For a guy who can be a total jackass, he is the sweetest kisser. He never even puts his arms round her until she touches him first. Then, after her fingers slide into the thick hair at the back of his neck, he flattens his palms against her shoulderblades and pulls her close, his lips tender on hers, not pushing, just... revelling.
When they break apart he gazes at her in pure wonder. His mouth opens but he never says a word. And if anything could convince her that Jake Peralta is genuinely in love, it is his amazed, delighted, never-before-known silence.
Oh god she is hot. The way she got her hands in his hair, holding his face while she kissed him - hot. Pressing her body up close, her hands now sliding over his chest while soft noises of appreciation murmur from her lips to his - super hot.
He has never been so turned on or so terrified. Her hair sweeps silken over his hands, and she is tiny in his arms like he could crush her if he's not careful. But he is careful. Crazy careful like a Mustang in a china store. He never even goes French, because any moment now she is going to freak out, and before then he wants to cherish her mouth on his and believe that she loves him back, that her palms caressing his jaw feels as precious to her as it does to him.
They draw apart. Amy is beautiful, always, but doubly, triply - trebly?- right now. She is beautiful, and she is his partner and his bestest friend, and he has just screwed up so bad.
It is a shock, then, when she makes a silent Whoa, pats her hair to see how mussed up it has gotten, and then turns her eyes up to him once more with a glance that absolutely smoulders.
So much for him being the one to make the move. So much for him kissing her masterfully like the Casanova he absolutely is not. She is in charge. Fine, it doesn't even bother him, because she is smiling, and losing has never felt so much like winning.
He laughs in incredulous relief, and she shuts him up with a finger traced over his lips and her single word, "More."