own hip. He's still pressed firmly against his boyfriend, half-atop him with one leg tangled up in Jason's. Their slick bodies seem to expand and contract in unison as Peter huffs out breath after amazed and dazed breath. He's ready to lift his clear, sharp gaze to Jason, but when he sees Jason's mouth on his own hand, tongue greedy laving from palm to fingers, Peter flushes deeply, though any semblance of innocence in it is exposed as false by the hungry little growl that rumbles in Peter's throat. His tongue licks along Jason's lips, insistent and basic.
Many, many kisses pass before Jason finally speaks. Peter's cheek rests on Jason's shoulder, mouth nearly at his jaw, eyes tilted up to give his lover his full attention. He laughs.
"You thought of that before you even left Connecticut," Peter accuses, but there is no malice in it. He's simply just sure he's right. He can picture Jason there in the back seat, silence stretching between the McConnell tribe as he smirks to himself about some little wordplay he's going to save for his reunion with Peter. It thrills him to imagine Jason thinking about what he's going to say after some lovemaking, because that also obviously means he was thinking about it, as well.
He goes to answer the question, but three months of limited contact and doubt has him wondering if it was an actual question or a setup for a joke. He's instantly mad at himself for fucking up the vibe so soon and pushes the doubt away with a gentle kiss to Jason's jaw. "Tell me about yours." Its a request, a soft one, and he's just going to punctuate Jason's tale with kisses.
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That night, though, Peter feels especially confident -- however falsely -- that he will dodge the demons. What's just happened is more loving, more desperate, more alive than they've ever been together. He feels like this year is finally going to be different.
Yet guiltless and light in the fuzzy afterglow, Peter shifts his weight off of Jason to his own hip. He's still pressed firmly against his boyfriend, half-atop him with one leg tangled up in Jason's. Their slick bodies seem to expand and contract in unison as Peter huffs out breath after amazed and dazed breath. He's ready to lift his clear, sharp gaze to Jason, but when he sees Jason's mouth on his own hand, tongue greedy laving from palm to fingers, Peter flushes deeply, though any semblance of innocence in it is exposed as false by the hungry little growl that rumbles in Peter's throat. His tongue licks along Jason's lips, insistent and basic.
Many, many kisses pass before Jason finally speaks. Peter's cheek rests on Jason's shoulder, mouth nearly at his jaw, eyes tilted up to give his lover his full attention. He laughs.
"You thought of that before you even left Connecticut," Peter accuses, but there is no malice in it. He's simply just sure he's right. He can picture Jason there in the back seat, silence stretching between the McConnell tribe as he smirks to himself about some little wordplay he's going to save for his reunion with Peter. It thrills him to imagine Jason thinking about what he's going to say after some lovemaking, because that also obviously means he was thinking about it, as well.
He goes to answer the question, but three months of limited contact and doubt has him wondering if it was an actual question or a setup for a joke. He's instantly mad at himself for fucking up the vibe so soon and pushes the doubt away with a gentle kiss to Jason's jaw. "Tell me about yours." Its a request, a soft one, and he's just going to punctuate Jason's tale with kisses.