Martin does lower his hands, but the gesture is sharper than John expects, and he draws back a little. It's not an outright retreat; his hand is still hovering in the air between them, implicitly available. He doesn't want to close himself off, or give Martin any reason to feel guilty on top of everything else.
And then Martin talks of being an accessory, and John goes still, his stomach clenching. Even within the context of Martin insisting that John would never do such a thing, it's appalling to think that he just did something that reminded Martin of times that he'd been... what objectified? Christ. Of course that hadn't been his intention — he'd only thought to soothe, with the simple, tactile pleasure of it being a nice bonus — but what use are his intentions when he'd rocketed Martin right into some highly unpleasant memories?
Martin takes his hand and begins to elaborate, and John slowly runs his thumb over Martin's knuckles as he listens, both encouraging and apologetic.
It's a lot to take in. The first part of it isn't terribly surprising. It's more or less in line with what John had gathered from Martin's initial protest: that people had taken issue with his size before, and that such a direct acknowledgment of his middle had stirred up some miserable associations. The second part, though, that throws him, leaving him caught between bewilderment and indignation.
Aesthetic appreciation does not come naturally to him. Which isn't to say he's incapable of it, only that it's low on his list of concerns and requires more conscious effort than most people seem to employ. But he loves the way Martin looks, loves it because he loves Martin and because 'how Martin looks' is an inseparable aspect of him. He cannot imagine loving Martin but seeking to change a part of him that has never seemed particularly changeable over the years that they've known each other (and god knows there were always far more pressing threats to their collective health than their bloody BMIs), nor can he imagine liking the shape of him without caring about the man underneath.
So Martin is right, when he says John isn't like that. But he isn't right when he says it doesn't matter.
"Of course it matters," John replies. "My intentions are only worth so much, and if—if touching you that way just stirs up all that, then... well, it's not as if I need to. I just..." he shrugs, ducking his head, feeling as if he ought to verbalize the difference even if Martin already seems to understand it. "From a, a... tactile perspective, it was... you just feel nice," he finally blurts, cheeks prickling. Right, yes, very eloquent. John sighs, then lifts his gaze, meeting Martin's eyes. "But it's not worth stirring up bad memories, if that's what I was doing."
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And then Martin talks of being an accessory, and John goes still, his stomach clenching. Even within the context of Martin insisting that John would never do such a thing, it's appalling to think that he just did something that reminded Martin of times that he'd been... what objectified? Christ. Of course that hadn't been his intention — he'd only thought to soothe, with the simple, tactile pleasure of it being a nice bonus — but what use are his intentions when he'd rocketed Martin right into some highly unpleasant memories?
Martin takes his hand and begins to elaborate, and John slowly runs his thumb over Martin's knuckles as he listens, both encouraging and apologetic.
It's a lot to take in. The first part of it isn't terribly surprising. It's more or less in line with what John had gathered from Martin's initial protest: that people had taken issue with his size before, and that such a direct acknowledgment of his middle had stirred up some miserable associations. The second part, though, that throws him, leaving him caught between bewilderment and indignation.
Aesthetic appreciation does not come naturally to him. Which isn't to say he's incapable of it, only that it's low on his list of concerns and requires more conscious effort than most people seem to employ. But he loves the way Martin looks, loves it because he loves Martin and because 'how Martin looks' is an inseparable aspect of him. He cannot imagine loving Martin but seeking to change a part of him that has never seemed particularly changeable over the years that they've known each other (and god knows there were always far more pressing threats to their collective health than their bloody BMIs), nor can he imagine liking the shape of him without caring about the man underneath.
So Martin is right, when he says John isn't like that. But he isn't right when he says it doesn't matter.
"Of course it matters," John replies. "My intentions are only worth so much, and if—if touching you that way just stirs up all that, then... well, it's not as if I need to. I just..." he shrugs, ducking his head, feeling as if he ought to verbalize the difference even if Martin already seems to understand it. "From a, a... tactile perspective, it was... you just feel nice," he finally blurts, cheeks prickling. Right, yes, very eloquent. John sighs, then lifts his gaze, meeting Martin's eyes. "But it's not worth stirring up bad memories, if that's what I was doing."