Jonathan Sims

Martin's breath catches as John's arm curls around his back, and a terribly soft squeak slips out as he lets himself be drawn in, his hand leaving the couch in favor of reaching up to John's shoulder, both hands curling loosely and rather coyly into his shirt. And almost immediately, he feels a surge of embarrassed self-recrimination: what right does he have to act so innocent now, when John's just caught him at his worst? Acting so delicate, painting himself in sweetness as if it wasn't a deeply sour revelation that led them here? The noises he makes are still largely involuntary, but over time, with John's encouragement, they have become easier and more automatic. This is the first time in a while that he's actually regretted one of them. That squeak was far too cute for what a little shit he was just being.

But John catches him before he can spiral, his low voice and the kiss that follows more than enough to drag Martin back into the moment. John's already made it clear that he wants to do this; Martin doesn't have to understand why, and doesn't really want to disrupt things long enough to find out. Enough unnecessary dithering. He isn't being demanding; he's following John's lead, because John wants to lead him, and it's ridiculous to pretend he doesn't want to be led, no matter what he thinks he deserves. So he relaxes a little more, his hands sliding up to frame John's face, his touch still delicate, tentative, wanting to leave room for John to redirect him if he so chooses. If John wants to have him, then Martin wants to offer himself, and he wants John to have him however he likes.

He lets himself be pushed back, gentle but firm, until his back meets the cushions and he gasps softly, breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper, "Please."