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Entry tags:
morning / for john
dated: idk whenever
Martin certainly didn't used to wake up with such ease, rising naturally before any alarm he might set. Indicative first that he feels more relaxed here, that he actually enjoys his job, and now, unbelievably, joyously, that he has someone to wake up with. John is not an early or an easy riser, but Martin likes that just fine, as it allows him precious moments in the light of dawn to return quietly to consciousness, remember where he is and why he's so happy, to blink through the haze of whatever dreams he's already forgetting and see John beside him, resting, breathing slowly.
Martin likes to just look at him, but he knows that has a limited life span; John can always feel it when he's being watched, sooner or later. So more and more he finds other ways to rouse him, as gently as possible: a little kiss to the brow, a warm hand cradling the back of his neck or brushing through his hair. This morning, pulled by an inward surge of affection, he foregoes these gentler methods and just shuffles forward, wrapping an arm around the narrow hunch of John's shoulders and pulling himself close, positioned such that he can reverse their frequent arrangement, tucking his chin on top of John's head. He smiles and shuts his eyes as he feels John stir beneath him.
"G'morning," he says softly.
Martin certainly didn't used to wake up with such ease, rising naturally before any alarm he might set. Indicative first that he feels more relaxed here, that he actually enjoys his job, and now, unbelievably, joyously, that he has someone to wake up with. John is not an early or an easy riser, but Martin likes that just fine, as it allows him precious moments in the light of dawn to return quietly to consciousness, remember where he is and why he's so happy, to blink through the haze of whatever dreams he's already forgetting and see John beside him, resting, breathing slowly.
Martin likes to just look at him, but he knows that has a limited life span; John can always feel it when he's being watched, sooner or later. So more and more he finds other ways to rouse him, as gently as possible: a little kiss to the brow, a warm hand cradling the back of his neck or brushing through his hair. This morning, pulled by an inward surge of affection, he foregoes these gentler methods and just shuffles forward, wrapping an arm around the narrow hunch of John's shoulders and pulling himself close, positioned such that he can reverse their frequent arrangement, tucking his chin on top of John's head. He smiles and shuts his eyes as he feels John stir beneath him.
"G'morning," he says softly.