Bare // You Make Me Love You // Part 2
Title: You Make Me Love You
Author: Sarah
Rating: PG13
Words: 1,982
Pairing: Peter/Jason
Summary: When it comes to Jason, there's 7 things Peter hates and 7 things he likes. Part 2: the 7 things he likes.
Notes: Headers are lyrics from the song 7 Things by Miley Cyrus, which was the inspiration for this fic.
Diclaimer: I don't own Bare or the lyrics.
and compared to all the great things that would take too long to write
I probably should mention the seven that I like…
i. your hair
My favorite thing to see first thing in the morning is Jason’s bed head. His alarm always goes up ten minutes before mine, so that way I only lay there fifteen minutes longer than I should. But as soon as I hear the obnoxious beeping coming from his football shaped clock, I always open my eyes just a little to see him reach up to shut it off.
Jason’s hair is thick and wavy and the pretty shade of dark blond. Never had I found a blond attractive before I met Jason. That’s how I knew he was different - he was special.
It’s always going in the same direction too. The pieces that normally fall over his forehead are pushed up towards the right and the back is flat against his head. He always runs his hand through his hair though, which always seems to make it look neater. Less like bed head.
That’s when he starts to look more like the Jason everyone knows and less like the one he saves for me. So I close my eyes and try to find fifteen more minutes of sleep before he comes over to kiss me awake with his hair neatly brushed.
ii. your eyes
I used to hate the color blue. My mom used to dress me in it every day from the time I was a baby up until I was old enough to pick out my own clothes. When she took me shopping, I never got blue. Always green, or red, or black, or anything that wasn’t blue. I didn’t even like to spend time in my own bedroom because of the wall color. Pale baby blue for her perfect baby boy.
But I wasn’t a baby anymore and I certainly wasn’t her idea of a perfect son.
Moving into a dorm is great. I’m so happy when we walk in to see the walls a shade of off-white, the paint peeling in some spots and littered with thumbtack holes in others.
“These walls look awful,” my mom comments, but to me, they’re perfect and everything my room at home isn’t.
And by everything my room at home isn’t, I also mean not totally mine. My new roommate is here already, unpacking his clothes, none of which I see to be my least favorite color.
He turns around, acknowledging our presence. “Hey, I’m Jason,” he says with a smile.
As he walks closer, his arm extended to shake my hand, I notice his eyes. Clear, bright, brilliant blue. I reach my hand out and tell him my name, but I’m too lost in my new favorite color to say anything else.
iii. your old Levis
When Jason first arrived at St. Cecilia’s, he was wearing a pair of brand new jeans. They were too long for him at the time, rolled up at the ankles. It only took a few years for him to grow into them, to finally be taller than I was, but when he did, they looked good.
The fell to the perfect spot near his feet; clung to hips at just the right spot so when he stretched his arms, his shirt revealed just enough of his perfect abs; they were perfect, and I thank God every night that he won the battle with his mother to get them even though they didn’t fit when he was 14.
They’re not as nice as they once looked, torn and faded from a few rough baseball games and too many washes. But they still look good on him.
He’s wearing them today. He’s standing at his bed, leaning over to tuck in the sheets on the other side. He never wears a belt with those Levi’s, so they always drop a little bit, showing off the Christmas tree boxers he always seems to wear around this time in the spring.
I come up behind him, lacing my arms around Jason’s waist, my hands brushing across the rough denim as my fingers twisted around in the empty belt loops. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, kissing him softly.
“Hey,” he says with a slight laugh, his hands abandoning his bed sheets as they move to hold onto mine, “what’s gotten into you?”
“I like these jeans.” My hand moves out from under his, inching towards the button on the front of his pants.
Jason laughs again as I yank down the zipper. “Me too.”
iv. when we kiss, I’m hypnotized
His lips are on mine and I’m lost.
When Jason kisses me, I don’t really comprehend anything else going on. I’ve seen the movie we’re watching at least thirty times before, but I have no idea what’s going on, if it’s almost over, or what the character on screen is named. All I can register is his taste and the way his tongue feels against mine. I instinctively wrap my arms around him, knotting my fingers in his hair. His hands rest on my hips as he holds me close.
He pulls away for a breath, his head finding that perfect spot on my chest.
“Why’d you stop?” I ask. I know we can’t kiss forever, but it seemed way too short.
“Don’t you need to breathe, Peter?” he replies with a laugh.
Truth be told, breathing goes on the backburner when his lips are pushing against mine. I don’t need oxygen, I just need him. But I let out a breath anyway.
He laughs again and kisses my cheek and I feel his smile against my skin. When his lips return to mine, I close my eyes and I’m lost in him all over again.
Pretty soon, we’re both too lost in the moment to need anything but each other. Not even oxygen.
v. you make me laugh, you make me cry, but I guess that’s both I’ll have to buy
Jason is the only person I know that can make me laugh so hard I cry. He gets a corny joke in his e-mail every day and always shares, sending me doubling over into fits of giggles.
I’m trying to study for our math test tomorrow, and he’s over on his computer playing video games and being generally distracting. I’m doing my best to ignore him, but his voice calling my name catches my attention.
“Peter?”
“Mmm?”
“I have a joke,” he replies, turning to me with a grin.
“Is it funny?”
“No,” he answers, “but you might think it is.”
“Try me.”
He turned back to the computer screen to read the joke. “How do you confuse an idiot?”
I wrinkle my brow in concentration, but give up after a few seconds. “I don’t know, how?”
“Twenty-six,” he answers.
At first, I don’t get it. “Wait, I…” My eyes widen in realization as soon as my mouth opens. “OH!” And I fall over laughing, even though it really is one of the stupidest jokes I’ve ever heard.
Jason never laughs at the jokes, but he always finds my reactions hilarious. After straight laughter, it becomes the silent, shaky laugh and I usually lay convulsing on the bed because stupid things do that to me. Eventually, Jason joins in with the laughter because I’m sure I’m a spectacle.
“I bet I can make you laugh harder,” he says, getting up from his desk.
“Oh … yeah?” I manage through giggles.
He nods, pouncing onto my bed, his knees on either side of my hips. His hands find my stomach and his fingers dance around to my most ticklish spots. And I laugh even harder. “Am I funnier than the joke?”
I can’t even reply with words. My noisy laugh has returned, but now tears are streaming down my face. I try to nod, but I probably look more like a crazy epileptic.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, rolling off of me and settling between me and the wall.
Regaining my composure, I adjust my shirt to cover my stomach and roll into him. His arms instinctively wrap around my shoulders and I cuddle into his chest. “I love those jokes.”
“Me too.”
vi. your hand in mine, when we’re intertwined, everything’s all right
Jason always knows how to make me feel better and he always knows when something’s bothering me. I’m not very secretive about my sulking, but he never lets me get away with telling him I’m fine.
I’m sitting on my bed, my head in my hands. My feet dangle over the edge, the tips of my bare toes brushing against the cold, tile floor. I finished my crying before Jason got back from basketball practice. Even though he doesn’t mind and he always holds me, I hate crying in front of him.
When he walks through the door, gym bag around his shoulder, my eyes are red and my face flushed. I don’t look up as he shuts the door.
“Hey.”
I give in and glance upwards, meeting his eyes. He looks back at me with a sympathetic expression.
“Your dad?” he asks, walking over to me. He sits down on the bed beside me.
I nod. “He called an hour ago,” I begin to explain. “Says he’s going down to Florida with Debbie.” I don’t have a problem with my dad’s new wife per se, it’s just that he always put her before me. I was really looking forward to spending winter break with my dad.
Jason didn’t reply with words. He slides his hand, sweaty and rough from practice, towards me, resting it on top of mine. Instinctively, my hand twists and my fingers interlock with his in a strong grip.
“It’ll be okay.” Jason’s voice is gentle, but convincing.
My hand grips his tighter, and I believe him.
I wanna be with the one I know
And the seventh thing I like the most that you do…
vii. you make me love you
I sleep in Jason’s bed more than my own. It’s small and tight, but we manage. Our legs always end up tangled in the sheets, arms in awkward places, and his head on the pillow, mine resting on his chest. He always falls asleep faster than I do, his rhythmic breathing and heartbeat like a lullaby for me.
Sometimes, the steady beating isn’t enough to send me to sleep, so I watch him dream. He’s always still once he finds the perfect spot on his bed. Once in a while, his lips will curl into a smile for a brief moment, before reverting back into a straight line. I like to think he’s dreaming of me, but when I ask what he dreams about, it’s usually about getting signed to a professional basketball team or eating the biggest hot dog in the world. I’m not disappointed though, because I know we don’t remember all of our dreams.
Jason stirs, the first time I’ve ever seen him move in his sleep. I lie down again, my head finding a place on his chest and his wandering hand taking rest on my shoulder. He sighs contentedly, and I smile into his skin.
“Peter,” he murmers.
I shift my eyes upward and his face is peaceful, his eyes still closed. I can tell he’s still half-asleep.
“Love you,” he says, and I feel his other arm grip my waist tighter.
“Love you too,” I reply, shutting my eyes.
When I wake up, I remember dreaming of Jason at least twice. Even though he says he didn’t dream last night, I know he did. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I know I was in it. Judging by the smile on his face and the words on his lips, I think it was a good one.
Author: Sarah
Rating: PG13
Words: 1,982
Pairing: Peter/Jason
Summary: When it comes to Jason, there's 7 things Peter hates and 7 things he likes. Part 2: the 7 things he likes.
Notes: Headers are lyrics from the song 7 Things by Miley Cyrus, which was the inspiration for this fic.
Diclaimer: I don't own Bare or the lyrics.
and compared to all the great things that would take too long to write
I probably should mention the seven that I like…
i. your hair
My favorite thing to see first thing in the morning is Jason’s bed head. His alarm always goes up ten minutes before mine, so that way I only lay there fifteen minutes longer than I should. But as soon as I hear the obnoxious beeping coming from his football shaped clock, I always open my eyes just a little to see him reach up to shut it off.
Jason’s hair is thick and wavy and the pretty shade of dark blond. Never had I found a blond attractive before I met Jason. That’s how I knew he was different - he was special.
It’s always going in the same direction too. The pieces that normally fall over his forehead are pushed up towards the right and the back is flat against his head. He always runs his hand through his hair though, which always seems to make it look neater. Less like bed head.
That’s when he starts to look more like the Jason everyone knows and less like the one he saves for me. So I close my eyes and try to find fifteen more minutes of sleep before he comes over to kiss me awake with his hair neatly brushed.
ii. your eyes
I used to hate the color blue. My mom used to dress me in it every day from the time I was a baby up until I was old enough to pick out my own clothes. When she took me shopping, I never got blue. Always green, or red, or black, or anything that wasn’t blue. I didn’t even like to spend time in my own bedroom because of the wall color. Pale baby blue for her perfect baby boy.
But I wasn’t a baby anymore and I certainly wasn’t her idea of a perfect son.
Moving into a dorm is great. I’m so happy when we walk in to see the walls a shade of off-white, the paint peeling in some spots and littered with thumbtack holes in others.
“These walls look awful,” my mom comments, but to me, they’re perfect and everything my room at home isn’t.
And by everything my room at home isn’t, I also mean not totally mine. My new roommate is here already, unpacking his clothes, none of which I see to be my least favorite color.
He turns around, acknowledging our presence. “Hey, I’m Jason,” he says with a smile.
As he walks closer, his arm extended to shake my hand, I notice his eyes. Clear, bright, brilliant blue. I reach my hand out and tell him my name, but I’m too lost in my new favorite color to say anything else.
iii. your old Levis
When Jason first arrived at St. Cecilia’s, he was wearing a pair of brand new jeans. They were too long for him at the time, rolled up at the ankles. It only took a few years for him to grow into them, to finally be taller than I was, but when he did, they looked good.
The fell to the perfect spot near his feet; clung to hips at just the right spot so when he stretched his arms, his shirt revealed just enough of his perfect abs; they were perfect, and I thank God every night that he won the battle with his mother to get them even though they didn’t fit when he was 14.
They’re not as nice as they once looked, torn and faded from a few rough baseball games and too many washes. But they still look good on him.
He’s wearing them today. He’s standing at his bed, leaning over to tuck in the sheets on the other side. He never wears a belt with those Levi’s, so they always drop a little bit, showing off the Christmas tree boxers he always seems to wear around this time in the spring.
I come up behind him, lacing my arms around Jason’s waist, my hands brushing across the rough denim as my fingers twisted around in the empty belt loops. I bury my face in the crook of his neck, kissing him softly.
“Hey,” he says with a slight laugh, his hands abandoning his bed sheets as they move to hold onto mine, “what’s gotten into you?”
“I like these jeans.” My hand moves out from under his, inching towards the button on the front of his pants.
Jason laughs again as I yank down the zipper. “Me too.”
iv. when we kiss, I’m hypnotized
His lips are on mine and I’m lost.
When Jason kisses me, I don’t really comprehend anything else going on. I’ve seen the movie we’re watching at least thirty times before, but I have no idea what’s going on, if it’s almost over, or what the character on screen is named. All I can register is his taste and the way his tongue feels against mine. I instinctively wrap my arms around him, knotting my fingers in his hair. His hands rest on my hips as he holds me close.
He pulls away for a breath, his head finding that perfect spot on my chest.
“Why’d you stop?” I ask. I know we can’t kiss forever, but it seemed way too short.
“Don’t you need to breathe, Peter?” he replies with a laugh.
Truth be told, breathing goes on the backburner when his lips are pushing against mine. I don’t need oxygen, I just need him. But I let out a breath anyway.
He laughs again and kisses my cheek and I feel his smile against my skin. When his lips return to mine, I close my eyes and I’m lost in him all over again.
Pretty soon, we’re both too lost in the moment to need anything but each other. Not even oxygen.
v. you make me laugh, you make me cry, but I guess that’s both I’ll have to buy
Jason is the only person I know that can make me laugh so hard I cry. He gets a corny joke in his e-mail every day and always shares, sending me doubling over into fits of giggles.
I’m trying to study for our math test tomorrow, and he’s over on his computer playing video games and being generally distracting. I’m doing my best to ignore him, but his voice calling my name catches my attention.
“Peter?”
“Mmm?”
“I have a joke,” he replies, turning to me with a grin.
“Is it funny?”
“No,” he answers, “but you might think it is.”
“Try me.”
He turned back to the computer screen to read the joke. “How do you confuse an idiot?”
I wrinkle my brow in concentration, but give up after a few seconds. “I don’t know, how?”
“Twenty-six,” he answers.
At first, I don’t get it. “Wait, I…” My eyes widen in realization as soon as my mouth opens. “OH!” And I fall over laughing, even though it really is one of the stupidest jokes I’ve ever heard.
Jason never laughs at the jokes, but he always finds my reactions hilarious. After straight laughter, it becomes the silent, shaky laugh and I usually lay convulsing on the bed because stupid things do that to me. Eventually, Jason joins in with the laughter because I’m sure I’m a spectacle.
“I bet I can make you laugh harder,” he says, getting up from his desk.
“Oh … yeah?” I manage through giggles.
He nods, pouncing onto my bed, his knees on either side of my hips. His hands find my stomach and his fingers dance around to my most ticklish spots. And I laugh even harder. “Am I funnier than the joke?”
I can’t even reply with words. My noisy laugh has returned, but now tears are streaming down my face. I try to nod, but I probably look more like a crazy epileptic.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, rolling off of me and settling between me and the wall.
Regaining my composure, I adjust my shirt to cover my stomach and roll into him. His arms instinctively wrap around my shoulders and I cuddle into his chest. “I love those jokes.”
“Me too.”
vi. your hand in mine, when we’re intertwined, everything’s all right
Jason always knows how to make me feel better and he always knows when something’s bothering me. I’m not very secretive about my sulking, but he never lets me get away with telling him I’m fine.
I’m sitting on my bed, my head in my hands. My feet dangle over the edge, the tips of my bare toes brushing against the cold, tile floor. I finished my crying before Jason got back from basketball practice. Even though he doesn’t mind and he always holds me, I hate crying in front of him.
When he walks through the door, gym bag around his shoulder, my eyes are red and my face flushed. I don’t look up as he shuts the door.
“Hey.”
I give in and glance upwards, meeting his eyes. He looks back at me with a sympathetic expression.
“Your dad?” he asks, walking over to me. He sits down on the bed beside me.
I nod. “He called an hour ago,” I begin to explain. “Says he’s going down to Florida with Debbie.” I don’t have a problem with my dad’s new wife per se, it’s just that he always put her before me. I was really looking forward to spending winter break with my dad.
Jason didn’t reply with words. He slides his hand, sweaty and rough from practice, towards me, resting it on top of mine. Instinctively, my hand twists and my fingers interlock with his in a strong grip.
“It’ll be okay.” Jason’s voice is gentle, but convincing.
My hand grips his tighter, and I believe him.
I wanna be with the one I know
And the seventh thing I like the most that you do…
vii. you make me love you
I sleep in Jason’s bed more than my own. It’s small and tight, but we manage. Our legs always end up tangled in the sheets, arms in awkward places, and his head on the pillow, mine resting on his chest. He always falls asleep faster than I do, his rhythmic breathing and heartbeat like a lullaby for me.
Sometimes, the steady beating isn’t enough to send me to sleep, so I watch him dream. He’s always still once he finds the perfect spot on his bed. Once in a while, his lips will curl into a smile for a brief moment, before reverting back into a straight line. I like to think he’s dreaming of me, but when I ask what he dreams about, it’s usually about getting signed to a professional basketball team or eating the biggest hot dog in the world. I’m not disappointed though, because I know we don’t remember all of our dreams.
Jason stirs, the first time I’ve ever seen him move in his sleep. I lie down again, my head finding a place on his chest and his wandering hand taking rest on my shoulder. He sighs contentedly, and I smile into his skin.
“Peter,” he murmers.
I shift my eyes upward and his face is peaceful, his eyes still closed. I can tell he’s still half-asleep.
“Love you,” he says, and I feel his other arm grip my waist tighter.
“Love you too,” I reply, shutting my eyes.
When I wake up, I remember dreaming of Jason at least twice. Even though he says he didn’t dream last night, I know he did. I don’t know exactly what happened, but I know I was in it. Judging by the smile on his face and the words on his lips, I think it was a good one.