[ Goosebumps, spiking up under Peter's thumb, down the back of Quentin's neck when he comes in close. His nerves are lit to the very tips--but Quentin is used to diving, to jumping, to taking ever shot he gets, so when Peter leans in, Quentin butts his chin up to meet him. It's considerably less delicate, no experimenting. Bold, his hand comes up to cup Peter's cheek--
[ Oh shit, and Quentin hisses, yanking his fingers away from the bruise and his mouth away from Peter's. ] Shit, shit--I'm sorry. Are you--?
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[ Oh shit, and Quentin hisses, yanking his fingers away from the bruise and his mouth away from Peter's. ] Shit, shit--I'm sorry. Are you--?