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Cause he knows he's taking chances. [Test post for Peter]
Jason arrives to St. Cecilia's feeling both as though he's about to take flight and he's about to sink into empty air with only the cold, cruel autumn ground to break his fall. He breathes in the oppressive humidity of the late August day as though he might steal some of the summer sun to keep himself warm on the inside. His senior year, finally. Everything comes down to this. All of those 'encouraging' family talks and hollow laughter about how he'll make the family proud and burn brightly on at Notre Dame. All of those discussions about how he'll meet his future wife and provide his parents with grandchildren soon enough.
He shakes his head, taking a stuttering breath to calm himself. He's only just arrived. No need to let the pressure of everything build quite that high up just yet.
His parents offered to help him unpack; he waved them off with the smile he'd gotten so good at faking, gently hinting that perhaps their assistance would be better off with Nadia, who rolled her eyes, but offered him an actual smile all the same.
His family ought to have left by now. He hopes. Regardless, with one last exhale, he's on his way back to his room. He needs to see Peter more than anything. He's the only person Jason wants to see in this moment; he's the only one who will understand.
But of course, he's Jason McConnell, and making his way back to his own room is never that simple. He winds up chatting with Matt for a few minutes, before gaggles of girls try and worm his number out of him. He endures about ten minute of it before excusing himself, nearly running to his room where, hopefully, he'll find Peter.
He shakes his head, taking a stuttering breath to calm himself. He's only just arrived. No need to let the pressure of everything build quite that high up just yet.
His parents offered to help him unpack; he waved them off with the smile he'd gotten so good at faking, gently hinting that perhaps their assistance would be better off with Nadia, who rolled her eyes, but offered him an actual smile all the same.
His family ought to have left by now. He hopes. Regardless, with one last exhale, he's on his way back to his room. He needs to see Peter more than anything. He's the only person Jason wants to see in this moment; he's the only one who will understand.
But of course, he's Jason McConnell, and making his way back to his own room is never that simple. He winds up chatting with Matt for a few minutes, before gaggles of girls try and worm his number out of him. He endures about ten minute of it before excusing himself, nearly running to his room where, hopefully, he'll find Peter.
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It's not Peter but the Institution of St. Cecilia's that bumps that fragile moment out of balance, and when Peter hears who's called, his stomach flips with alarming speed before it drops down into the center of him. Jesus. His hand flies back to Jason's leg where it had been before and he squeezes his support. He doesn't know what to do, and though he doesn't know exactly why Master McConnell is calling, he knows what the end result will be. Peter is not prepared to see his boyfriend's soul crushed tonight. Jason's impending need coats Peter's consciousness like armor and he springs to his feet.
"I'll go with you," he says quickly. Immediately, it makes no sense -- actually, he's not even sure if that's an option -- but he also knows that he has to do something because... He has to. Maybe in a moment he'll be sitting down with Nadia as they both freak the hell out as Jason reluctantly retreats with the Sister keeping apace. He knows he can't protect Jason. So, he has to believe that there's Someone who can.
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Jason's especially grateful when Peter's hand finds its way back to his leg; he leans into that squeezing, saying without speaking how much the gesture means to him. Even as he schools his features into a mask of pleasantness and a false bravado he can just barely manage to pretend to feel. So his father finally figured out he quit track. He supposes it was only a matter of time. He can't help the grimace that flashes across his face; across the table, he catches sight of Nadia's wince. She knows only too well their father's moods.
And Peter. God. Wonderful, sweet Peter who ought to be nominated for sainthood, at this point. He hopes Peter can see how much he wants to kiss him in this moment in his eyes.
"You wanted to call your mom too, didn't you?" Jason scrapes for the quickest excuse he can think of. He really needs Peter to come with him.
He doesn't want his soul to fall to pieces tonight. Again.
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"Yeah," Peter says quickly, holding eye contact and even being so bold as to touch his shoulder. The shoulder is safe, some very nervous experiments have shown. He sees (probably) straight guys do this all the time and no one questions it. If there’s already suspicion, it may give their game away, but Peter has to assume that their private world is still private. Going public means going their separate ways, and he can’t handle that, or he could and he refuses to entertain the idea.
Peter’s eyes dart to Nadia, who is wearing the most heartbreaking combination of knowing terror and deep empathy. How did two such incredible people end up with such awful parents? Peter often wonders what the hell they thought having kids would be like; from what he’s gathered, they certainly didn’t get what they bargained for. Most likely, they’re deranged. How could a couple of brilliant, hard-working, compassionate, forethinking children such as Jason and Nadia possibly be a disappointment to them? Jason works his ass off, and he certainly doesn’t do it for himself because he’s miserable. That much is clear in the way his shoulders slump, his skin bruises, and the way he treats himself after the smallest step backward. Poor Jason: he’s a prodigy being treated like a burnout.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Nadia,” Peter promises. He lets his sharp focus linger on her for a few moments to prove he will touch base with her. Then, they’re off, Sister Rachel walking ahead of them while the boys follow side-by-side. He can find a reason to call his mom and he can probably even get her going on something long enough that he can listen to Jason’s conversation, as well. He needs to know what magnitude of crisis this is, so he can plan the corresponding course of action, if he can.
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Jason nods, meeting Peter's gaze with barely contained panic. Most people watching them will only see Jason endearingly accepting his best friend's offered help. Peter, close as he is, will be able to distinguish how scared Jason actually is without being able to show it. He's glad for his hand on his shoulder, too. He reaches up and places his hand on Peter's as well, in a gesture he's shared with various members of various sports' teams over the years. Only his hand on Peter's shoulder bears much more weight.
"I'm sure she must be worried about that class you were telling me about," and Jason is on the verge of babbling, but he just can't bring himself to care. He catches sight of Nadia out of the corner of his eyes. He's very glad he's in this position and not her. He can't stand when their mother calls for Nadia; his otherwise formidable sister reduced to a mess of insecurities with a few well chosen words. Neither of them are quite good at bucking the system of their family; they've always born the McConnell yoke with a grin, however shaky. It was the family way, even as his father pulled out his favorite belt to impart some more 'wisdom' into Jason.
He wants so badly to reach out and grab Peter's hand. His arm visibly twitches with the effort. Unfortunately, they're at the office sooner than Jason expects, and Sister Rachel is leading them both towards the phones. Jason heads towards the room where his father awaits, offering Peter an attempt at a smile that turns into a grimace.
"Shouldn't be long," he mutters. He hopes.
He moves to grab the phone awaiting him, inhaling a shuddering breath,
"Hey Dad," he says. Cold silence greets him for a solid minute; just enough time for his heart to drop into his stomach.
"So you quit track," he says, his tone as solid and as unforgiving as steel. "Care to explain why, after I spent thousands on a personal trainer?"
Jason flinches. "Dad, I just...I have so many other sports. I thought I could use the spare time to-"
"To what?" His father barks, and Jason can hear the eye roll from through the phone. He sinks into a nearby chair, feeling energy and life and optimism drain from him with each passing minute. "For homework? Kiddo, you already get straight A's. You haven't had to worry about grades since middle school." And a beating that had nearly kept him from returning from spring break.
"Dad, I -"
But Jason's father doesn't let him speak; he doesn't yell, either. He calmly informs him of how he told Father Flynn how he could expect Jason for track at Notre Dame. How much his mother loved being able to come and attend his meets. How utterly he'd disappointed the family name.
And, of course, emphasizing this all with various slurs and words that have haunted Jason since his first kiss with Peter. Just in case Jason's self-esteem wasn't too bruised already.
By the time the call ends, Jason's slumped over in the chair, trying to keep himself from crying.
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Their destination sneaks up on Peter, as well. Paused outside the building, Peter keeps his gaze: their only tool for translation, since they are not allowed to speak the truth. "I'll be here," he says softly, simply. Only this time, he has the luxury of meaning what he's said.
Several moments of watching Jason as he heads toward the phone pass before he sits down at another to call his mom. Peter can't hear Jason speaking yet, but Claire answers the phone, as usual, on the second ring.
"Hi, Mom."
"Peter!" She's so excited to hear from him that he can't help but smile. It slips away when he hears Jason's voice: he already sounds defeated. "Honey, how are you? Is everything okay?"
"Yeah," Peter is speaking lowly so he can better hear what's happening one room over. "I just wanted to say thanks for driving me all the way out here."
"Of course, Peter!" He can hear the smile in her voice just as he can hear Jason get shut down by his father. The juxtaposition is not lost on him. His heart aches with sympathy for Jason and hatred for Jason's father and wanting so, so badly to tell his mom any and all of this. "I'm going to send you some food later in the week."
"Thanks, Mom. Hey, did you make it to Grandma and Grandpa's okay?" Success; one simple question and Claire's off, babbling about traffic to New Jersey and her senile parents and Peter's excuse for a father. He tunes in and out, mostly listening for the telltale sound of the next phone's receiver hitting the base station. It comes and Peter's off the phone like a shot with an excuse about dinner, a couple of promises about being good. He's barely finished telling her he loves her before the phone's back in the cradle and Peter's up and by Jason's side. A tender hand falls very carefully on his shoulder, though he wants to be reckless as hell.
"Hey." He's gently calling his boyfriend back to Earth, not for the first time that evening. Once he has his gaze, he continues, voice overflowing with love. "Come on. Let's go back to the dorms." Their own dorm is only a few buildings over and there, he can wrap himself around Jason while he listens, soothes, and kisses him back to fighting shape. They always get there, and Peter takes such comfort in those moment where they're strong for each other.
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While on the phone with his father, Jason clings to the tendrils of Peter's voice that filter through the crack of the door between them. He clutches at the lightness and obvious affection he harbors for his mother, claiming them like strips of bandages to help cover his own gaping wounds. They make up for their minuscule size with the weight of their love, and ultimately, they are what keep Jason from breaking down completely in the middle of the office.
He thanks God when he hears Peter put the phone down nearly seconds after his father hangs up on him. He has to pause to take in several, shuddering breaths as he tries to focus on the hand on his shoulder and the voice from next to him. His heart misses a beat at all the love Peter bestows upon him with that gentle gaze and that sweet voice. Jason wants nothing more than to melt into him, so he readily agrees to head back to their dorm, where he already plans on pushing their mattresses together, curfew check be damned. He won't sleep tonight if he can't spend the night in his boyfriend's arms.
"Okay," Jason nods, without hiccuping, even. He glances up at Peter before quickly glancing around to find that, for the moment, they're alone, with Sister Rachel buried in paperwork. He reaches out and squeezes Peter's hand, clinging as though it were a life boat.
"Yeah, I...I just want to get back," he nods, standing up and following Peter, craving the inevitable closeness awaiting them once they return to their room.
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Before they set off for the dorms, Peter envelops Jason in a warm hug. No Sister or administrator could have a problem with comfort between friends, he figures, and he hopes the contact will serve as a salve for Peter's burning need to kiss his boyfriend. It works, thank God, and Peter opens the door for Jason.
They make quick work of getting out of the administration building and are at the dorms even quicker. Was Peter's pace more rapid than usual? Probably. He doesn't know how much longer Jason has before whatever his father has just said to him rips through his false-front persona, and Peter's tired of being just a friend for the evening. Forever, really, but he's willing to start with now.
A key in the door, the sound of them discarded on the desk, then Peter locks the door from the inside. This is something that is generally frowned upon after a certain time of day, but he's done playing by everyone else's rules. It's all only for tonight, anyway, and if Peter has this unfortunate opportunity to be the man he wants to be and to show Jason what that looks like, he's ready to take it. He sits down on one of the beds.
"What happened?" Peter asks. Carefully, he unlaces his shoes and sets them neatly in the corner. They're good at communicating in the confines of their dorm room -- in fact, Peter is constantly astounded by the other boy's intellect and forethought in those secret, real moments. He backs himself to the corner of the bed, leaving room should Jason want to take it.
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And then Peter pulls him in for a hug, and Jason almost inhales Peter as he returns the embrace, savoring every inch of Peter he feels against him and taking as much strength as he can. God, before Peter, Jason never knew how much warmth could be contained within a single hug. Or that it could be okay to want that from someone else not in his family. He feels temporarily fortified; enough so that he can make it back to their room without falling apart.
Jason is glad that Peter hurries his pace back to the dorm. Jason follows with just as quick a gait, his breathing coming in rapid as they walk up the stairs and towards that familiar door. His father's hateful words swirl like smoke around his thoughts, but Peter's vivid light helps to keep them at bay for the moment.
As Peter locks the key, Jason drags over one of his chests of clothes. Even if the chaperon does come to do a curfew check, they'll have fair warning. Jason doesn't want anything interrupting his time alone with Peter. Ever, really, but he'll settle for tonight.
Jason follows Peter to the bed; he sinks down onto it, instantly slouching onto Peter's shoulder. Gradually, his head sinks into Peter's lap. Again, he takes a deep, shuddering breath, as though he could breathe his boyfriend in. He basks in Peter's warmth and softness, letting one of his hands fall across Peter's lap, reaching for Peter. He wonders if Peter knows how much Jason needs him in his life. These moments between them are the true lights that keep Jason McConnell burning.
"He found out I quit track," he speaks, almost low enough to be a whisper. He shudders. "I'm glad he didn't find out until now, though."
There's so much more he wants to say right now, but he struggles to find the words to say.
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"I figured," Peter says gently. His wide mouth works into a frown, but his hands continue to rake delicate fingers through Jason's soft locks. "What did he say?" He knows this is the part that will make the bitter desire for revenge rise up in his gorge. Still, Peter needs the information as a diagnostic tool, like the old episodes of Star Trek Peter would watch with his own father before the man kicked rocks.
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He sighs, nearly mewls, again. He loves Peter's fingers in his hair, especially like this: all gentle and soothing, the touch of his own personal angel. Jason leans into the touch as best he can while also still pressing his face against Peter's lap. This, to him, is the definition of Paradise.
The sort of Paradise that will land him in Hell, according to his parents. Especially his dad, who'd littered their conversation with colorful language aplenty.
"Told me I was letting down the family with my selfishness," Jason says, voice softer now, though still fraught. "That he already told Father Flynn he could expect me for the track team at Notre Dame. And then he went right into a lecture about me turning soft, with a few of my favorite 'f' and 'q' words. Seems he's worried that me not wanting to run anymore is turning me into a Nancy boy." He chokes out hollow laughter that burns as it leaves his mouth.
"You know," he mumbles against Peter. "The usual, for him."
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The smile is gone by the time the inevitable bullshit hurtful words are out, hanging in the air even despite the fact that they'd gone relatively unsaid. That's the special brand of hurt words like the ones Jason's father hurls at his son like stones. They've done their job, and now Jason is a quivering mass in Peter's arms, which wrap even tighter around him. Tight enough that he is able to pull him up to kiss his temple. He's angry -- fucking furious, actually -- but he's doing what he needs to in order to slay Jason's giants the way Jason has slain his.
"Does that mean you're still in track, then?" It's a non-judgemental question for Peter's end; another attempt at understanding what it is that Jason's just been through. Not for the first time, Peter thanks God that his own bigot of a father is too much of a coward to say the things that Jason is forced to edure.
His ire rises further and he exhales it against Jason's skin, letting it go with another brush of a kiss against the side of Jason's face.
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Jason sighs again, breathing all stuttering and shaky, as Peter curls his arms around him more tightly. He can feel everything in those arms: love, adoration, support, kindness, generosity, and the simmering anger directed at his father. It warms him further, the way he's always read love is supposed to warm a person. He brings his own hands to wrap around what he can reach of Peter, clinging to him like an anchor.
And then Peter's pulling him up and kissing his temple, and Jason feels his father's influence ease further and further away. In this room, the two of them can hold each other and whisper and talk and kiss and it will be alright. Peter is guarding him with all the loyalty of a knight, and Jason knows that he needs no better security blanket than the promises he feels in his boyfriend's embrace.
"No, I'm not," Jason murmurs, glancing up and focusing his blue eyes on Peter above him. Even with his delicate features, Peter looks so strong and like he could rip the world in two if Jason asked that of him. His heart beat quickens and he feels himself flush, overwhelmed at the enormity of everything he finds in Peter's eyes. "I can't do it anymore, Peter. I'm so tired. And I am doing too many sports as it is." Too many sports and not enough fine arts, is what goes unspoken, but Jason's certain Peter can interpret the silent words just fine.
Peter exhales against his face before pressing another kiss there, and Jason manages a smile for the first time since his father called.
"Peter Simmonds, you really are a saint, you know."
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"He's wrong," Peter says. His mouth is very near to Jason's ear, so he doesn't speak up too much. Now, he presses a kiss just below Jason's earlobe. "You're going to get into Notre Dame with or without track. You're going to be St. Cecilia's Valedictorian and you'll captain the lacrosse team and tennis and whatever else you suffer through to make your asshole dad happy. You'll give a speech, your dad will pretend to be a human being for graduation day, and then we'll go off to Notre Dame and never look back. Fuck him." He's managed a soothing, gentle tone as he recites this fantasy, but he means the last two words too much for them to stay level. He wants to add that Jason will now be free to nab the lead in Romeo and Juliet since he's out of track -- he knows that's what he wants -- but there's no point in kicking Jason while he's down. He's that special kind of down that only his father can push him to, and Peter knows he's the only one that can bring him back. He's happy to help and relieved to be needed.
With all of the same care and warmth he's wrapped Jason up in until this point, he cups his cheek and turns his head a bit to kiss Jason's mouth, full-on and soft. He finds salvation. Only after the kiss lingers for so long and not nearly long enough does Peter address his statement. His cheeks burn hot at the high praise, but they're close enough that Peter figures Jason can feel it better than he can see it.
"No," he says, hand sliding down thin shirt fabric to feel the beat of Jason's racing heart. "But I'm yours." And he's proud to be, even if that's not allowed.
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Jason leans into Peter's mouth near his ear, clinging to him and listening as intently as he once did with sea shells on the Connecticut beaches as a young child. Peter's words wind through him like a spring breeze, warm and lilting; inspiring his heart to settle and his body to sink further into Peter's embrace. Those words make Jason feel new again; they make him feel invincible. No matter what, his father can never take this away from Jason. His father can never sever what Peter means to Jason, no matter how many ugly words he spews in the middle of his lectures.
"Can we slash his tires once we get to Notre Dame?" Jason nearly whispers, spellbound by the idea of Peter attending Notre Dame with him. It is the only idea capable of rendering Notre Dame palatable for him. His eyelids flutter, and he leans into nuzzle against the soft fuzz of Peter's chin. The words he says now are words he'll only ever admit to Peter; not even Nadia knows how much he can't take his father's burdens. "On his favorite car? And maybe toss his favorite golf clubs into the river."
And then Peter's kissing him, gentle and soothing in a way Jason feels down to his soul; he makes a low, appreciative noise, returning the kiss just as sweetly and gasping a bit in between the press of their lips. The only grace of God Jason needs is right there in Peter's kiss. Jason sways a bit when they finally break apart, though he delights all the same in the way he can feel Peter's flush against his own face.
He gasps again when Peter drags his hand down his chest, leaning into the touch. It's so gentle and sturdy; very much like Peter's presence, really.
"My own Saint Peter," Jason wonders aloud. He grins, genuine and full. "I like the sound of that."
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"I'm all for it," Peter laughs. He kisses Jason again before carefully depositing him on the bed. He tucks his legs under Jason's and props himself up on an elbow. Peter's arm is curled around Jason's torso, and he gives him another, unable-to-resist kiss. "I always imagined it would be something more like..." He appears to consider for a moment before he produces, "getting really trashed after a rave and feeling each other up in his favorite car." The hand that is not busy propping himself up finds the curls near Jason's ears; it makes him smile as he feels their softness against the pads of his fingers. "Or in his favorite car and then on his second favorite." He's obviously joking, as malice isn't really Peter's strongest suit, but it's fun to talk about a fantasy within a fantasy.
"You're the saint," Peter informs him, finger moving from those adorable curls to the shell of the ear that they surround. He kisses Jason's chin: a reminder that he is still all-in on the comfort. "You're built like a Greek statue." His nose wrinkles as he tries to cover the silly flushing at his cheeks.
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"Good," Jason says, laughing a bit with him. His laughter carries a bit into the kiss they share, right before Peter puts him on the bed. Jason sighs as their legs tangle together; now he feels complete. Now, he feels whole. He lets out a small, barely contained happy noise as Peter pulls him closer for another kiss, warm and perfect and oh-so Peter. Jason melts beneath it. Jason's eyes light up with Peter's talk, big and bold and unlikely to ever come to fruition. Still, it's fun to indulge in perfect moments like this. He crinkles his nose again, his eyes turning sly. "You would look magnificent spread out on the hood of his Audi," Jason says, teasing even as he leans into the way Peter plays with his curls.
Jason smiles up at him, grinning at each and every loving gesture. He feels so enveloped by warmth, now.
"You're not built too bad yourself, you know," he says, bringing a hand to slide down Peter's stomach, enjoying the way Peter flushes.
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Feeling Jason laugh against his mouth spreads a smile over Peter's face as they kiss. He has to concentrate to get his lips pliant, and as soon as the kiss has ended, he's smiling again. Jason's laugh heralds a new chapter of the evening is beginning. He welcomes it, but keeps a foot in the past just in case Jason tumbles backward. Peter figures if he just keeps a foothold, he can lift him up and carry him back to paradise.
"Now that's a car commercial," Peter muses, and his eyes close with the force of his laughter. "It sends a strong message." The concussive force of his laughter has no bearing on the soft strokes of fingers through Jason's hair; he takes the opportunity to kiss Jason's neck below his ear once again, this time lingering without being able to help himself. After Jason's comment about Peter's stature, he decides to keep going in this vain, lest Jason get the added satisfaction of seeing Peter's cheeks turn up red for the hundred-millionth time in the last few hours. He's kissed his way down to the juncture of his neck and collarbone when he feels Jason's hand caress over to his stomach. He loves to hear what Jason thinks of his body because Jason is pretty much the only reason he bothers to maintain it. A naturally thin boy, Peter has enrolled in PE for two more years than was necessary just to stay on top of his appearance. Tennis is pretty much the only thing he can stand, so he just keeps taking that over and over and it keeps him in more-than-decent shape. That and his marathons with Jason, of course.
"There's no contest," Peter says. He moves his hand from the Jason's curls down to the hem of his shirt and tugs it up to reveal that sinfully chiseled torso beneath. His hand slides down the bare skin, drinking it in. Just looking at Jason makes his breath quicken, his head swim. It's inevitable that Peter's mouth will find its way to that soft skin stretched over chiseled muscle, but he's going to resist as long as he can.
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He thinks he could exist just on kissing Peter alone. His lips tremble against Peter's, even as they laugh. And Peter's smile must be carved from the same material as clouds, for all its lightness and purity. Jason loves that smile, and he loves how that smile is meant for him alone. He feels liberated in that smile; like the outside world can't reach him or crush him. Already, the phone conversation with his father has settled in the back of his mind, forgotten for the evening. Screw his father. He has Peter beside him, and he needs nothing else.
"Hmmm I thought so," Jason replies with a rakish grin. "A strong and rather loud one, going by past experiences." But he hardly gets the chance to bask in his teasing before Peter's leaning in and kissing him below his ear. His chest tightens and Jason gasps, nearly overcome by the softness of the kiss. "Peter," he exhales as Peter continues his ministrations with those lips that could make even the most rigid of angels fall. His hand on Peter's stomach begins to smooth messy, slow circles, his touch just a tad insistent. He loves the way Peter isn't as obviously muscled as most of the boys in their grade, including Jason himself. He knows how hard Peter works at maintaining it, even as Jason would love him no matter what his body looked like.
"And there doesn't need to be," Jason replies, focusing his clear, blue eyes on Peter's gaze, pouring as much reassurance as he can into the look. And then Peter's tugging at his hem and putting his hand on exposed, warm flesh, and Jason gasps again, his chest tightening once more. He already feels dizzy just from that one touch. With a quirk of a grin, he slides his own hand down to sneak under Peter's shirt as well.
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Peter feels the way Jason tremors through the kiss. Maybe he's still afraid, still wound tight from the hateful words from the mouth of a ignorant father. Before that hand finds its way to Jason's middle again, he presses a cool hand against Jason's burning face, unobtrusive and soothing. They don't need to talk about it, anymore. The aftershocks are still being felt, but there's no point in getting clutched about the initial seismic waves if there's no damage to their foundation. Anyway, Peter's sure that Jason will speak up if needs to.
"I don't think you understand how obscenely loud I'd be," Peter comments easily, stopping his kisses to nuzzle into the crook of his neck. He's still smiling, wider even. "I'm not sure I could control myself in the face of pissing your father off." He chuckles, nips the skin he's just warmed with his face.
Hearing his name breathed that way turns Peter's stomach to liquid. He's half-hard anyway, just from touching Jason and having him close, then the reciprocation of the touch. Wetting his lips, he just lets himself experience the sensation of Jason's hands in his shirt, rubbing hot little circles there. It occurs to him, how blown out his eyes must look, that he's breathing through parted lips, and he breathes, "God, I love the way you touch me."
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And then Jason met Peter's gaze for the very first time, and suddenly, the world made sense again. Jason felt his heart race; he felt the way the words caught in his throat. Nadia and his parents teased him for his sudden nervousness, but Jason knew. He knew then that he loved Peter.
Jason leans into that cool, soothing touch to his face, pressing his face into Peter's hand and trying to absorb every ounce of cool sweetness he finds there. That hand smooths away the barbs of his father's lingering words, and Jason basks in the way said touch sends thrills down to his stomach.
And then Peter's talking about potential, obscenely loud noises, and Jason feels his entire body tighten and clench. He knows Peter must be able to feel his state of arousal by now, simply from all their kissing and touching. But Peter teasing like this makes Jason shudder, and at the nip he receives provokes a small, yet hungry, noise from Jason.
"I can imagine it," Jason says, voice husky as he increases the pressure of his touch against Peter's bare skin. His face heats up again, but from desire, this time. "I can see you and hear you and feel you and Jesus Christ, Peter."
Peter's staring at him with his doe eyes blown wide, wet lips panting in time with his heavy breathing; Jason can feel how turned on he is, too. And then Peter says those words, and it's all the encouragement Jason needs to move and turn, pressing Peter into the mattress with his chest and hips. He starts kissing his way down Peter's through, lingering and sucking on heated skin as though he needs it like air.
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When the muscles of Jason's torso ripple below Peter's hand, he succumbs to a fascinated, ruined sort of noise. God, he's so beautiful. If there ever has to be someone after Jason (and Peter cannot imagine how or why), there's no way he will ever compare. Hasn't people heard that their physical state deteriorates with age? In this moment, he's sure Jason is the exception: that he'll look exactly like he does in this moment for the rest of his life. He hopes he gets the chance to be disappointed.
This is what he is musing on when all of a sudden, he finds himself pressed into the mattress. The noise the move elicits is something like a gasp and something else like the relief of a prayer answered. Jason's sliding down his body and Peter's all body electric, his core tensing and smoothing at contact.
"Fuck, Jason, your mouth," he marvels, head tipping back against the feeling of Jason's mouth all over Peter's skin. He finds himself once again needing to watch the way Jason looks pressing into him, kissing over him. He wonders briefly if he should be the one to be offering this kind of overwhelming comfort, but it's hard not to feel greedy with that mouth on his skin.
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Jesus, but the sounds Peter makes; they run right through Jason, like bolts of lightning. His entire being feels alight at the way Peter's noises seem to embed in his skin. He has to pause and take several moments just to drink Peter in; his lovely, freckled skin and his artfully-arranged reddish hair. His brilliant green eyes. God, he looks like a Disney prince, Jason realizes. His smile widens to the point where it actually, physically hurts; he doesn't care. He'll put up with this sort of pain and more if it means being happy alone with Peter.
Jason has to groan at the way Peter sounds and feels beneath him; the soft gasp and the tense muscles flexing beneath his touch. He moans against Peter's neck, letting his hand wander further and further down Peter's body. He can't keep himself from sucking on hot skin, moving now towards Peter's fragile collarbone.
"Yes?" He pulls back slightly to glance at Peter with teasing eyes that are as blown as wide as Peter's. Desire and love and relishing this moment swirl about Jason like a pleasant fog. His voice is husky, low, and nearly off-kilter just from all they've been doing so far. "Anywhere in particular you want my mouth?" He asks, teasing wider, firmer circles lower down Peter's abdomen, watching for the delicious response he knows is coming.
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He doesn't even know how to finish that sentence. After that it all seems contrived and he still can't decide how he feels about any of it.
On Jason, though, Peter's stance is pretty clear. The way Jason eggs him on with his leading little teases makes that tell-tale pigment rise in Peter's cheeks. Once again, he finds his lover congratulating himself on turning Peter on.
"I don't know why you're so smug," he murmurs, still arching against the touch; it illustrates his point anyway. "You can wind me up without trying," and wound up he is. It's a switch so easy to flip that Peter is sure Jason could do it in his sleep. He already has.
But for all that Peter's mouth (half-halfheartedly at most) protests, his hands expose the wafer-thin lie by sliding his hands all the way up Jason's shirt to lift it over his head. Before Jason can go back to congratulating himself, Peter meets the aforementioned mouth with his own. His kisses are tender even in their eagerness. As much as it seems the damage of his father's words has lifted (and impossible as it may seem), he's more in love with Jason than he is in need of his touch. Admittedly, not by much, at that moment.
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Jason grins, leaning in to kiss that flush on his lover's face that he loves so much.
"Oh, I know," Jason can't help but smugly mention, enjoying the way Peter arches underneath him. He drinks in the sight and rewards Peter with even more insistent touches. "Doesn't mean I can't appreciate a beautiful sight when I see it, though."
Jason only huffs out a breathless laugh as Peter takes off his shirt, delighted by the eagerness in the other boy's hands. And then Peter's kissing him, tenderly and sweetly, and Jason falls back over him to fully relish in their lips meeting and parting and meeting again. Warmth overwhelms him, even with his shirt newly discarded. He pulls back only slightly to begin working on Peter's shirt, letting his gaze, ripe and filled with love and adoration, meet Peter's as he does so.
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"You're beautiful," Peter vollies back, putting no emphasis on which is truer. The simplicity of their dynamic in solitude would probably make their classmates sick. It's somewhere between Matt's pining soliloquies and Tanya and Lucas' incessant PDA storm, but Peter and Jason are so much better off in so many ways. Maybe it's because it's a secret.
Jason's hands are so warm and gentle that Peter catches his breath when they're off of him, but searching hands have become a hard, hot body atop Peter's and he forgets what he missed immediately. Soon Peter has shed his top layers again and when skin meets skin, Peter hums his approval. When his eyes open from this moment of nirvana, he catches Jason's eyes and the sharp twists of arousal in his abdomen cool to a dull throb, just as insistent. On his inhale, his gaze softens and he is able to relax completely on the exhale. This is perfect, he thinks.
"Jason..." He's almost all the way to the end of the 'I' in 'I love you,' but he doesn't want Jason to feel any more pressure than he already has today. Instead, he strains his neck upward to place a small, sweet, tender little kiss. A few moments linger before Peter pulls Jason down on top of him again, arms winding around his boyfriend's shoulders.
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