John doesn't think he'll ever tire of the distinct feeling of Martin relaxing beneath his hands. Whatever tension the conversation had spawned slowly melts away, and the weight of Martin's head on his shoulder transitions from something timid and embarrassed to something more content. It's nice, and it's well established, and John finds himself relaxing in turn, relieved to be back on familiar ground.
Martin leans back to look at him, and then leans in for a kiss, and John meets it with a soft hum. His hand drifts down a little, his fingertips still sunk in Martin's hair even as the pad of his thumb caresses his jaw. A sizable part of him wants to just touch Martin's belly again immediately, but he hesitates. Doing so right away feels presumptuous, somehow, but on the other hand, not doing it feels rather ridiculous in the wake of both of them plainly stating that they like the idea. And if he doesn't do it now, he'll just end up fretting over the appropriate circumstances in which to try it again, and odds are he'll end up crawling up his own arse about it and losing his nerve entirely.
Martin drops his gaze, his breath hitching as if he means to speak, though no actual words follow. Then he tugs on John's hand, hesitant and careful, until their clasped fingers brush against his stomach. Martin lifts his hands away as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, and John blinks, startled, before a slow, fond smile spreads across his face. That settles things, doesn't it? Still, he keeps his own movements slow and deliberate: the backs of his fingers brushing against the soft curve of him as he uncurls them, his palm pressing flush against the fabric of Martin's shirt, feeling the warmth of the skin beneath. He curls his fingers just once, careful and experimental; his thumb sweeps in a gentle arc. It really is quite nice, to the point where he feels a bit ridiculous for enjoying it so much — a simple pleasure, with a heavy emphasis on simple. But if Martin likes it, too, and if it's helping to overwrite some lackluster memories, then maybe that's all that matters. Maybe he can be cognizant of potential concerns without descending into overthinking.
Regardless, they have an established habit of checking in when trying new things, so John lifts his gaze back to Martin's face, combing his fingers back through his soft hair. So much softness, Christ, he feels spoiled. "Okay?" he murmurs.
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Martin leans back to look at him, and then leans in for a kiss, and John meets it with a soft hum. His hand drifts down a little, his fingertips still sunk in Martin's hair even as the pad of his thumb caresses his jaw. A sizable part of him wants to just touch Martin's belly again immediately, but he hesitates. Doing so right away feels presumptuous, somehow, but on the other hand, not doing it feels rather ridiculous in the wake of both of them plainly stating that they like the idea. And if he doesn't do it now, he'll just end up fretting over the appropriate circumstances in which to try it again, and odds are he'll end up crawling up his own arse about it and losing his nerve entirely.
Martin drops his gaze, his breath hitching as if he means to speak, though no actual words follow. Then he tugs on John's hand, hesitant and careful, until their clasped fingers brush against his stomach. Martin lifts his hands away as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, and John blinks, startled, before a slow, fond smile spreads across his face. That settles things, doesn't it? Still, he keeps his own movements slow and deliberate: the backs of his fingers brushing against the soft curve of him as he uncurls them, his palm pressing flush against the fabric of Martin's shirt, feeling the warmth of the skin beneath. He curls his fingers just once, careful and experimental; his thumb sweeps in a gentle arc. It really is quite nice, to the point where he feels a bit ridiculous for enjoying it so much — a simple pleasure, with a heavy emphasis on simple. But if Martin likes it, too, and if it's helping to overwrite some lackluster memories, then maybe that's all that matters. Maybe he can be cognizant of potential concerns without descending into overthinking.
Regardless, they have an established habit of checking in when trying new things, so John lifts his gaze back to Martin's face, combing his fingers back through his soft hair. So much softness, Christ, he feels spoiled. "Okay?" he murmurs.