Jonathan Sims

Martin is a little surprised by John's acquiescence, but even more than that he is relieved by it. Now that he's been allowed this, he doesn't much want to relinquish it. John's comfort trumps his own desires, of course, but if all things are equal?

His answering grin is brief, quickly tempered to something more demure at John's light warning; and then John resumes the path down his chest and Martin tips his head back, breath held in anticipation, hands remaining steady and gentle at John's back and the back of his head.

That breath comes out in a short gust and a soft squeak when John switches sides — sides, but not his approach, Martin is rather delighted to notice, as John gives him another little squeeze. Even now he's surprised by how much he likes such a brazenly cheeky maneuver, and he thinks it's not just for the novelty of it. It's nice to be felt up, both physically and because of what it represents, that John is really enjoying him. He answers with a subtle flex of his fingers, a light scrub through John's hair as if mirroring the motion. He's halfway considering some wry remark or other on this new fixation, but any hope of being coherent disappears when John resumes sucking on his chest.

It's not as intense as before, but it's also not a familiar spot; close to his nipple but not quite there, sensitive territory but more in suggestion than on its own. Over his heart, Martin realizes at a remove.

His fingers twitch, but he keeps his grip gentle above all. His lips part to allow a soft, keening moan between shallow breaths. Desperate, but not impatient; he cannot dream of impatience while being allowed to hold John like this.