no_voice | Cause he knows he's taking chances. [Test post for Peter]

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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.

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The press of Jason reaching behind Peter to lock the door and the accompanying sound extracts a Pavlovian response; Peter's jaw tightens and loosens with the same thrill of possibilities that's just surged through Jason. He thinks for the hundredth time, how could this be wrong? Maybe his thoughts aren't pure, but his love is, and the closer they are, the more Peter can feel the warm reflection of his own certainty in Jason.

Somewhere under all of the desire and adoration, that guilt and sense of detachment he will feel in the morning when their classmates have surrounded Jason and he will no longer touch Peter like this pulls at a thread. Peter cuts it before anything can unravel.

He feels his head thumps softly against the door again as Jason's touch warms him from the contact point out. He's fighting a juxtaposing shudder when he catches that same heat in Jason's eyes.

"I don't need your permission," Peter pushes back with pliant defiance, and then he's on his knees, feet pressed against the bottom of the door as if for extra protection from the outside world. There is nothing in the world that Peter wants more than to taste every gorgeous inch of his classmate, except maybe the validation of hearing Jason insist he press on. Perhaps this is why he takes his time unfastening the simple buttons on Jason's jeans and kills some more time mouthing softly along that perfect cut of his hips.

Jason watches the way Peter's jaw tenses and slacks all at once, committing the image to memory even as the sight causes him to shudder all the same. He sees the same wanting burning in Peter's gorgeous eyes, the shimmering color of sea glass beneath the summer sun. The brightness of them, and the intensity of their closeness, drives from Jason the thoughts of how this isn't who his family wants him to be. Alone, in their own little world, they have each other, and the love between them. And here, in this room, that is enough.

Jason very much shoves the inevitable fact of having to hide from the rest of the school in the morning out of the window of his thoughts. He leans in to steal another kiss, groaning into Peter's mouth as he feels all of the order and control he maintains over his life seep out from him as though he were bleeding out. He brings one hand up to brush against cheekbones as sharp as the edge of glass, letting out a shuddering breath as he pulls back.

"One day," he says, all earnest even as desire and affection cloud his gaze. "I am going to kiss every freckle on your body. That's a promise." His voice rings out low and husky, and surely, by now, Peter can see and feel how much Jason wants him.

And then Peter actually falls to his knees, pressing his face to his hips and moving to undo his buttons so slowly Jason thinks he might expire from the building tension in his belly.

"Jesus, Peter," he groans again, moving to tangle his hands in Peter's hair, tugging a bit to urge him on. "Please."

Spontaneous as it may seem, the smooth move downward was planned from the moment he left his parents' house that morning. This and exactly this is what Peter needs; maybe it will ground him, quiet the millions of questions that build up from summer to summer, and maybe the world will finally freeze around them like it does in the most optimistic of his dreams.

He takes a look in those big blue eyes from his perfect vantage point and gets exactly what he wants.

Peter's own eyes close again when Jason speaks, and he has to press his forehead against the perfect flatness of Jason's hip to keep from toppling over. Even after nearly 6 years of doing this dance, Peter still gets that head rush he felt the first time they touched, and every time, it's equally overwhelming -- there's absolutely no way that sort of intense wave should still be there. Especially if any of the adult relationships Peter's seen are any indication.

All it takes is the firm and gentle urging of Jason's hand in his hair to get Peter to suggestively tug up on Jason's shirt (he'll have to take care of that, Peter is busy) and he gets to work cinching Jason's pants down before the insistence of Jason's hands, the only hands that were allowed in his hair, and he tugs Jason's pants down only as much as he needs to. His hands flatten against the soft skin and tight musculature of Jason's hips as he closes his already-red, affected mouth over him.

There's a grace to Peter's movements, like a swan unfurling its neck. It takes Jason's breath away, how smoothly Peter falls to his knees. With his head pressed so close to his midsection, as though his hips were pillows, Jason can indulge in the idea that nothing can intrude upon this secret paradise of theirs. This is bliss; their own heaven, away from prying eyes and absurd expectations.

Jason meets Peter's gaze and his heart leaps to his throat, taking his breath along with it. Time, the world - everything seems to fall away so it's just Jason and Peter. "Peter," he says. 'I love you' goes unspoken in the pause after his name.

Peter leans more into him, and Jason shivers, wanting running rampant through him. Images flicker and flash as his own eyelids flutter; him pressing Peter into the sheets, kissing every freckle and drawing all sorts of wonderful noises and that glorious flush of his cheeks he adores so much from him. Jason's chest tightens, and a moan falls from his lips. God, how he wants. He wants so much. Peter is the only one he wants. The heat burns within him as intensely as it did when they first started touching and exploring together. It almost scares Jason how much he loves that burning. How much he needs it.

He grins at the tugging on his shirt, only removing his hands from Peter's hair long enough to shed it. As Peter pulls Jason's pants down, his breathing roughens. "Seems rather unfair how naked I am and how very clothed you are," he jokes, though his voice is ragged.

And then Peter's mouth is on him, warm and beautiful and so very much everything Jason needs in this moment. "Fuck," he hisses, bringing his hands back to Peter's hair to find purchase their, trying to resist the urge to immediately start moving his hips. "God, Peter."

It happens a lot, Jason starting to say he loves Peter and stopping there before he has to deal with what it means, but with so much of what he wants so close to him, he can't dodge the true meaning, so he squeezes Jason's hips to return the silent declaration. And really, how does he expect to not comply with anything his own personal Adonis may want of him?

Still, he's not going to give in too easily, not without firing sass back at sass. He rocks back on his heels and pulls back only far enough to extract himself and stand up, fully clothed in front of Jason; Peter never feels more confident than when Jason hasn't seen him in a while and the need seems perfectly evenly distributed between them.

He misses Jason's touch already, so he makes quick work of pulling his button-up over his head, then his t-shirt. Instead of going for his pants, though, he wraps his arms back around Jason's neck and gives him the proper, hard, breathless kiss that he deserves.

Jason knows what it is he feels for Peter. He's known since he first saw him, though he's done his best to run and hide from what loving Peter means. He feels so deeply, and so much; the sort of feelings he's not supposed to feel, not when he's supposed to go off to Notre Dame and carry on the family name and honor. But then Peter squeezes his hips, a silent answer that renders him dizzy and uncaring of familial expectations in that moment.

He hisses when Peter parts from him, feeling the loss keenly as the other boy rises to his feet. "Such a tease you are, Peter," he murmurs, blue eyes blown wide as he takes Peter in. There's a confidence to him that makes Jason's knees buckle and his insides turn to jelly.

And then Peter's stripping for him, tossing aside his button-up and t-shirt. Jason steps out of his own pants and stalks towards him just as Peter reaches him and throws his arms around his neck. Jason groans into the kiss, returning it with equal fervor. He grins into it, moving one hand to shove it suddenly into Peter's pants. Two can play at this game after all.

"Hmm," he murmurs when they part temporarily, squeezing his hand deliberately around Peter. "You feel even better than I remember."

The sound Peter makes is neither voluntary, nor quiet. A sudden, guttural utterance hiccups forth from Peter's mouth and he all but smashes his mouth against Jason's to try and cover it. In the wake of the move, he's already on his toes. So, rather than climb his boyfriend like a tree, he decides to hang a left toward the nearest bed instead, since he's not sure how much longer he'll be able to stand.

He's only gotten as far as unfastening his pants before his back is against the overly-starched dorm sheets. His aim is true and his head hits the pillow with a soft bounce. The bed gives a friendly creak just in time to cover up another hungry, involuntary groan and shiver. Once relaxed against the bed, he can give a more earnest attempt at getting his pants off. It's very tough to focus, though.

"Jason," he whispers softly, partly to himself. Sometimes Peter feels like he's dreaming. Now he's trying to split what very little attention he has left on getting his pants off and pulling Jason closer. It's clear that he is losing his grip on polite reality with every electric touch of Jason's hand.

Peter's noise jolts right through Jason; he smirks into the sudden kiss Peter presses to his lips, as though that could cover the beautiful, guttural utterance he's already heard. Catching Peter off-guard like this never fails to excite him; perfectly composed Peter, unraveling at his touch.

He groans into the kiss as Peter walks backward towards the closest bed, letting his hands wander as he playfully helps shove Peter onto it. Jason pulls back for just a moment, savoring the sight of Peter laying beneath him, once-neat hair sticking out like a messy halo and framing that beautiful, freckled face flush from all their kissing and wanting. Jason's breath hitches at the sight; his stomach tightens with warmth.

There's something especially exquisite about Peter laying against the sheets, his pants open but still clinging to his body as he attempts to pull them off. And the way he utters Jason's name, softly as a prayer, well. Jason gasps in response, leaning in to steal another kiss. God, he loves Peter so much.

"Need a hand?" He asks, innocently as he can muster while still grasping Peter, moving his hand just a moment to be able to assist Peter in pulling his pants the rest of the way off. Once that task is accomplished, Jason brings one hand back to stroking Peter and the other to start wandering across his lover's chest.

"I did mean it, you know," he says as he moves to begin pressing slow, hot kisses down Peter's neck. "I'm going to kiss every freckle on your body."

There isn't a metaphor more apt than Peter's carefully-chosen outfit now crumpled. His shirt is discarded, hanging from the desk by the door, and his pants are now pooled only just below the bed on the floor -- it all happened so fast. That's the whirlwind of them, he thinks for a second, but it's the last clear thought he has. Now, he's just thinking Jason over and over; like a chant, a prayer.

He tries to answer Jason, to tell him that he wants more but he's unsuccessful. His neck strains for another kiss, he's reaching hungrily for Jason, one had splayed and gripping his lover's shoulder for dear life, the other stroking its way through the soft perfection of Jason's hair as he moves to worship Peter's neck.

Another earnest attempt at speech fails when Jason stokes the fire with his promises, and all of these verbal misfires culminate in a desperate, strained, "yes." He doesn't even have his wits about him enough to be embarrassed by his loss of composure; in fact, he doesn't even want it, anymore. He doesn't ever want to have to be composed again.

When the fire that's spreading from Jason's practiced, knowing touch threatens to tip him over the edge, he finds his hand has moved from Jason's hair to his forearm to steady the motion. Words to describe what's happening are sometimes easier to speak than others, and he's not really able to do much else at the moment, so he locks eyes with Jason by way of communication. That sea glass color that Jason tends to get lost in is cloudy, now, and Peter's eyes are wide and desperate.

When he's sure he can move without passing out or getting off, he gently, suggestively pushes Jason back. It's a bit of a balancing act, since Peter is not at that moment incredibly dizzy and in a half-haze. Thanks to the loss of his tight jeans, he can settle more easily between Jason's legs. He makes quick work of this and slides down his body to put his mouth back where it belongs.

Jason doesn't really know where his clothes fell, only that they're scattered across the floor, a haphazard mess entirely forgotten for the moment. Sometimes, it amazes him to think how fast they've come together, a collision of lips and promises and three months too long spent apart. But for now, there is only them, kissing and touching and clutching each other as though the world were ending. Jason wouldn't mind, really, if that meant he could just remain in bed with Peter like this, holding him and touching him and drawing those amazing sounds from him.

He grins at Peter's hand gripping his shoulder, relishing the way he clutches at him, as though he might fly away if Peter lets go. A stuttered breath seeps from him at the sensation of Peter running his hands through his hair, and he bites a little into the kiss he presses against the juncture of Peter's neck and collar.

Beautiful, composed Peter, crumpling into that one word, 'yes'. Jason moans at the sight, that lovely flush that highlights all the freckles he has yet to kiss and those eyes, those beautiful, sea glass eyes, that inspires the tide of the warmth inside of him. "Peter," he breathes against his neck, losing his own composure in the process.

Then Peter places his hand on Jason's arm and their eyes lock, the same way they did all those years ago when they first arrived to Saint Cecilia's. They don't need to speak to communicate like this, flashing lights within two sets of eyes meeting across the narrowing space between them. He makes something of a strangled noise, but he nods, shifting back when Peter nudges him.

Suddenly, Peter is over him, and Jason's the one pressed into the sheets, and it robs him of his breath. He clutches at what he can reach of Peter as he moves down his body, and when his mouth falls over him again, he groans, low and husky, and tangles his fingers once more in Peter's hair. His hips arch towards Peter's mouth and the way it fits so perfectly around him.

"Peter," he gasps, glancing down at him, unable to take his eyes away.

Jason's thought thought that they've not tangled themselves together this quickly after reuniting before today is echoed in Peter's own thoughts. The still-increasing intensity that quakes inside him sends an aftershock all the way up his spine, through his neck. There, working his mouth over Jason, kneading and squeezing his hands over his hips, he feels like Jason needs him -- like a summer of a few, stolen phone calls and nagging, burning questions that Peter feels will never be answered is worth it. Words like "forever" have meaning, again.

Exhilarated as he is simply guiding Jason in and out his mouth by his hips, he knows he needs to keep hearing Jason's voice, and he knows that he needs more of him. Hands can no longer stay still, they travel everywhere and anywhere he can reach in a frenzy of caresses and tugs. A low, uneven moan escapes him. He's breathless and dizzy and he wants Jason in every possible way simultaneously, as is evident by his state, both mental and physical.

Perhaps the fact that they're about to embark upon their senior year influences their increasing urgency; the idea that the future looms before them, large and unknown, yet mapped out, in Jason's case. But he doesn't think of that future, nor of the plans suggested for him by his father. Jason concentrates instead on Peter before him, eyes glazed and beautiful, his hair wild and unkempt, so unlike his usual, polished appearance. Jason shudders, needing and wanting so much in that moment.

He's lifting his helps to help Peter, body tensing and soft whimpers falling from him with each touch and caress. Jason feels like he's going out of his mind, and he wants more of it. More of Peter. So though it nearly kills him to do so, he gently tugs on Peter's hair, pulling his mouth away. He groans at the sudden feeling of air rushing against heated skin, but Jason is determined.

He moves so that they're both facing each other on the bed, reaching to clasp Peter's face between his hands.

"Peter," his voice comes out hollow and desperate. Jason knows his own eyes must be blown wide, his own face flushed. All he can do is stare at Peter, beautiful, nearly undone Peter, and kiss him soundly, hungrily.

"What do you want Peter?" Jason asks. He wants so badly to make love to Peter; yearning makes him shiver and gasp. But he won't do anything until he knows what it is Peter wants. Because he loves Peter so much. He wants to please him and he wants to make him happy the best that he can.

The tenderness Jason practices even when need is tugging at both of them always blows Peter away. He's more or less in his lap anyway, and it's obvious they're on the same page. It's a fragile, incredible moment, though, so Peter positions himself fully in his best friend's lap and caresses his face from hairline to incredibly-shaped jaw.

"I want you," he assures him, unsure and unwilling to think about whether or not Jason understands exactly what he means. Now is perfect, but when he can stop and think about it, later is plaguing him. He didn't figure it would be so loud that it would bubble to the surface even in moments like that one--

He wants Jason to convince him. He wants to not need to feel convinced.

He lets out a groan as Peter climbs fully into his lap, never for a moment taking his eyes off Peter or the way his breathing hitches as they grow closer together, inch by inch. Need is the thickness of the air between them, spilling out both of their mouths in bursts and gasps. Jason can't help himself when he rolls his hips forward a little bit, trying to soothe some of his need for friction. Peter's hand on his face is so gentle and loving; like the caress of a wing instead of a hand. Jason's breath catches as he stares, bringing one of his own hands to cover Peter's. The moment is full and beautiful; alive as though it were its own being.

Jason lets out a shuddering breath at Peter's words, letting them sink beneath his skin. "I want you too," he says, leaning up to kiss Peter firmly yet tenderly, as he shifts to lower him to the bed. "I want you so much, Peter," he breathes into him, wishing he had the courage to tell his boyfriend that he loves him.

He pulls back to study the brightness of Peter against the dull, school sheets. His vibrant hair and eyes; the watercolor-quality to his cheeks. And those freckles. That beautiful, myriad of constellations across his skin that tugs at Jason's heart every time he looks at Peter. "God, you're beautiful," he tells him. Slowly, gradually, he drapes himself across Peter as he reaches clumsily for the supplies he's already packed away in the drawer next to the bed.

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.

Jason, staring intently as he is at Peter, can't help but notice the way he shakes. Trembles. Concerned, Jason leans in to press his forehead against Peter's, using his free hand to soothe down the side of one shaking arm. "Hey," he murmurs, looking directly into those sea glass eyes. "Everything okay?" He hopes he's done nothing to make Peter nervous. Jason still remembers their first time. The rush of limbs and tangling of bodies and lips. He remembers feeling as though he were falling, faster and deeper than ever before. He remembers the first time holding Peter in this way and the sudden memory inspires a sudden, overwhelming breathlessness over him. He feels as though they're both on the edge of a sort of precipice, on the verge of falling over said edge.

Jason has never felt more alive in his entire life than in this moment.

Peter's laugh, so lovely and lyrical, makes Jason grin in turn as he pulls out the lube and the condoms he'd made sure to sneak in when his parents weren't looking.

"Oh, you're still a boyscout," Jason assures him with a crooked grin, leaning in to kiss Peter's nose and cheeks quickly. "Cute as a button and with the doe eyes to match." Peter's hands then find their way on his chest, soothing downward. "Peter," he gasps, pausing a bit to lean into that hot touch as he meets those eyes, intoxicated and feeling as though he might float out of his skin at any moment.

God, when Peter bites his lip like that.

"Fuck," Jason swears, shuddering and leaning into Peter's touch. He has to take a moment to catch his breath; he feels as though he caught a fist to his gut, just from the expression on Peter's face.

"God, Peter," he groans, leaning forward to kiss those tempting lips while flicking open the bottle in his other hand. He pours some of the liquid on a couple of fingers before gently pressing one of them into Peter as he desperately tries to maintain control over himself. "Do you know what you do to me?"

He leans back down, kisses Peter soundly and madly as he begins moving his finger in a slow, steady motion.

"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.

Peter kisses him, soft, reassuring, and quiet; a kiss so like Peter himself, in fact. Jason smiles, returning the kiss with a soft smile of his own. His gaze hardly ever breaks with Peter's; blue eyes boring into green. Here, in the safe space of their room, Jason can indulge in staring. He can gaze all he wants, pouring every unspoken truth out of himself for Peter to see. Their eyes do often meet, even in the hallways and in class. But Jason knows too well how to cover those gazes up as roommates merely passing each other by. It's the act of concealing himself away from the rest of the world. To hide the most vulnerable part of his life from the outside world.

God but Jason loves when Peter wrinkles his nose. It's somewhat rabbit-like, all scrunchy and adorable. It spurs on the warmth rapidly unfurling inside of him and makes him pause to consider how it is he's come to find someone like Peter. The question and answer to the looming, missing element in his life. Jason has been struggling against the idea of destiny all of his life; Peter liberates him from that. Makes him live in the moment and provides a place where he can be himself without the weight of expectation on him.

Peter's tightening lips and the way his voice comes out hoarse and rough draws a hitch of breath from Jason. He curls the first finger, adding to the friction as he waits desperately for more of Peter's beautiful noises. But then Peter's pulling him in for a crushing, hungry kiss and his insistent words.

"Hmm," Jason groans, his voice hoarse, moving to press another finger teasingly at Peter. "You make me nearly go out of mind. I can't stop thinking about your lips or your eyes. I'm supposed to concentrate in class and all I hear is your laughter. I think of you when I'm supposed to be praying. You and the way you graze your teeth across that bottom lip of yours." He has to pause as the heat tightens in his belly like a coil. He lets out a shuddering breath before starting to press wicked, hot kisses to Peter's neck.

"Do you even know how beautiful you are?" He nearly whispers. "How much you drive me crazy? Peter, you're perfect." He adds teeth to his kisses, pressing his second finger in more fully, desperate for more of Peter's reactions as he tries to ignore his own aching hardness.

Surprised by the reaction getting exactly what he wanted from Jason and the accompanying wildfire it starts in his entire midsection, Peter gasps. He's not sure (and he doesn't care) whether Jason's touch or his words that sends him past the point of clear thought. As much as he wants to lie below Jason as he worships him with his words and touch, but it's not enough, anymore. He clutches at the back of Jason's neck, tangling his slender fingers in the damp, tousled tufts of Jason's hair.

"Please," Peter all but whimpers, flexing his arm to tug Jason down to his lips again. He's frenzied, but he's all in one place, body and soul, and he's feeling greedy. "Please, God, Jason, please." Even through the haze this mewling turns his cheeks and ears red. Somewhere, floating about himself, he knows he's lost control, but either he can't pull the strings to get himself together or he doesn't want to.

Even the softness of Peter's fingers tangling in his dampened hair is enough to draw multiple, soft noises from Jason, halfway between whimpers and moans. Peter's eyes are wild and his touch is insistent as much as it is desperate; he's unraveling from his usual composure and Jason, addicted, can't get enough of the sight or sensation. He leans down as Peter pulls on his hair, presses their hot foreheads together as curls and works his fingers inside of Peter.

When Peter pulls him down into a kiss, Jason groans, parting Peter's lips with his tongue as he kisses back more fervently. God, the noises Peter makes. He shudders, the sound of Peter's cries and pleading jolting all the way down through his belly, nearly driving him mad. His own, blue eyes are as clouded and glazed as Peter's lips parted in obscene prayer.

He adds a third finger then, curling and twisting, aiming for that spot he knows will send stars across Peter's eyes. As Jason feels himself falling apart as well, he manages a smirk as he moves into kiss Peter again, long and hard and greedy. "Please what?" He asks, eyes alight with mischief and teasing.

There's a veritable symphony of gorgeous noises coming from Jason's mouth, and the noises fall whether Peter is dampening the sound with his own mouth or not. Jason's curling, twisting, insistent fingers are winding him tighter and tighter and he too feels like he may go completely mad.

He knows what Jason wants, knows that all he has to do is say it and that Jason will, the way he always does, bring fantasy into reality. He's also sure he's given Jason enough satisfaction in this encounter alone that he's not sure he wants to stroke his ego more. There's his lover's hand again, though, searching and pushing and Peter can't take it anymore.

"Fuck me," he hisses, the sound of the desperation and boldness in his own voice closing his lips, eyes, and then he's moaning, loud, frustrated, frenzied. "God, please." He's twisting his hips and ass down now, trying to get the most out of Jason's touch, whimpering and shuddering breath after shallow breath. "Jason, I need you." The desire has mounted to shuddering, quivering basic need.

Even when they're both quieting each other with their mouths, Jason feels the echoes of their shared noises sliver through him, serpentine and warm and alive in a way no such sounds have a right to be. He can sense the way he winds Peter up further with the increasing intensity of said noises spilling into his mouth; he replies with passionate kisses and moaning of his own.

Though he is very much near the edge of going beyond coherency, Jason can see the reluctance in Peter's eyes at saying what he knows Jason wants to hear out loud. He smirks in response, delighting in it. He does so enjoy provoking and teasing Peter. People tend to assume Peter is always quiet and thoughtful; that he never talks back. But Jason knows Peter, and he knows him well; he loves when Peter sasses him back, when he goes along with Jason's teases and teases him right back. It's one of Jason's very favorite things about him.

Jason's hand jerks at Peter's hissing, the fire in his belly growing more incendiary at the sound. Peter, beneath him, flushed and desperate; his eyes closed and moans falling from him helplessly. No matter how many times Jason dreams about this, and he dreams of Peter a lot, the images in his mind can never live up to reality. Peter starts moving his hips to meet his fingers, and Jason moans, feeling his own sense of poise and control slip.

"I need you too," he promises, leaning in to kiss him reverently as he slowly eases his fingers out of him. As quickly as he can, Jason reaches for the foil packet and the bottle of lube, unwrapping the condom as fast as his trembling hands will allow. He slides it on and opens the bottle, taking care to spread the liquid liberally. Once that's accomplished, he settles more thoroughly between Peter's legs, easing them a part a bit for a better angle.

"Peter," Jason moans, unable to help himself, as he begins pushing into him. Peter is hot and tight and gradually enveloping him; Jason can't control the noises falling from his lips or the way he watches Peter beneath him. Need, desire, everything gleams in his eyes as he stares at Peter as though he were the only wonder in the world.

As Peter suspected he might, he comes completely undone the moment Jason slides slowly, lovingly into him. He remembers in a flash of incoherence how the first few times had gone: the pain as they figured the logistics out, but the persistence for all the right reasons. Since he was a boy, Peter hadn't thought he would ever get to experience the kind of love he wanted: the sort that he's been raised to believe doesn't exist. Before he met Jason, before Peter could really put into words what he felt, all he could feel was like there was something wrong with him. Here, underneath the only person he's ever loved, could ever imagine loving, that's the only time he ever feels right.

Hot, sweating already from the frantic build-up, Peter finds his hand at Jason's shoulder again, coming in hard nails first, but he catches himself and smooths his hand out. Focusing on this grounds him enough that he manages not to cross the finish line the moment he feels Jason inside him, and this is just another reason he's grateful for the care Jason takes with him, now and always.

Eyes wide again, Peter watches Jason, listens to his constant stream of obscene, tantalizing sounds. He can feel the overwhelming heat he feels spreading through his boyfriend, as well, and while he has his wits about him enough to challenge Jason, he begins to move. A sound works its way from deep in his throat, but he stifles it in favor of hearing just how Jason feels about this new development.

God, Jason thinks. He will never tire of watching Peter fall apart. The way he abandons all semblance of the poise that normally defines him; the noises he makes and the way his freckles and eyes grow more vibrant surrounded by such a bright, heated flush. He, too, remembers their first few times: the awkwardness and the pain as they tried to work things out for themselves. The limbs accidentally colliding and the sloppy kisses that missed. Jason remembers it all, memories forever embedded in his thoughts, as permanent as tattoos. Jason never knew love could be like this. He never thought to think to look for love like this, until he met Peter. The moment he saw Peter, something in his heart clicked into place. Suddenly, Jason could begin to understand the world. Understand that he didn't fit into the world as he originally thought. Glancing into Peter's eyes that first time, Jason finally began to understand himself.

Jason groans at Peter's hand on his should, shuddering at the way he first digs his nails into his sweaty flesh. As Peter burns underneath him, Jason burns too, perspiration coating his skin like paint and rendering his dark curls into their own kind of artwork. He lets out a gasp when Peter's hand sprawls out from his initial grip, savoring the gentleness of touch as it helps ground him as well.

"Peter," he half-gasps, half-moans, caught up in the world he finds in those wide eyes. Those eyes that can take his breath away and stoke the building heat inside of him all at once. And then Jason realizes that Peter's beginning to move; his own eyes widen, and he shudders, leaning down to seek solace in the crevice of Peter's neck. Moans escape in between the sloppy kisses he places all along Peter's skin. "Fuck, Peter."

He almost falls apart there, caught by surprise as he is by Peter's movements. Jason, suddenly dizzy with love and wanting, begins to move himself, needing suddenly so much more of Peter.

It is only after Jason has buried his face in Peter's neck that Peter allow his eyes to close; he refuses to miss a moment of the was Jason looks over him, inside him, all around him, especially straight at him with those big, blue eyes. Yeah, he can remember buckling under the first glance from those crystalline pools. He can still see their warming, soothing shade of blue when his eyes finally shut against the weight of Peter on top of him.

Every contact point feels independently alive to Peter, from caress to intrusion to soft lips and hot breath, each seems to warm to a glow, like a map of all of the territories of Peter's body that are Jason's, only.

The fingers of his left hand have, unbeknownst to him, been curled tightly in the top sheet for an unknown period of time. He slides his hand from the back of Jason's knee, up to his thigh, and over the tight, maddeningly soft skin there. He doesn't squeeze or slap, but just spends some extra time there on his way up Jason's entire body.

"Jason," he whispers, mirroring his lover's ecstasy before volleying it back to him. Their bodies are slick, now, and it facilitates movement well. He's bucking underneath Jason, palming his damp shoulder, his toes curling and uncurling with every move.

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