Thanks to the few moments to breathe that they've taken, some of Peter's senses have returned to him. He can't help but notice that he's shaking a bit; his preference was that Jason not notice, though there was no way he could miss it. The closeness, the sex: these were things only shared with Jason. In that moment, he feels the love, that crazy, shuddering need for forever. He's not sure it's ever been like this and it makes him dizzy. Incredibly grateful is how he feels when his back meets the unforgiving mattress again.

It really was just like being high, for all of the few experiences Peter had managed to convince himself to indulge in.

A light bell-like laugh rolls out of Peter's mouth when his eyes follow Jason's hand to the bedside table in the corner between the two beds.

"And you call me a boyscout," Peter quips, his voice still tinged dark as his throat hitches with the raw, naked friction between them. He makes sure to find Jason's face while Jason is busy digging in the drawer. His arms seem to float up independently of Peter. Hands flatten against his chest and he lavishly slides them downward, feeling the peaks and valley's of Jason's magazine-cover perfect torso, drinking it in. A few seconds' worth of that eyeful and his teeth have found the swollen skin of his own bottom lip, again.