Jason melts a little, at that smile. So soft and sweet, like a crooked halo. It epitomizes Peter's boyishness and his charming nature. Jason thinks he can glance at the very edge of his boyfriend's lyrical soul in that smile; it helps to make him believe that his own soul has a chance at flying away, one day. Jason sighs again, both at the sight, and at the way Peter tightens his arms around him. God, but he loves this boy.
Jason leans into Peter's mouth near his ear, clinging to him and listening as intently as he once did with sea shells on the Connecticut beaches as a young child. Peter's words wind through him like a spring breeze, warm and lilting; inspiring his heart to settle and his body to sink further into Peter's embrace. Those words make Jason feel new again; they make him feel invincible. No matter what, his father can never take this away from Jason. His father can never sever what Peter means to Jason, no matter how many ugly words he spews in the middle of his lectures.
"Can we slash his tires once we get to Notre Dame?" Jason nearly whispers, spellbound by the idea of Peter attending Notre Dame with him. It is the only idea capable of rendering Notre Dame palatable for him. His eyelids flutter, and he leans into nuzzle against the soft fuzz of Peter's chin. The words he says now are words he'll only ever admit to Peter; not even Nadia knows how much he can't take his father's burdens. "On his favorite car? And maybe toss his favorite golf clubs into the river."
And then Peter's kissing him, gentle and soothing in a way Jason feels down to his soul; he makes a low, appreciative noise, returning the kiss just as sweetly and gasping a bit in between the press of their lips. The only grace of God Jason needs is right there in Peter's kiss. Jason sways a bit when they finally break apart, though he delights all the same in the way he can feel Peter's flush against his own face.
He gasps again when Peter drags his hand down his chest, leaning into the touch. It's so gentle and sturdy; very much like Peter's presence, really.
"My own Saint Peter," Jason wonders aloud. He grins, genuine and full. "I like the sound of that."
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Jason leans into Peter's mouth near his ear, clinging to him and listening as intently as he once did with sea shells on the Connecticut beaches as a young child. Peter's words wind through him like a spring breeze, warm and lilting; inspiring his heart to settle and his body to sink further into Peter's embrace. Those words make Jason feel new again; they make him feel invincible. No matter what, his father can never take this away from Jason. His father can never sever what Peter means to Jason, no matter how many ugly words he spews in the middle of his lectures.
"Can we slash his tires once we get to Notre Dame?" Jason nearly whispers, spellbound by the idea of Peter attending Notre Dame with him. It is the only idea capable of rendering Notre Dame palatable for him. His eyelids flutter, and he leans into nuzzle against the soft fuzz of Peter's chin. The words he says now are words he'll only ever admit to Peter; not even Nadia knows how much he can't take his father's burdens. "On his favorite car? And maybe toss his favorite golf clubs into the river."
And then Peter's kissing him, gentle and soothing in a way Jason feels down to his soul; he makes a low, appreciative noise, returning the kiss just as sweetly and gasping a bit in between the press of their lips. The only grace of God Jason needs is right there in Peter's kiss. Jason sways a bit when they finally break apart, though he delights all the same in the way he can feel Peter's flush against his own face.
He gasps again when Peter drags his hand down his chest, leaning into the touch. It's so gentle and sturdy; very much like Peter's presence, really.
"My own Saint Peter," Jason wonders aloud. He grins, genuine and full. "I like the sound of that."