Jonathan Sims

The quality of Martin's stillness changes, subtle but unmistakable, and then clarified by the bob of his throat as he swallows and the slight, suggestive lift of his chin. Still, it's not quite acquiescence. He insists, his tone unsteady but not entirely playful, that he doesn't deserve it.

What Martin may or may not deserve is beside the point. John has absolutely no desire to sit here and unpack all this, as if they haven't grown beyond the need to preemptively justify every single move they make lest either of them put a toe out of line (the worst of all possible disasters). He can't make out the shape of any real risk. He can't imagine Martin actually crafting some simple, stimulus-response connection between acting like a prat and getting 'rewarded' with a bit of fooling around on their couch, and concluding he should act like a prat more often.

He considers and rejects both a flippant 'I'm not sure I care' and a fervent 'you deserve everything,' neither of which serve his current purpose. Too open to argument. Instead, he blazes a slow trail from the juncture of Martin's neck and shoulder up towards his jawline, laying out his justifications in between kisses. "Let's compromise, then: you be the judge of what a catch I am, and I'll be the judge of what you deserve." He pauses long enough for a solicitous, "How does that sound?" before taking Martin's earlobe between his lips and sucking gently.