𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 [Jason Grace]

91

"𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞, 𝐈—"

"Shut up," Dante was practically climbing him like a rock wall, moving as if suddenly gripped by adrenaline. He leaned up, one hand going behind Jason's neck instinctively and the other on his waist.

It was inevitable, really, when he thought of it.

This was exactly what he'd come to do. Even if he hadn't known it when he woke up from the nightmare.

All his excuses were bullshit.

Jason widened his eyes like he couldn't believe it. His lips parted, maybe to say something and Dante wasted no time. He had waited long enough. Whatever Jason wanted to say (probably something stupid) could wait for once.

Jason kissed with the intensity of the sun, with full passion, heart completely devoted to it, much like he did everything else.

He started off unsure but excited. The edges of his lips turned up in a smile, trying to contain his joy, cupping Dante's cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over Dante's cheek. Gentle, peaceful, so fucking sweet.

The calm before the storm.

Because that's what Jason was. No matter how much Dante called him golden, he was still a child of storms.

His touch was electric, sometimes literally, raising the hair on Dante's arm as his hand left Dante's cheek.

His right hand moved up Dante's knee, onto his thigh. Dante let out a desperate, pathetic kind of a noise that made him flush immediately. He didn't even know he could sound like that. It tracks that the only person who could make him sound like that was Jason. It was pathetic, really. So hungry, so downright needy.

Jason's fingers dug into Dante's skin and bones, making Dante's head spin.

Dante's own hands were in Jason's hair, on the back of his neck, on his shoulder, his lower back, anywhere. It was all going in a bit of a blur, no matter how much Dante was trying to savor it.

Closer, pulling Jason impossibly closer. That's all he could think.

He had been denying himself even the thought of it for years. But this was all he had ever needed. Jason Grace being his undoing, coming undone under warm fingertips.

Like all storms, Jason's lightning was followed by thunder. It was all foreign to him, the way Jason let himself be pushed back onto the bed, giggling against Dante's lips when they separated.

For a moment, they were both just breathing hard. Jason on the bed, Dante hovering over him, trying to memorize the moment. All of it. The way Jason let out a soft "Lover—" The way Jason's hand felt on his skin, the way Jason's eyes stared into his, the way all he could see was Jason, all he could smell was Jason, all he could feel was Jason, and most importantly, all he could taste were Jason's lips.

"Fuck," Dante flushed for the millionth time.

He was practically straddling Jason, a familiar position from their many years of training, but in a completely different context now.

"Hey," Jason's fingers brushed over Dante's knuckles. "Look at me. I like it when you look at me."

Dante was pretty sure his heart was going to give out.

This was all he had ever wanted from the age of eleven. To touch Jason Grace, to kiss him, to hold him, to have Jason want him as much as he wanted Jason.

"Hi," He said dumbly when he looked back into Jason's eyes.

"Hello."

"You're golden," Dante leaned back down, glad for the years he spent doing pushups. "So fucking golden."