"People don't usually make out then just go cold turkey like that," Peter pointed out in return, but his expression softened as the teasing returned. He gave a little smirk, his fingers creeping out and grasping Simon's shirt, holding to the edges of it. "I didn't say I didn't want you to make out with me again." Trying to sound a little coy, not sure if he was succeeding, but there was something intoxicating about the idea that he might get Simon off of the pedestal, even if just a little bit, that the others in the club seemed to have him on. (That he himself did, no lie.)

He leaned forward and nosed the edge of Simon's jaw just a little.