Jason feels vulnerable as he settles into this new position. There is something especially naked and exposed about being on his hands and knees for Peter, even as Jason is already without clothes. He keeps trembling as he bites down on his lip, trying to hold back an particularly obscene groan as he digs his fingers into the sheets below him. The groan winds escaping from between his lips regardless, in bursts of gasps and whimpers. Jason, so usually surrounded by so many different defenses, is laid bare before Peter here and he loves it. His sweat-slicked body glistens in the light of early evening and beneath Peter's touch, which shoots through Jason like a burst of arrows all shot off at once.
Jason succumbs to his own desire to cry out as soon as he hears Peter. Fuck, but that low moan makes him shiver harder and forces his fingers to twist deeper into the fabric. And then Peter's teeth are scraping against Jason's shoulder, and he writhes, chest tightening at the sensation. "Peter," he moans, and it's a miracle, he thinks, that he's still able to keep himself steady on his hands and knees.
He gasps as Peter slowly eases into him. The friction is delicious, and Jason has no control of the myriad of noises that fall from his mouth, a variety of filthy litanies and variations of Peter's name, dripping like the sweat on the rest of his body. God but it feels so good; Jason tries to keep how much he enjoys this reversal of roles to himself, but with the way Peter is sliding into him and touching, it's impossible to disguise his wanting. "Peter, fuck, oh God," he hisses as Peter moans behind him. And then his hands are all over Jason, one grasping at his hip and the other smoothing over his back. Jason keeps letting out desperate whines, leaning into that touch as he tries to keep his hips from bucking.
"Peter," Jason moans again, those sweet, fervent kisses setting fire to his skin where Peter places them. He wants more of Peter; he needs more of him. "Peter, please. Please. Fuck me."
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Jason succumbs to his own desire to cry out as soon as he hears Peter. Fuck, but that low moan makes him shiver harder and forces his fingers to twist deeper into the fabric. And then Peter's teeth are scraping against Jason's shoulder, and he writhes, chest tightening at the sensation. "Peter," he moans, and it's a miracle, he thinks, that he's still able to keep himself steady on his hands and knees.
He gasps as Peter slowly eases into him. The friction is delicious, and Jason has no control of the myriad of noises that fall from his mouth, a variety of filthy litanies and variations of Peter's name, dripping like the sweat on the rest of his body. God but it feels so good; Jason tries to keep how much he enjoys this reversal of roles to himself, but with the way Peter is sliding into him and touching, it's impossible to disguise his wanting. "Peter, fuck, oh God," he hisses as Peter moans behind him. And then his hands are all over Jason, one grasping at his hip and the other smoothing over his back. Jason keeps letting out desperate whines, leaning into that touch as he tries to keep his hips from bucking.
"Peter," Jason moans again, those sweet, fervent kisses setting fire to his skin where Peter places them. He wants more of Peter; he needs more of him. "Peter, please. Please. Fuck me."