There are few things Peter loves more about Jason than that mouth of his. The look of it, of course, especially the way his lips are stuck into this permanent, beestung smirk or the way his bottom lip juts out further than the top one does. And oh God, does he love the way it feels, against his lips and anyplace else on Peter's body. Not even that can compete with the words and sounds that come from that incredible mouth. It thrills Peter that when Jason's composure dissolves he becomes a very animal, instinctual person. He's all groans and gasps and those blasphemous words that could shear away Peter's own composure alone. Although, Peter supposes the motivation behind Jason's heated words may be equal parts primal loss of control and the cocksure knowledge that he can undo Peter without touch.

Jason is trembling, full-on shaking, and it takes everything in Peter not to give up the ghost and just fuck him then. It would be a shame, he thinks, to waste all of the build-up he's already committed to in the name of satisfying the insistent way his own dick strains against his stomach. Taking control includes self-control, and Peter manages to find it within him to see this sequence of events out. Or until Jason's sinfully perfect mouth pushes Peter far enough away from his self-control.

As a second finger starts to work its way into Jason with slow, gentle pressure, Peter moans around Jason's cock when he feels his boyfriend rolling his hips between Peter's fingers and mouth. Twice, Peter tells himself that he should move his mouth elsewhere, maybe to mark up that flat skin just to the left of where he currently is, but the way Jason thrusts into his mouth, shudders against the flat of Peter's tongue, and fuck, the way he tastes, he just can't bring himself to do it. Instead, he slides his free hand up the inside of Jason's thigh, over his hip, and under to cup his ass, urging him to continue his movement while he worships him with his fingers and mouth.