23. wearing someone’s clothes
Jason should have known better than to grab the first shirt he found in Peter's drawer.
The vintage Empire Strikes Back tee had looked innocuous enough in the dim morning light, soft cotton that promised comfort while his own clothes tumbled in the wash. It wasn't until he caught his reflection in the bathroom mirror that Jason realized his mistake.
The shirt, which fit Peter perfectly, stretched tight across Jason's broader chest and shoulders. The fabric pulled taut with every movement, the hem riding up to expose strips of skin whenever he reached for anything. He looked like he was about to burst out of it at any moment.
He considered changing, but the coffee was already brewing and Peter would be awake soon. Besides, it was just a shirt. Peter probably wouldn't even notice.
He was standing at the stove, focused on not burning the pancakes, when he felt familiar arms slide around his waist from behind. Peter pressed against his back, warm and solid, hands splaying across Jason's stomach where the shirt had ridden up.
"Morning," Peter murmured against his shoulder blade, fingers tracing lazy patterns on exposed skin.
Jason's muscles jumped under the touch. "You're up early," he managed, trying to keep his voice steady as Peter's hands wandered higher, palms smoothing over the stretched fabric covering his chest.
"Smelled breakfast," Peter said, but his attention was clearly elsewhere. His touch grew bolder, fingers mapping the way the shirt molded to Jason's torso. "This is new."
Jason could feel the grin in Peter's voice even if he couldn't see it. "My clothes are in the wash."
"Mmm." Peter's hands found the stressed seams at Jason's shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the tension there. "Tragic. Such a hardship."
Despite his best efforts, Jason found himself relaxing into the touch. Peter's hands were warm and sure, and the gentle exploration sent heat spiraling through his chest. Still, he couldn't shake the self-consciousness.
"It's too small," Jason said, already reaching to tug at the hem.
Peter's arms tightened around him, stopping the motion. "Don't you dare change," he said, voice soft but firm. "I'm enjoying this."
Jason could tell. Peter's appreciation was obvious in the way his hands lingered, in the careful attention he paid to every line of stretched fabric. It made Jason feel exposed in ways that had nothing to do with tight clothing.
"The pancakes are going to burn," Jason pointed out, but he made no move to step away from Peter's embrace.
"Let them," Peter replied easily, pressing a kiss to the back of Jason's neck. "I've got better things to focus on right now."
Jason huffed out a laugh, some of his tension easing. "Such a romantic, Parker."
"I have my moments." Peter's chin hooked over Jason's shoulder, and Jason could feel him smiling. "Though I have to admit, the view from here is pretty spectacular."
"Flatterer," Jason accused, but warmth was spreading through his chest. This was familiar territory—their usual banter, comfortable and fond. Even if Peter's hands were still doing distracting things to his composure.
"Just honest," Peter said, squeezing gently. "You know, most people would have changed by now."
"Most people don't have boyfriends who molest them while they're trying to cook," Jason replied dryly, but he was leaning back into Peter's warmth.
"Molest is a strong word. I prefer 'appreciate.'" Peter's fingers traced the Vader logo stretched across Jason's chest. "Besides, you're not exactly fighting me off."
Jason couldn't argue with that. Peter's touch felt too good, too right, to push away. "Maybe I like the attention."
"Maybe you do," Peter agreed softly, and something in his voice made Jason's breath catch.
Jason turned in Peter's arms then, the movement making the shirt pull even tighter. Peter's eyes darkened as they tracked over the stretched fabric, but when Jason cupped his face, Peter's attention snapped back to his eyes.
"Hi," Jason said quietly.
"Hi yourself," Peter replied, hands settling on Jason's waist. "Thanks for breakfast."
"Haven't finished making it yet," Jason pointed out.
Peter's smile was soft, fond. "Thanks for wearing my shirt, then."
Jason felt heat crawl up his neck. "It was an accident."
"Best accident you've ever made," Peter said, rising up on his toes to brush their lips together.
The kiss was gentle, unhurried, tasting of morning and coffee and something that was purely Peter. When they broke apart, Jason rested his forehead against Peter's, breathing him in.
"You're going to stretch it out permanently," Peter murmured, but there was no complaint in his voice.
"Want me to change?" Jason asked, even though Peter's hands were already sliding back around his waist, clearly reluctant to let go.
"God, no," Peter said immediately, then seemed to realize how eager he sounded. He cleared his throat, trying for casual. "I mean, it looks... fine. Good. You look good."
Jason's mouth curved into a slow smile. "Just good?"
Peter's cheeks pinked slightly. "You know what you look like."
"I know what I usually look like," Jason corrected, enjoying Peter's flustered state. "Not sure about this particular ensemble."
Peter's gaze flicked down to the stretched shirt, then back up to Jason's eyes. "Trust me," he said, voice slightly rough. "This particular ensemble is working for you."
Jason chuckled, pressing another kiss to Peter's mouth. "In that case, maybe I should raid your closet more often."
"Maybe you should," Peter agreed, then seemed to catch himself. "I mean, if you want. No pressure. Your clothes are fine too—"
Jason kissed him quiet, amused by the rambling. When they separated, Peter looked dazed and slightly breathless.
"Pancakes," Jason said softly. "Then we can discuss my fashion choices."
Peter nodded, but his hands were still tracing the edges of the shirt where it met Jason's skin. "Right. Pancakes. Important."
"Very important," Jason agreed, but he made no move to step away from Peter's touch. The shirt was still uncomfortably tight, still riding up with every movement. But Peter's quiet appreciation, his gentle hands and soft kisses—that felt exactly right.
Even if the pancakes did end up a little burnt around the edges.
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