Jason has days where he can upkeep the facade better than others; some days, he can play the perfect son, student, and friend without breaking a sweat. Others, he has to sneak away to find refuge and recover before he can continue the act. So he feels the shift between them, the way Peter seems as sturdy as the desk beneath them both and Jason continues to tremble like loose homework caught in the breeze of a fan. And Jason, too tired to fight it, eagerly caves to the sudden determination within Peter's touch.
He gasps, shuddering again and leaning into the demanding hand curled around the back of his neck. Peter calls him gorgeous, and he feels the flush burning all the way down to his stomach. He's Jason McConnell; he's used to people remarking upon his attractiveness, girls, boys, and teachers alike. But none of those comments come close to the surge of electricity Peter's words inspire in him. Jason only truly feels beautiful when Peter tells him he is. "I...Peter," he moans, wanting so much to tell him how much he appreciates those words and failing due to his own increasing incoherence. He pants into that kiss, groans at the ferocity of it as he hand slips a bit on the desk.
And then Peter's mouthing at his neck, and Jason tilts his head back to grant him better access, noises of all sorts spilling from his mouth as he does so. He can feel the way sweat makes his dark curls stick to his face; he can feel the wideness of his own eyes. And his swollen lips, parting from Peter's only for air as they kiss and Peter strokes them both with such brilliance.
Jason thinks he must look a mess; he feels a mess, as it is. And then Peter's asking him that question, gentle and slightly insistent, and Jason worries for a moment he might just wind up collapsing on Peter in the process.
"I...you," he gasps, voice ragged. "You, Peter, I want you so bad. I need you. Please. Please." He buries his head in the crook of Peter's neck, hips jerking into his hand. "Fuck me," he mumbles against Peter's own slick skin, before he can think of what it is he's just said.
no subject
He gasps, shuddering again and leaning into the demanding hand curled around the back of his neck. Peter calls him gorgeous, and he feels the flush burning all the way down to his stomach. He's Jason McConnell; he's used to people remarking upon his attractiveness, girls, boys, and teachers alike. But none of those comments come close to the surge of electricity Peter's words inspire in him. Jason only truly feels beautiful when Peter tells him he is. "I...Peter," he moans, wanting so much to tell him how much he appreciates those words and failing due to his own increasing incoherence. He pants into that kiss, groans at the ferocity of it as he hand slips a bit on the desk.
And then Peter's mouthing at his neck, and Jason tilts his head back to grant him better access, noises of all sorts spilling from his mouth as he does so. He can feel the way sweat makes his dark curls stick to his face; he can feel the wideness of his own eyes. And his swollen lips, parting from Peter's only for air as they kiss and Peter strokes them both with such brilliance.
Jason thinks he must look a mess; he feels a mess, as it is. And then Peter's asking him that question, gentle and slightly insistent, and Jason worries for a moment he might just wind up collapsing on Peter in the process.
"I...you," he gasps, voice ragged. "You, Peter, I want you so bad. I need you. Please. Please." He buries his head in the crook of Peter's neck, hips jerking into his hand. "Fuck me," he mumbles against Peter's own slick skin, before he can think of what it is he's just said.