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Jason McConnell ([personal profile] no_voice) wrote2015-09-17 09:05 pm
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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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[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-20 07:02 pm (UTC)(link)
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.
paper_courage: (forever you and i)

[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-21 05:38 am (UTC)(link)
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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[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-21 11:12 pm (UTC)(link)
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.
paper_courage: (forever you and i)

[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-22 01:29 am (UTC)(link)
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.
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[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-22 03:02 am (UTC)(link)
Peter's no longer thinking, barely breathing save for hungry sips of air between shuddering moans that punctuate smacks of skin and sweat stretched over hard, tightly-wound muscles. With Jason's arm around his middle, he can focus a little less on not falling and more on the way it feels to be pumping his hips and ass between Jason's cock and his hand. He's not caressing Jason's hair anymore so much as tugging, gently twisting his curls in restless handfuls.

And God, his voice. He remembers one time that he, Peter, Ivy, and Nadia were hanging out at a picnic table out at the far end of the boys' dorm when they were years younger and that Nadia told Jason that no one could possibly like the sound of Jason's voice more than Jason. He almost told her that she was wrong. Sometimes, when they're in class (while Jason is, apparently, being haunted by Peter's laughter), Peter is fantasizing about Jason's voice on his neck. In Chem Lab their junior year, all roommates were paired off as lab partners. Peter can still remember some of the things he heard that gorgeous voice say under the whir of a centrifuge or the high-pitched emission of a Bunsen burner. He also thinks that they've been able to get away with a lot (like leaning on each other at the picnic tables or taking a little too long to get back from lunch) by playing the roommate/best friend card.

It takes him two tries to actually speak, and he doesn't even really bother removing his mouth from Jason's when he chokes out, "Make me come when you do, Jason." His teeth bear down on Jason's pouty lower lip, swollen as it is and forming around incoherent sounds between moans and whines. A (much too loud) gasp chokes Peter as Jason finds just the right spot. He tips his head back down to press his forehead against Jason's to bring his teeth down hard on his own lip. He's working hard, sweating and panting to keep from losing it before he gets what he's asked for.
Edited 2015-09-22 05:03 (UTC)
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[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-23 02:31 am (UTC)(link)
God, Peter cannot count how many times he's heard his name groaned, whispered, moaned in this encounter alone, but he wishes he could go back and do so. No, really, he just wishes that the equality he feels on their first days together would stretch on for forever. By the end, Peter feels like Jason is too worn-down from his parents' ridiculous expectations, the church's stance on their relationship, and the pressure he puts on himself to meet any and all of these things, and it puts strain on their private world. Now, though -- and he was right, this particular reunion has definitely taken the number one spot in Peter's mind -- he feels like their delicate act is as iron-clad as the gates that surround St. Cecilia's, not to mention Peter's heart, and Jason is the only person to have ever crossed its threshold. There's a laundry list of things that are Jason's only and he wishes so much that he could talk to someone about any one of them.

It hasn't really occurred to him what's just fallen from his lips, but if he had been embarrassed in the first place (and he hadn't), he was justified and satisfied by Jason's response. A little heady laugh -- a burst of breath, really -- bubbles up spills over. Knowing what Peter likes wouldn't be enough to drive him crazy like this, but his self-assured, amazing ability to congratulate himself even in the throes of passion tickles Peter. Nadia rolls her eyes about it, and Peter nearly has to cover his face to keep the other's from seeing him beam when Jason is amusing Jason. It's cute, and that's a part of Jason that feels like his, a kind of his like he feels in these moments when the only thing they need is to see a pleasure so complete that they could drown in it reflected back in one another.

Jason," he warns, but feeling Jason so close to the edge and hearing his request echoed in the voice of the only person Peter has ever, could ever, will ever love, it's enough burning that's propelled his mouth and hips and anywhere else Jason wants bursts forth. He's coming in paralyzing waves as Jason's delivering straight-up perfection to him at every point. Now, his hand is balled up in fists of hair at the back of Jason's head. He crushes his lips against Jason in an attempt to stifle what he's sure will be loud, total loss of control.

paper_courage: (if i had the time)

[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-23 07:14 am (UTC)(link)
The guilt doesn't usually set in until the last light is off and they're settled in their separate beds. Sometimes Peter tries to stave this off by requesting they share a bed that night, but he knows that it's too risky. So many nights, after Peter and Jason have spent a never-long-enough night in their private world, Peter's heard the master key in the lock. It's just a curfew check, but Peter feels like it's also a decency check. Which isn't to say Peter and Jason are being singled out, as the dorm checks are random and they do a complete sweep of the floor every time, but he knows the Catholic church and has been properly raised to fear repercussions, both tangible and not.

That night, though, Peter feels especially confident -- however falsely -- that he will dodge the demons. What's just happened is more loving, more desperate, more alive than they've ever been together. He feels like this year is finally going to be different.

Yet guiltless and light in the fuzzy afterglow, Peter shifts his weight off of Jason to his own hip. He's still pressed firmly against his boyfriend, half-atop him with one leg tangled up in Jason's. Their slick bodies seem to expand and contract in unison as Peter huffs out breath after amazed and dazed breath. He's ready to lift his clear, sharp gaze to Jason, but when he sees Jason's mouth on his own hand, tongue greedy laving from palm to fingers, Peter flushes deeply, though any semblance of innocence in it is exposed as false by the hungry little growl that rumbles in Peter's throat. His tongue licks along Jason's lips, insistent and basic.

Many, many kisses pass before Jason finally speaks. Peter's cheek rests on Jason's shoulder, mouth nearly at his jaw, eyes tilted up to give his lover his full attention. He laughs.

"You thought of that before you even left Connecticut," Peter accuses, but there is no malice in it. He's simply just sure he's right. He can picture Jason there in the back seat, silence stretching between the McConnell tribe as he smirks to himself about some little wordplay he's going to save for his reunion with Peter. It thrills him to imagine Jason thinking about what he's going to say after some lovemaking, because that also obviously means he was thinking about it, as well.

He goes to answer the question, but three months of limited contact and doubt has him wondering if it was an actual question or a setup for a joke. He's instantly mad at himself for fucking up the vibe so soon and pushes the doubt away with a gentle kiss to Jason's jaw. "Tell me about yours." Its a request, a soft one, and he's just going to punctuate Jason's tale with kisses.
paper_courage: (are you there)

[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-24 01:41 am (UTC)(link)
Peter rather thinks that it's Jason that looks to be illumined by divinity. The looming twilight is being staved off by sharp, direct rays through the slit of the tacky dormitory blinds, and it casts this disc of light that touches only Jason's jaw, lips and the line made by his collarbones; it's like a spotlight on the parts Peter wants to put his mouth on at any moment of any day. He's all about his lips, though. As enticing as those other parts are, he wants the part that can kiss him back, justify his presence, answer the questions that keep him up so many nights.

And then that smile, wide and full. And it's for him, that's the astounding part. He's searching his memory for a time he might've seen that smile of Jason's out on the field of one of the various sports he's tried to drown his feelings in, or that one time that they took a drama class together and Peter caught Jason enjoying himself, or after one of his numerous meritorious achievements at school. Nope. Nothing that could even come close to the brilliance of that particular smile. His smile.

Jason's voice admitting his forethought snaps Peter out of his trance and he lifts his eyes to his lover's face once again. There, he sees a stark truth that he doesn't often get to see from Jason, even in their stolen moments. He looks like he's been aching, Peter thinks, to see him, to touch him, maybe even to tell him what he's just said. The fact that it's so important to him that Peter know it, not to mention the fact that he feels it at all, humbles Peter like religion. Only when Peter hangs on Jason's words like scripture, he doesn't fall flat with the guilt in his interpretation.

"I love you," Peter says simply, but the truth of it warms the edges of the statement and he covers Jason's mouth with another gentle kiss before he can be devastated by the lack of reciprocation.

He recovers with a sort of giggle at Jason's insistent nuzzles of jaw to lips. It's not like he was going to be able to refuse even playfully, so he makes quick work of pressing slow kisses along his jaw while he talks: it's the best kind of hurry-up-and-wait.

"I hope she gets cast in a better role this year." Peter sympathizes with Nadia on that. For years, they've been having quiet meetings about how they're overlooked and how the best actors always get pushed to the periphery because the show needs support. It makes no sense to either of them, but it's landed them some quality bitching time between Sister Chantelle's sassy rants and biting quips. When Jason moves on, instead of addressing the stress he knows Jason is avoiding, he pads his thumb softly over Jason's, sympathetic and supportive. "You know they're too hard on you." Another kiss, this one at the juncture of Jason's neck and collarbone, then they're kissing proper, once again.

"Mm, it was okay," Peter hums against his lips. He steals another kiss and then settles his head back on Jason's shoulder. "Lots of empty promises from my dad. Mom worked most of the time. I got this part-time job at a grocery store, saved a little money up." He shrugs. "And then my mom reminded me that we hadn't heard from Notre Dame yet and that it would mean sooo much to my father if I went there." He huffs a sigh. "So I spent my time watching movies and thinking of you, listening to music and thinking of you, and bagging groceries and thinking of you." A slow smile spreads over his face, warm as the butterflies twitching their wings around in his chest and stomach.
paper_courage: (i know that's what he wants)

[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-24 03:21 am (UTC)(link)
A little piece of Peter's heart sinks low into the depths of his stomach every time he gets that kiss; the one that only comes after 'I love you' and is supposed to be reciprocation. He knows Jason tries, and he knows that Jason means what he cannot say, but the vine of warmth that wraps around Jason's heart when Peter bares his soul with those three words has a dark, evil shadow that snakes around Peter's shoulders and threatens to snap his neck.

It's too soon, Peter reminds himself, to think about these things, and it's easy to forget when he's close like he is, anyway.

Coming around from his self-pity, he sees that Jason is in a similar way in his own head and Peter untangles his hand from Jason's to cup the opposing line of his jaw. "Hey." It's a gentle call back to Earth, like being snuggled awake from a bad dream by loving arms. "They're proud of you. They'd be crazy not to be." He nuzzles in for a tender, reassuring kiss. "And when your Notre Dame letter comes, I'll sit down with you and you can leave a nice, passive-aggressive message with his secretary. Then, we'll celebrate our own way." And continue to celebrate once they're together at Notre Dame, he hopes. "I just don't know if I'll get in, Jason." His class rank isn't as high as Jason's and he's not sure there's a scholarship for being the Golden Boy's secret boyfriend. The way he averts his eyes for a second tells this wordless tale for him. He would give anything to be Jason's 'roommate' for the rest of time. Ideally, a word substitution would take place, and maybe Notre Dame is the ticket, so he remains hopeful.
paper_courage: (you my companion)

[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-26 07:31 am (UTC)(link)
It's like a deep thump in Peter's chest, when Jason calls him things like genius, beautiful, brilliant. He feels smart -- at least of above-average intelligence -- and he feels equally above-average in attractiveness. Puberty hadn't necessarily been kind to him, but he'd grown into his lips, the redness of his hair had mellowed out a bit. Then, he'd gotten his first job at a camp as a student counselor. He'd hoped his mother had signed him up for a position in the arts, but no, he was the sports and rec guy. Luckily, it had a positive effect on his body image when Jason noticed. That was so long ago. Things were only just starting to take a more serious turn, and he thinks that changing musculature most likely had a lot to do with it.

All of that -- the years that had brought them closer and changed them and challenged every single thing they'd been taught over the years -- and Jason still can't say it. Often, Peter lets perfect days like this one lull him into the sense that he will never need it, but he can feel it: the duration and intensity of their relationship is like a fresh cut and the way that it makes Peter feel is threatening to rise to the surface and pour out like blood. He wonders how many more times he can take Jason's hand shove him away at the sound of someone walking by. He wonders how Jason can take it.

Then, Jason is kissing a sweet, smooth little line down Peter's face to his lips and he forgets again that there is any difference between out there and in here. He steals another kiss to close the yawning chasm he's developed in his belly. They're on their sides, now, and Peter pulls the blanket and sheet up over them before settling his leg between Jason's. A hand finds its way to Jason's waist, the other arm curls between them for warmth. New York is a shitload colder than Arizona, so that's always an adjustment, and they are laying in a cold, old dorm room completely naked.

"I didn't put a glamour shot in my transcript, though I'm sure you did," Peter teases back, meeting Jason's eyes with a small, peaceful smile. "I'll be getting in on brains only. You'd better put in the good word for me or I'll tell Admissions who actually passed your Calculus final."
Edited (Calculus, not Euro) 2015-09-26 21:42 (UTC)
paper_courage: (thoughtful)

[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-26 10:50 pm (UTC)(link)
"It's cold," Peter protests in response as he nuzzles in closer to Jason, soothed by the gentility of Jason's little ankle-caresses. He's not sure if he's actually tired, or just bathed in afterglow and a little desperate to finally fall asleep next to the person he loves. His head is tucked under Jason's chin, so he can't help but bury himself in Jason's neck for a minute, closing his eyes against the soft slickness of the skin there. Jason's specific taste and smell has a nearly combustible chemical reaction when they mingle in his awareness, and he can't help himself but to press his lips against the tendon there.

"I don't think my picture would have the same effect yours does." He's murmuring against Jason's skin. He's suddenly very preoccupied with the feel and taste of him; months of prayer and biding time has finally paid off, and he has no intention of pissing away their time.

He definitely isn't ready to stop hearing Jason's voice and feeling his breath against his skin and hair either. Especially not when it gets soft and appreciative and awed like that. He backs off and tilts his eyes up to see the expression that matches the tone. He's not disappointed and moreover, he's complete jell-o under his gaze and touch.

"You got me though that public speaking class," Peter reminds him, softly. The hand between them pads fascinated fingertips over that jaw that he looks forward to staring at all day in class. "That class was torture." He understands the ridiculousness of his loving being on stage and hating public speaking, but it's there, all the same.
paper_courage: (you my companion)

[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-27 03:41 am (UTC)(link)
At the comment about his birth state, Peter can't help but notice that there are plenty of Arizona residents that look like Peter, and not a single person he'd ever met from Connecticut (not that he's met many) looks anything close to the divine perfection that is Jason McConnell. Maybe his parents had bought a genetically modified son that they could torture into fitting into their tiny box of acceptance. Either way, he would have to send them a card for creating such a perfect specimen. After that, he figures he could throw Jason's father down some stairs. Maybe that would even begin to match some of the welts Peter's seen on Jason's body after spring break, or the way Jason winces when the Terribly Important Mr. McConnell deigns to call and bitch at him about something. Few people in this world make Peter more blindly angry than his boyfriend's parents.

"Art is what I'm going to make when I get out of here," Peter asserts, letting the desire for it to be true swell in his chest. "I think I'm going to take a double-major and just tell my mom I'm majoring in only math." He's thought about this all summer and he's excited to share it with Jason. "It would only take me an extra semester or two and then I can actually do something I like. Maybe theatre or music." He's smiling at the thought, imagining himself in a piano lab or choir or even on stage. Maybe he'd make friends, and maybe those friends would finally get to know his best-kept secret.

"You helped a lot." Peter kisses him again, enjoying the soft noise it makes when they do. "Especially the time that you--" he flushes for a second, laughing, "--stripped. As incentive." He's unable to keep from grinning ear-to-ear.
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[personal profile] paper_courage 2015-09-27 09:51 pm (UTC)(link)
It doesn't take six years of a relationship for Peter to know Jason wants to do something more artistic than he's doing. It's the aggression on the various fields he's played on that was the giveaway, for Peter. Gentle, loving Jason with his teeth gritted dangerously, brows drawn down in a concentration that has too much effort in it to be the look of a person enjoying himself. He knows why he does it, though, and the information is something he's kept to himself, like the cause of those welts and bruises that others sometimes notice after breaks in the school year. Once the games and matches are over, Jason turns on that McConnell charm (the one that Nadia possesses and fights, sometimes unsuccessfully) and everyone can't stop talking about what a natural athlete Jason is. And sure, Peter can attest to the shape he's in and much better than the gym teachers that do his fitness tests, but it's not where Jason's heart is.

He remembers seeing him passionate, though. It's usually in an English class. When a person is forced to read a passage aloud, no one is more captivating than Jason. Sure, Peter is biased as hell, and maybe everyone else is under the same spell he is, but Jason's eyes sparkle in that way only Peter gets to see when he's in a discussion about literature. Maybe he's a writer, Peter thinks, but his knack for public speaking shouldn't be totally wasted. That's why, last year this time, Peter mustered the courage up to ask him to go out for the musical, which was (unsurprisingly) Jesus Christ Superstar -- one of Sister Chantelle's favorites. Jason had rebuffed him quickly, and Peter stuffed the script back into his backpack with the rest of his repressed feelings and disappointments. He's just afraid Jason will never discover it on his own.

"If I'm so good, how come I'm always cast as the best friend or the brother?" Peter asks, averting his eyes so he doesn't have to admit to his shame and so that Jason doesn't see the hope deflate behind his best intentions. He'd considered going out for a conservatory, but Peter's father had managed to find it in his busy schedule to pick up the phone then and tell Peter how much it costs to take out a student loan and how Peter would get no help from him if it wasn't Notre Dame. Peter thinks that he and Jason really are cut from the same cloth for so many reasons.

"It's really hard to sing with a hard-on," Peter informs Jason, chuckling a bit. His hand moves from the crook of his neck, slowly down his chest, and he barely even notices he's doing it. "I think you improved my concentration." And ruined it all at the same time.

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