"Yes," Peter repeats quickly, lest Jason back off; Peter knows he doesn't want that. A soft, reassuring kiss is pressed carefully centered on Jason's lips. Once his head returns to the pillow, he continues to watch Jason, then watch Jason watch him. It's insane how much eye contact Peter maintains with Jason and with nearly no one else. What if they saw how he felt? No doubt it was strong enough to be seen if either of them let it happen. If Jason would.
Serious Peter wrinkles his nose at Jason's gentle teasing, rejecting its presence and still reveling in it. How is it that he found this perfect person with whom he feels totally at ease in a place that is essentially a pressure cooker for misery? It is both in spite of and because of Jason that Peter still believes in fate, in destiny. In a power he cannot understand.
Even just the sound of the air escaping the bottle in the Jason's hand out of Peter's immediate sight sparks up that burning excitement within him. He can feel a string of pleases and mores and blasphemous curses curling around his tongue -- he literally has to press his lips together to keep the dam from breaking.
Once he can feel Jason's finger inside of him and all of the things the sensation promised, he forgets every one of them. White snow-like haze tints the corners of his vision. He wants to throw his head back, to lose it already, but instead, he tunes into Jason's voice again. Jason's perfect fucking voice.
"Tell me." It's meant to be a plea, but it comes out rougher, more insistent than he intends. He hooks his hand at the back of Jason's neck and covers his mouth hungrily before repeating, "Jason, tell me." It's softer when against his lover's lips, more desperate.
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Serious Peter wrinkles his nose at Jason's gentle teasing, rejecting its presence and still reveling in it. How is it that he found this perfect person with whom he feels totally at ease in a place that is essentially a pressure cooker for misery? It is both in spite of and because of Jason that Peter still believes in fate, in destiny. In a power he cannot understand.
Even just the sound of the air escaping the bottle in the Jason's hand out of Peter's immediate sight sparks up that burning excitement within him. He can feel a string of pleases and mores and blasphemous curses curling around his tongue -- he literally has to press his lips together to keep the dam from breaking.
Once he can feel Jason's finger inside of him and all of the things the sensation promised, he forgets every one of them. White snow-like haze tints the corners of his vision. He wants to throw his head back, to lose it already, but instead, he tunes into Jason's voice again. Jason's perfect fucking voice.
"Tell me." It's meant to be a plea, but it comes out rougher, more insistent than he intends. He hooks his hand at the back of Jason's neck and covers his mouth hungrily before repeating, "Jason, tell me." It's softer when against his lover's lips, more desperate.