( it is very moth to the flame, peter drawn in by the gaze juno gives him, following the tugging path of his hand right where it leads, all the closer, all the more implied. dangerous, yeah. peter likes dangerous, he likes juno, he likes the way poor decisions follow him like a chemtrail and how the poor decisions fall in his favor. like now, passion laced, pining after each other like needy teenagers -- juno makes him feel younger, rejuvenated, brighter, like these little risks don't mean a thing, like if they're caught, he'll be happy enough to have a reason to rub this relationship in the nose of some random person he doesn't know. yes, look at him, he wants me, he lets me have him.

his thumbs poke right above his waistband, playing a bit with the elastic, like he might be debating just ripping them off altogether. the idea is ripened at the front of his mind, there and there again, and yet there's another idea -- a more romantic one, with a bedroom and candles and roses and sweeter things, tidier and more lovely than this dressing room. both have their merits, but peter thinks

he might just want this one thing in his life to be done right. )

I like it.

( is a purr on his lips, leaning forward so he might be able to press a kiss on the corner of juno's mouth, firmly placed, if innocent. not so innocent -- his hand ghosts barely over the front of his underwear, shabby in comparison, testing the waters. )

Should I show you how much I like it? Or, would you like to try on the last one so we can get out of here?