Three Sentence Ficathon

This is exactly why Jason sleeps through mass whenever he can: because it's that or walk out of it feeling like everything he wants is branded on him, an itch under his skin that he can't shake as he smiles and jokes his way through the halls, avoiding Peter's attempts to touch because he wants to sink into them instead. It's days like this he can't stand to see the inside of their room until he's too tired to think, knows too well how many knots he'll tie himself up in if he isn't worn out enough, the break-up speeches he's planned while Peter sleeps next to him and never been able to say. So Jason runs instead. Runs until his legs feel like jelly, every step uncomfortable enough that it keeps him from thinking about anything but getting off his feet, and jogs his way back down the halls for good measure.

Peter is waiting, and when Jason's this tired it's so easy to let Peter push him down and press against him without thinking about what it costs, so easy to stop pretending he doesn't want, to whisper, "need you, I need you," against Peter's mouth and let himself know it's the truest thing he's ever said.