Martin has just enough time to feel properly ridiculous before John acquiesces, and any embarrassment over how self-indulgent it all is melts quickly away. John does enjoy it, after all, for his own sake; this isn't just for him, and even if it were, that hasn't exactly stopped John before.
He's letting out a soft murmur that's perilously near a purr when John speaks again, drawing him to another memory he hasn't thought of in a while, catching him rather off guard with it. Martin blinks his eyes open, struggling a bit to focus against the lovely sensation of John's hand.
"I..." he stammers softly. "I remember that, as well." His gaze flits briefly over John's face before settling off center, around the neutral territory of his shoulder. It's a bit of a sad memory for him, and he wasn't prepared to have it called up, and he isn't sure he wants to pitch them down that road now. But he also doesn't want the comment to pass without acknowledgment, so he wavers for a moment.
"I wish you hadn't restrained yourself," he admits softly, not a trace of reproach in it, and he quickly amends: "I mean I—I know why you didn't, and I don't know what I would've done if you had, really, but... I wanted..."
He lets it go with a huff. He doesn't want to just tell John outright that part of the reason he had been so miserable, had wept so pitifully when John had awakened him, was the desire for intimacy that did not feel accessible to either of them then. Perhaps it's enough that John can guess, but he doesn't want to be so caught up when the whole point of tonight has become enjoying, fiercely, what they have now. He leans a little nearer to John, pressing up under his hand as if to comfort them both.
no subject
He's letting out a soft murmur that's perilously near a purr when John speaks again, drawing him to another memory he hasn't thought of in a while, catching him rather off guard with it. Martin blinks his eyes open, struggling a bit to focus against the lovely sensation of John's hand.
"I..." he stammers softly. "I remember that, as well." His gaze flits briefly over John's face before settling off center, around the neutral territory of his shoulder. It's a bit of a sad memory for him, and he wasn't prepared to have it called up, and he isn't sure he wants to pitch them down that road now. But he also doesn't want the comment to pass without acknowledgment, so he wavers for a moment.
"I wish you hadn't restrained yourself," he admits softly, not a trace of reproach in it, and he quickly amends: "I mean I—I know why you didn't, and I don't know what I would've done if you had, really, but... I wanted..."
He lets it go with a huff. He doesn't want to just tell John outright that part of the reason he had been so miserable, had wept so pitifully when John had awakened him, was the desire for intimacy that did not feel accessible to either of them then. Perhaps it's enough that John can guess, but he doesn't want to be so caught up when the whole point of tonight has become enjoying, fiercely, what they have now. He leans a little nearer to John, pressing up under his hand as if to comfort them both.