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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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He's got a frustratingly good singer, too, Peter reminds himself. Compromises with his mother finally culminated in a few years of voice lessons, and only after that and the constant nurturing of Sister Chantelle and her predecessor at the middle school was Peter able to sing with any proficiency. When Peter catches Jason singing to himself, he hears perfect pitch and this rich voice that is so purely Jason. Only once or twice has Jason been singing loud enough a song that Peter knows well enough that he felt he could join in, and his soul thrives in those few moments of harmony. When Jason sings the melody and Peter has his wits about him enough to find the 5th above or below, it's like gospel to him.
Here, on top of Jason, Peter finds himself light-headed, again. He drapes himself on top of Jason carefully in the safety of a kiss. He can feel the blood migrating away from his brain, again, that familiar coil threatening to unravel with sparks of electricity. He closes his eyes against Jason in an effort to get ahold of himself. After a moment, he looks at his watch, discarded on the bedside. "It's 6:30," Peter breathes, turning his eyes back to his lover. "We have 15 minutes to get to the cafeteria if we want to eat." The school always serves dinner the night before the first day of the school year, but it is scarcely populated. It might be a good way to take a breather, and Peter's body definitely feels the need to refuel, just in case he'll need the stamina.
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Jason also enjoys Peter and his voice, too. Peter, with his calm, gentle cadence, the opposite of the gruffness and screeching politeness that echoes horribly in Jason's memories. Peter, who sings like a lark and sends butterflies down Jason's stomach every time he returns to their room to find him rehearsing for his latest play. Jason recalls one particular afternoon, last spring; the sun shining through their window, cascading in ribbons and bathing everything in a luminous glow. And Peter, looking and sounding like a Disney prince, standing by the window and indulging in a song that tugged on the latches of Jason's heart. Jason remembers his arms snaking around Peter's lithe waist; he remembers the sweetness of his skin combined with the fragile loveliness of his voice. He remembers singing along with him, caught up in the moment and his heart's true intentions. Peter had turned in his arms, then, and they'd begun making an entirely different melody, then. They melted to the floor as their bodies began to sing. Jason shivers a bit as the memory seeps into his current thoughts.
Peter draped on top of him sends all sorts of thrills running throughout Jason; he's growing dizzy, again, and if they don't move soon, he's not going to be able to let Peter even think about getting food. "I suppose you raise a good point," he says with a smile that is half-mischief and half-regret at having to move from this comfortable position. He yawns, but he makes no move to get up just yet. "We do need sustenance, as growing boys, after all." And then the teasing returns to his gaze. "I hope you're not planning on sleeping, tonight."
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"Not at all," Peter responds; it's matter-of-fact and simple, and it's also true. Still, he's not all business and he braces his arms on either side of Jason's head to better lean over him. "I haven't even heard you make that noise I like yet." A quick nip of a kiss on Jason's lips and he's up. On his way over to his pants, he tosses Jason's at him with a quick smile.
Muscle memory from hurried nights kicks in, and Peter's dressed quickly. He's already buttoning up his shirt when he bumps his closet door closed. He frowns quickly when he sees his hair, wild and tousled and actually not presentable at all. A quick glance to his bag leads to him snatching a smaller bag out of it. "I'm gonna go clean up. Do you just want to meet there?" Maybe this way Peter doesn't have to risk Jason telling him they should leave separately. It's not like he'd go out looking like that anyway, but now he has an excuse if he needs it.
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He turns his gaze briefly to their entwined hands before bringing his big, blue eyes to meet Peter's glance. "And what noise is that, pray tell? I seem to recall you being fond of many noises I make." Jason's tendency towards being a smartass comes second-nature to him. He always wonders what part of the family he and Nadia inherit that trait from; certainly not either of their parents. He grins into the brief kiss bestowed by Peter, and then he's rolling to move into a sitting position himself.
He catches his own pants with a smirk. "Nearly forgot I even needed these, really," he remarks as he begins dressing himself. His own muscle memories from those nights kicks back in as well, and he's dressed within moments. He manages to ruffle his hair into something that almost looks presentable; something he'll explain away as a memento of a quick rugby match. Or something sports related.
He moves to stand behind Peter, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him against his chest. Smirking, he leans into Peter's mussed hair and kisses it, before ruffling it just to be a jerk. "Yeah, I can meet you there," he says, grateful to Peter for making the suggestion. "I'm sure Nadia will be at our usual table already."
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He'd only added insult to injury when Peter's hair had been brought into the fray.
"It might take me longer now," he teases, using the that reflected tenderness to sooth his aching soul. "God knows what you just did to it." He's walked down the hall to the bathroom in worse states, though. All discretion is taken out of the post-sex shower when you have to run down the hall to get to the bathroom.
"I'll see you there," he continues. Peter presses his lips against Jason's for a quick second -- his stomach drops as it always does -- and then he's turning to go. He's looking forward to using the time he has to sublimate his longing and frustration into styling his hair just right.