John leans immediately into his embrace and Martin can't quite stop a sigh from slipping out of him, relieved and happy that this is welcome, that it seems to have been the right choice. Not just in that it's comforting to him, but in how much John seemed to need it and how quickly it seems to have an effect. Martin holds him and he shudders a little, sniffles audibly, but it isn't long before he steadies, seeming to pull himself back together. Martin smiles, even though it won't be seen with him half-pressed to John's chest. And then John thanks him, and Martin finally draws back. He's not eager to let go, but he shouldn't indulge himself too far, either. This isn't about him.
There is something sort of profound, though, about being allowed to comfort John; about being able to. And even if this has to end, he doesn't see why that should.
"Come on," he says gently, his hands still settled on John's arms as though making sure he'll stay upright. "I'll make us some tea."
He lets one hand drift back down to John's, taking it and drawing him along. There is some distant anxiety that this is too much, that John will bristle at being led about like a child, but John does not resist him, and Martin doesn't let him go until he's in the kitchen, filling the kettle and flicking on the burner, fetching the cups down from where John's shown him. He takes his time setting up their cups, not exactly wanting to watch the proverbial pot boil but now having a hard time imagining turning around, seeing John there. Not sure what he'll see, or what he'll want, or how to mitigate that. Tea will help. Tea always helps.
no subject
There is something sort of profound, though, about being allowed to comfort John; about being able to. And even if this has to end, he doesn't see why that should.
"Come on," he says gently, his hands still settled on John's arms as though making sure he'll stay upright. "I'll make us some tea."
He lets one hand drift back down to John's, taking it and drawing him along. There is some distant anxiety that this is too much, that John will bristle at being led about like a child, but John does not resist him, and Martin doesn't let him go until he's in the kitchen, filling the kettle and flicking on the burner, fetching the cups down from where John's shown him. He takes his time setting up their cups, not exactly wanting to watch the proverbial pot boil but now having a hard time imagining turning around, seeing John there. Not sure what he'll see, or what he'll want, or how to mitigate that. Tea will help. Tea always helps.