Martin finally starts to relax under John's gentle ministrations, those long fingers carding delicately through his hair sending him into a gradual boneless slump. He hums softy in response to John's rather shy remark, a warm smile spreading across his features. He waits a few moments, letting himself drift a bit, before he pulls himself upright and looks at John directly.
There is still some residual nervousness about the whole thing, uneasiness over those stirred-up memories, anxiety over having pitched the conversation so sharply down this path, even after hearing John is glad to know these things. But none of it can stand up to the way John looks at him, or how soothing his hands are, or how earnest his words. That thorny tangle of insecurity that used to govern Martin's life is no longer thick enough to overtake him; with every conversation like this, a little more of it unravels, making space for something else. For him to feel happy; for him to feel safe.
"Good," he simply says, studying John for just a moment longer before leaning in to brush a kiss against his lips. "I, erm... I'd like that."
And he would; really, he'd prefer John just go back to it now, before either of them have a chance to overthink it or get cold feet, before the moment passes by entirely. Martin doesn't like the vague uncertainty of sometime, much as he knows it's just conversational. He imagines just launching back into it now might seem rather presumptuous to John, but he can too easily imagine the alternative: that they settle into a cozy status quo, not awkward, but... different. Subdued, maybe. That, he thinks, would be something to regret.
He looks down, unable to go on meeting John's eyes. His breath hitches as he considers saying something more and thinks better of it; his fingers twitch around John's for a moment as he tries to imagine feeling comfortable enough with this to be impulsive. He's not sure he does yet, but he wants to. And maybe there is something to the notion of giving himself a little push, as well as taking the responsibility on his own shoulders.
He keeps his gaze averted and his breath held as he takes John's hand, tugging gently, tentatively, until their fingers brush up against the curve of his belly. Immediately and with an abrupt surge of embarrassment, he lifts both his hands away, leaving John to decide what's next.
So much for taking responsibility. Maybe this was stupid; maybe it's weird. Martin waits, timid and skittish, still not quite daring to look back up.
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There is still some residual nervousness about the whole thing, uneasiness over those stirred-up memories, anxiety over having pitched the conversation so sharply down this path, even after hearing John is glad to know these things. But none of it can stand up to the way John looks at him, or how soothing his hands are, or how earnest his words. That thorny tangle of insecurity that used to govern Martin's life is no longer thick enough to overtake him; with every conversation like this, a little more of it unravels, making space for something else. For him to feel happy; for him to feel safe.
"Good," he simply says, studying John for just a moment longer before leaning in to brush a kiss against his lips. "I, erm... I'd like that."
And he would; really, he'd prefer John just go back to it now, before either of them have a chance to overthink it or get cold feet, before the moment passes by entirely. Martin doesn't like the vague uncertainty of sometime, much as he knows it's just conversational. He imagines just launching back into it now might seem rather presumptuous to John, but he can too easily imagine the alternative: that they settle into a cozy status quo, not awkward, but... different. Subdued, maybe. That, he thinks, would be something to regret.
He looks down, unable to go on meeting John's eyes. His breath hitches as he considers saying something more and thinks better of it; his fingers twitch around John's for a moment as he tries to imagine feeling comfortable enough with this to be impulsive. He's not sure he does yet, but he wants to. And maybe there is something to the notion of giving himself a little push, as well as taking the responsibility on his own shoulders.
He keeps his gaze averted and his breath held as he takes John's hand, tugging gently, tentatively, until their fingers brush up against the curve of his belly. Immediately and with an abrupt surge of embarrassment, he lifts both his hands away, leaving John to decide what's next.
So much for taking responsibility. Maybe this was stupid; maybe it's weird. Martin waits, timid and skittish, still not quite daring to look back up.