Martin knows what they're here for; he knows, broadly, what John intends. He knows what he requested. But he still doesn't know what to expect. This is new, not just for them, but for him, period. Plenty of people have been mean to him, John very much included. No one has been mean because he asked for it. He wasn't sure John would ever go for it, and now that they're here, he isn't sure what it will entail. And for a perilous moment, fumbling with his keys, he isn't even sure how he'll respond to it. It's easy to worry that he'll react like he might have in the past: that he'll feel that reflexive impulse to wilt, shrink, apologize and try to hide his hurt. And if that happens, there'll be no point to this at all, and he'll have to call it off, embarrassed and full of regret.
But that doesn't happen. John sighs, and Martin freezes for a moment, his shoulders tensing and his breath catching in his throat. For a moment there's an odd clash of inputs, but it isn't over whether or not he feels hurt. It's immediately absurd that he ever worried that would be a problem. No, he feels... scrutinized, but it's enticing, almost startlingly so. And his immediate impulse is to bite back with some playful rebellion or other. To give as good as he gets, or at least give John a good reason to bring about some sort of nominal punishment. But that isn't what this is about. They have fully exited the realm of being themselves with little flourishes. This is theatre more than anything they've done before, and just as John has a role to play, he has his.
He swallows thickly and says nothing. He's wary of apologizing, worried it won't come out right. He wants to be obedient, not pitiful. It might take him a moment to find his voice, so to speak. So for now he just humbly bows his head, his eyes on the keys as he finally finds the right one and fits it into the lock.
He pushes the door open and slips in to hold it for John. He keeps his head tilted down, though he can't resist a little darting glance up as John steps inside.
no subject
But that doesn't happen. John sighs, and Martin freezes for a moment, his shoulders tensing and his breath catching in his throat. For a moment there's an odd clash of inputs, but it isn't over whether or not he feels hurt. It's immediately absurd that he ever worried that would be a problem. No, he feels... scrutinized, but it's enticing, almost startlingly so. And his immediate impulse is to bite back with some playful rebellion or other. To give as good as he gets, or at least give John a good reason to bring about some sort of nominal punishment. But that isn't what this is about. They have fully exited the realm of being themselves with little flourishes. This is theatre more than anything they've done before, and just as John has a role to play, he has his.
He swallows thickly and says nothing. He's wary of apologizing, worried it won't come out right. He wants to be obedient, not pitiful. It might take him a moment to find his voice, so to speak. So for now he just humbly bows his head, his eyes on the keys as he finally finds the right one and fits it into the lock.
He pushes the door open and slips in to hold it for John. He keeps his head tilted down, though he can't resist a little darting glance up as John steps inside.