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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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.

Jason's eyes prove torn, unable to decide whether they want to remain open or close. His eyelashes flutter against the delicate skin of Peter's neck as he kisses lower and lower, moving on to his flushed chest. He can no longer see Peter's eyes, but he can feel their intensity, even closed. Jason remembers the first time glancing into them; the first time he felt whole in his entire life. He remembers the way his breath caught in his throat the first time he saw Peter; he remembers chalking it up to nerves, back then.

Every point of touch between them singes Jason like lightning. The heat rising from Peter's skin as he brings his lips down near his nipples only further helps steal his breath; the feeling of Peter all around him feels as enveloping and as right as a blanket. With their bodies entwined, Jason finally feels fully at ease in the world. This, he knows, is when he truly becomes a 'golden boy.'

Jason catches sight of Peter's left hand bunched in the sheets and instantly, his right hand snakes out to meet it, winding their fingers together as tightly as their bodies. He squeezes their hands together just as he feels Peter's hand move from the back of his knee up his thigh, lingering there. He moans, leaning into the touch as much as he's able to between thrusts.

"Peter," his voice cracks, entirely ruined already from their lovemaking. He leans in to steal a heated, fervent kiss from Peter's lips, panting and groaning into it. The slick friction of their bodies only further spurs him on, as does Peter's bucking beneath him, pulling more obscenities mixed with variations of Peter's name.

"Peter," he gasps again, squeezing their hands together where they still lay entwined. He wants so badly to find that one, perfect angle that he knows will send Peter spiraling into oblivion, but he won't do anything without asking Peter, first. Peter's wants and desires are all that matter to him, in that moment. "Peter," he manages, even as he continues thrusting and shivers run through him. "Can I lift your hips?"

Now their hands are another affected area on the map of slick, burning touch. It seems like every time Peter's just about to cool off a little, Jason's there with another perfect twist, grab, lick or caress. With his arm outstretched to maintain their palm-to-palm contact, he can more easily arc his back into the feeling of Jason's hot, insistent breath. He's close, now, desperate, rock hard and straining to be touched. Every time Jason snaps his hips into Peter, he's delivering shock after shock of near-paralyzing pleasure.

Jason's voice cracks and Peter chokes out a moan that doesn't ever really become a sound. How is it he can do this to Jason? It makes perfect sense that Jason does it to him -- perfect, brilliant, straight-A's, always-first Jason with his model physique, heartbreaking smile and molten-hot voice -- but Peter? He doesn't see himself as in Jason's league, and that's just another reason he feels terror creep up on him in those quiet moments when he's alone in their room. It's just another reason Peter keeps himself as busy as he does with AP classes, theatre, and TAing. He'd go out for sports if he didn't hate them so much.

Peter's eyes snap open at the question -- had they been closed that whole time? -- and he gently pushes Jason back. He wants to kiss him, wants Jason to touch him, and he wants to see that way Jason looks up at him when Peter's on top of him. He kneels between Jason's legs and kisses him hungrily until his lover is sitting.

"You can do anything you want to me," Peter rasps against Jason's lips. He only pulls away from his lips long enough to straddle his legs and brace himself on Jason's shoulder as he lowers himself down, too eager to drag it out like he originally thought he might.

The way pleasure plays so wonderfully across Peter's face, in bursts of breath between those full, beautiful lips and those sparkling eyes, inspires even more pleasure in Jason. Jason hopes Peter is aware of just how wonderful he looks like this; all debauched and innocent all at once. The way he arches his back is both lovely and absolutely sinful at the same time; the slight shivers running through Jason increase at such a juxtaposition; his thrusts grow more frantic, and he groans at the sensation of their hips snapping together.

The moan Peter makes that dissolves into something unintelligible entirely is enough to remind Jason how close he is. He groans in response, his blue eyes glazed as they study Peter's response. Peter, brilliant, responsible, charming, and perfect Peter, who makes Jason's heart stutter merely by virtue of existing. Peter, so beautiful with his hair like copper and the constellation of freckles across his skin. With his luminous eyes, like those of a saint. Peter, who doesn't recognize the power he wields. Peter is light and the wind and the stars above. Peter is the closest Jason has ever come to reaching God. If Jason didn't fear the future and if he didn't hide from the depths of life Peter studies so passionately, Jason would be able to confidently say he believes in soulmates, because no one touches his soul the way Peter does. When he's sober of sex and love and Peter, he'll dwell on this and allow it to haunt his every thought again, like the ghost he sometimes feels he is.

Jason's so distracted by all of Peter's warmth and skin and everything, really, that when Peter gently nudges him back, he gasps in surprise. His chest tightens and his heart leaps into his throat as he moves into a sitting position. The way Peter kisses him, so feverishly and so full of his heart, makes Jason sway. He glances up at Peter, wonder, awe, and sheer admiration in his reverent gaze. He adores Peter no matter what position they're in, but there's something about Peter's confidence like this that humbles Jason.

And then Peter's bracing himself on Jason's shoulder, and Jason nearly forgets to breathe as he feels Peter all around him once again. "Peter," he moans, unable to hide the longing in his voice or keep one hand from grabbing at Peter's ass. He drags the other hand down his chest, lingering over the most sensitive parts of his skin, hoping to provoke a reaction out of Peter. He lifts his hips to meet Peter as he moves on top of him, nearly rendered motionless by the beauty of this turn of events.

And then his hand makes its way to Peter's cock, and he begins to stroke.

"Peter," he cries out again, against Peter's lips.

When Peter prays, he sometimes wonder if the strength and forgiveness he asks for isn't sent to him because of Jason. However, in pouring over scripture and theology (the latter when he can -- the St. Cecilia's Library isn't too stocked with literature on opposing religious theories), it's not their illicit encounters that troubles him as much as he's pretty sure he's set up a false idol in his best-kept secret. The fact is that he's heard Jason tell him he loves him just as many times as he's heard God's voice declare the same thing by way of a choir of angels tap-dancing. It's easier to love what you can see, touch, hear, and it's harder to resist the more you're told that you have to. His love for Jason is unwavering, even when it's painful; sometimes, he thinks he and God are going to need some couple's therapy.

Of course, until the guilt about the doubt settles in and Peter's on his knees for God instead of Jason.

An arm rests on Jason's shoulder for a moment for balance -- Jason's impossibly soft, strong hand has wrapped around him and he knows he's not going to last much longer. He whispers his boyfriend's name against his lips. The arm draped on Peter's shoulder unfurls Peter crosses it over the back of Jason's neck. He has to brace himself with his right hand palm down on the bed behind him, but then he can trace his fingers through the wet, exhilarating curls near Jason's forehead. A strangled sound grips his throat and he hisses Jason's name again, head tipping back to enjoy the opposing sensations of hands, hair, and dick.

Jason wishes he could share in Peter's devout faith. But with all of its demands and expectations, Catholicism is essentially another extension of his family's aspirations for him. Jason prays, and he sits through Mass, like a good Christian. But while the priest recites the homily, or while he's standing and mindlessly wording the lyrics to the current hymn, Jason's mind wanders - to what he really wants from his life, to what he would do if he felt he could escape his family's disappointments. But almost always, his thoughts in church drift to Peter, and how much he wants to simply hold him in his arms and forget about the rest of the world.

Peter's face while he balances himself, caught between pleasure and determination, is a fragile, lovely thing; it reminds Jason of the veins in the stained glass windows in church. He feels his own name pressed into his lips like an obscene prayer. His hips jerk in response, and his thrusts increase in frantic energy as Peter's arm drapes it across his neck, bringing his fingers through Jason's hair. Jason's breath catches, and he nearly sobs from the sheer pleasure of it as he leans into the touch.

He maneuvers his own arm to better hold Peter in his lap, tightening his hold a bit as he pulls Peter's hips down against him to meet his thrusts, his other hand increasing its pace as he does so, twisting and tugging in the ways he knows Peter likes. Their touching and kissing is fast becoming their own secret language; they are scholars in translating their own desire. The sight of Peter with his head tipped back provokes a desperate need in Jason, and he winds up pressing his lips incessantly to the sweat-soaked skin there, letting his teeth graze against it and letting out all sorts of encouragement.

"God, Peter," he says between biting kisses. "Do you know how beautiful you are like this? God, you're so gorgeous. So beautiful. Peter." His sense of coherency is faltering, and his words are gradually dissolving into desperate whimpers and moans.

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