Formerly white-hot skin is chilled against the perspiration dotting it, so Peter pulls the sheet up over them before settling his other arm around his boyfriend's shoulders again. He strokes gently through his hair with deft fingertips playing along the strands of his hair like the strings of the violin he played when he was younger. That was before St. Cecilia's, before middle school, before Peter knew what love was or how close he was to it. The joy Peter feels when he sings far surpasses the bits of satisfaction he felt when he'd formulaically plucked out a piece of music. Singing has more danger to it. When Peter sings, he feels like he doesn't have to say the things that he can't, especially to the person he wants to hear it most.

Naked and wrapped around Jason, slipping his fingers through his hair, these are even better ways to say what he doesn't often dare to. Peter's other hand is curled against that incredible, smooth chest where he can feel the gradually slowing thump of Jason's heart.

"I really am," Peter confirms with a breathless huff of a laugh. As their breathing evens, Peter basks in Jason for a few moments. The love that he'd dreamed doesn't hold a candle to what he has with Jason. Their closeness, the comfort that runs so deep that shame is nigh on impossible, and the way he can see how evenly his adoration is reflected in Jason's own eyes, it's transcendent. It's divine.

He finds that he's still kissing Jason when he comes to from this powerful train of thought. He's made his way from Jason's ear down to his neck, just breathing and kissing and feeling the way his ribcage can't seem to contain the fullness of his heart anymore. This affection has to come out somewhere, and apparently the chosen path is Peter's lips as they kiss languidly down slope of Jason's neck to his shoulder. He's in no hurry to disengage from their intricate little knot and he's too full of love to know what to say.