Martin's breath catches very slightly when John's lips touch his skin, the kiss brief and gentle but imbued with so much tenderness and care that it's nearly overwhelming. He doesn't linger, not even to nuzzle against him as he ordinarily might, just pulls back and taps his fingers again near the first. He seems determined to be as cautious as Martin is with him, and there's a moment where Martin doesn't understand why, just a breath before everything finally slots into place. Sudden, but simple and obvious, as if he was simply operating on a time delay.
He remembers acutely the first time he let someone see him in any state of undress. It was stupid, a bit desperate; the very first date with someone he'd met online. He'd wanted to sleep with Martin and he'd made that very apparent from go, and Martin had taken that as a lucky, unexpected break. It hadn't been bad, exactly, but it had been overwhelming; Devon, his name was, had been eager and pushy, had delighted in touching him and making him jump. Charmed by how easy he was, at least that first time; eager to find ways to turn him on while sparing little thought to whether or how Martin might want that himself. It had led Martin to discover he doesn't particularly enjoy being so exposed, but he was too shy and too embarrassed to do anything but struggle to push past that. Because it had seemed like a flaw in his own design; throughout his spotty dating history, being undressed in front of a boyfriend has always led to one of two outcomes: sex, or a poorly disguised awkwardness around the shape and size of him, something Martin recognized and attempted to mitigate by not revealing himself all that much.
But John has no such goals or hangups. He reached out to stop Martin from getting dressed because he wanted to examine him, to touch and kiss him where he's never before had access, simply because he... because he wants to, because he likes to, because he loves Martin and he enjoys the feel of him for its own sake. And even with all that, as innocuous and gentle as his intentions are, he is still treating this with the utmost caution, something no one else has ever done, because in the unforgiving shorthand of the majority of the dating world, getting undressed is consent enough.
Martin shudders again and closes his eyes, though he cannot stop the tears from slipping out, and he reaches up to cover his face, although there is certainly no hiding this now.
"I-I'm sorry, it's—it's okay. I'm okay," he babbles, hiccuping softly. Christ, he doesn't want to bring things to a halt like this, but at the same time, he knows it might not be fair to ask John to just ignore such a profound reaction and carry on. And... and he trusts John to see him like this and not to recoil. He trusts he hasn't ruined anything, even if he has to sort of remind himself of that, to exercise the trust like an unused muscle; he knows it will be all right. "I, I want—I don't want you to stop, I just n-need a minute."
no subject
He remembers acutely the first time he let someone see him in any state of undress. It was stupid, a bit desperate; the very first date with someone he'd met online. He'd wanted to sleep with Martin and he'd made that very apparent from go, and Martin had taken that as a lucky, unexpected break. It hadn't been bad, exactly, but it had been overwhelming; Devon, his name was, had been eager and pushy, had delighted in touching him and making him jump. Charmed by how easy he was, at least that first time; eager to find ways to turn him on while sparing little thought to whether or how Martin might want that himself. It had led Martin to discover he doesn't particularly enjoy being so exposed, but he was too shy and too embarrassed to do anything but struggle to push past that. Because it had seemed like a flaw in his own design; throughout his spotty dating history, being undressed in front of a boyfriend has always led to one of two outcomes: sex, or a poorly disguised awkwardness around the shape and size of him, something Martin recognized and attempted to mitigate by not revealing himself all that much.
But John has no such goals or hangups. He reached out to stop Martin from getting dressed because he wanted to examine him, to touch and kiss him where he's never before had access, simply because he... because he wants to, because he likes to, because he loves Martin and he enjoys the feel of him for its own sake. And even with all that, as innocuous and gentle as his intentions are, he is still treating this with the utmost caution, something no one else has ever done, because in the unforgiving shorthand of the majority of the dating world, getting undressed is consent enough.
Martin shudders again and closes his eyes, though he cannot stop the tears from slipping out, and he reaches up to cover his face, although there is certainly no hiding this now.
"I-I'm sorry, it's—it's okay. I'm okay," he babbles, hiccuping softly. Christ, he doesn't want to bring things to a halt like this, but at the same time, he knows it might not be fair to ask John to just ignore such a profound reaction and carry on. And... and he trusts John to see him like this and not to recoil. He trusts he hasn't ruined anything, even if he has to sort of remind himself of that, to exercise the trust like an unused muscle; he knows it will be all right. "I, I want—I don't want you to stop, I just n-need a minute."