The truth is that Peter had no idea what kind of love existed in his heart before he met Jason. He'd been told most of his life by an adoring mother that he was sweet -- he likes hearing that, especially now that he knows what a disingenuous place the world is -- so it makes to him that he has all of this love that rises in his throat and clouds his "better" judgement. Still, Peter likes to believe that the deep, burning love he has only exists because of Jason. He has no evidence to the contrary.
Peter feels the way Jason tremors through the kiss. Maybe he's still afraid, still wound tight from the hateful words from the mouth of a ignorant father. Before that hand finds its way to Jason's middle again, he presses a cool hand against Jason's burning face, unobtrusive and soothing. They don't need to talk about it, anymore. The aftershocks are still being felt, but there's no point in getting clutched about the initial seismic waves if there's no damage to their foundation. Anyway, Peter's sure that Jason will speak up if needs to.
"I don't think you understand how obscenely loud I'd be," Peter comments easily, stopping his kisses to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. He's still smiling, wider even. "I'm not sure I could control myself in the face of pissing your father off." He chuckles, nips the skin he's just warmed with his face.
Hearing his name breathed that way turns Peter's stomach to liquid. He's half-hard anyway, just from touching Jason and having him close, then the reciprocation of the touch. Wetting his lips, he just lets himself experience the sensation of Jason's hands in his shirt, rubbing hot little circles there. It occurs to him, how blown out his eyes must look, that he's breathing through parted lips, and he breathes, "God, I love the way you touch me."
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Peter feels the way Jason tremors through the kiss. Maybe he's still afraid, still wound tight from the hateful words from the mouth of a ignorant father. Before that hand finds its way to Jason's middle again, he presses a cool hand against Jason's burning face, unobtrusive and soothing. They don't need to talk about it, anymore. The aftershocks are still being felt, but there's no point in getting clutched about the initial seismic waves if there's no damage to their foundation. Anyway, Peter's sure that Jason will speak up if needs to.
"I don't think you understand how obscenely loud I'd be," Peter comments easily, stopping his kisses to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. He's still smiling, wider even. "I'm not sure I could control myself in the face of pissing your father off." He chuckles, nips the skin he's just warmed with his face.
Hearing his name breathed that way turns Peter's stomach to liquid. He's half-hard anyway, just from touching Jason and having him close, then the reciprocation of the touch. Wetting his lips, he just lets himself experience the sensation of Jason's hands in his shirt, rubbing hot little circles there. It occurs to him, how blown out his eyes must look, that he's breathing through parted lips, and he breathes, "God, I love the way you touch me."