Jason remembers every beginning and every ending to every summer that's passed between them while at Saint Cecilia's throughout the years. He remembers the first time he locked eyes with Peter, the sudden, unnamed rush into the pit of his stomach as he discovered both the question and the answer to all of his prayers. He remembers that first kiss, how they'd laughed and blushed at the sloppiness of it. He remembers the first time he lost his breath, taking hold of Peter's hand. He remembers trying to fight every emotion Peter drew from him; he remembers giving in, yielding to the demands of his own heart. Heat and light flicker and curl against his ribcage, as he considers every possibility of tonight.

And then Peter's staring at him with that look in his eyes and his teeth grazing against the surface of his lips, sending Jason's stomach into knots as he considers all the ways he wants that mouth and those eyes and all of Peter, tangled together in their bed sheets. It's enough to make him a little bit weak in the knees, weighed down as he is by the sheer intensity of his desire.

He does catch the way Peter's eyes dart behind them, to the door. He sighs, but he understands only too well Peter's fears, as they are so rooted in his own. Still, Jason thinks as he moves to lock the door, thank God that they still have some semblance of privacy.

"Hmm," he hums, watching Peter even as he moves back from him a little. He starts tracing circles with the pads of his thumbs on his hips. And then Peter is smiling like that, and Jesus Christ, the same heat and light in him from before cackles like flaming embers at the sight.

He lets this light show in the flash of his eyes and the smirk that grows beneath them.

"Well, if you wanted to be on your knees, you should have just said."