The reassurance — or reminder — serves to bring Martin down by a few degrees, enough to catch his breath and let go some of his excess tension even as John squeezes him again. Martin blinks down at him, his vision a little blurry, just in time for John to start thumbing his nipple. Martin squeaks softly, then lets himself squirm, just once, experimental and tentative, such that it could almost be mistaken for simply adjusting his position. He wants more but he has no desire to demand or even lead John with his own behavior — he's not looking to entice another punishment out of him. It's more a natural reaction to being toyed with, a consequence of how turned on he has become.
He's caught there for a moment, gazing at the top of John's head, briefly lost in the always-potent realization that this is happening, until he registers John's next remark and the direction he seems to be taking.
"Oh, god—" is all he manages to get out before John bites down, and then Martin screams, his back arching as John starts to mark him. Martin's neck is easily a more sensitive location for this; any additional mass to him starts to dampen the feeling. The area surrounding his shoulder and collarbone provide a pleasant enough alternative when they want their marks hidden. But this? By rights it almost shouldn't feel good, more like a random pinch than anything strictly sensual. But after his initial scream, he sucks in another breath and moans, softer and hungrier, his hand splayed hard against the couch back to keep himself as still as possible. The sensation may not be earth-shattering, but he does not want it to stop.
Because it is impossible not see the implication in this, that John is not just exploring the softness of his body but claiming it as beloved, actively forcing acknowledgment upon it. I've got you, he'd said.
Maybe he didn't quite have it right, Martin thinks, fragmented but somehow clear. Yes, John likes the whole of him, loves him, wants him; but just as it isn't because of the way he looks and feels, it is also not despite that. The wanting includes his body; it always has.
He feels a little bit like he's going to start weeping. "John," he stammers before breaking off with another gasping cry, twitching as John continues to toy with his left nipple.
no subject
He's caught there for a moment, gazing at the top of John's head, briefly lost in the always-potent realization that this is happening, until he registers John's next remark and the direction he seems to be taking.
"Oh, god—" is all he manages to get out before John bites down, and then Martin screams, his back arching as John starts to mark him. Martin's neck is easily a more sensitive location for this; any additional mass to him starts to dampen the feeling. The area surrounding his shoulder and collarbone provide a pleasant enough alternative when they want their marks hidden. But this? By rights it almost shouldn't feel good, more like a random pinch than anything strictly sensual. But after his initial scream, he sucks in another breath and moans, softer and hungrier, his hand splayed hard against the couch back to keep himself as still as possible. The sensation may not be earth-shattering, but he does not want it to stop.
Because it is impossible not see the implication in this, that John is not just exploring the softness of his body but claiming it as beloved, actively forcing acknowledgment upon it. I've got you, he'd said.
Maybe he didn't quite have it right, Martin thinks, fragmented but somehow clear. Yes, John likes the whole of him, loves him, wants him; but just as it isn't because of the way he looks and feels, it is also not despite that. The wanting includes his body; it always has.
He feels a little bit like he's going to start weeping. "John," he stammers before breaking off with another gasping cry, twitching as John continues to toy with his left nipple.