Every curl of Jason's fingers in Peter's hair so enhances all of the other incredible, overwhelming sensations that Peter is overwhelmed. His eyes flutter closed; somewhere way in the back of his mind, he can feel his body aching from the effort that's being exerted. His pain receptors are dulled, though, and every throb gets processed as a pleasurable one. And God, Jason is so hopped up on their love that he can't even form a complete sentence. The delighted moan this elicits cannot be helped, and Peter presses his lips together tightly. He has to smash his pursed lips against Jason's shoulder to muffle the sound. The absence of Jason's hand on his gives Peter the impression that Jason may have had a similar idea.

It's a shame to let a mouth as inviting as Jason's be hidden, though. Peter lifts his head from its place on Jason's shoulder and begins to slide his mouth with occasional, sloppy kisses toward his mouth. He can't quite reach and he hasn't a hand to spare, so the next contained groan he lets out is tinged with effort and frustration. "Kiss me," he breathes, arm wound so tight around Jason's middle that he fears his fingertips may leave bruises. He's so close already and getting closer with every snap of his hips and corresponding jerk of his hand.