Jonathan Sims

John has become good enough at reading Martin in this context that he isn't often taken by surprise anymore. But perhaps it's fitting, given how much novelty he felt bold enough to employ, that Martin should manage to startle him in turn. Some of it is, admittedly, his own distraction: he was very curious about what sort of reaction that light suggestion of a nip would get him, but hadn't anticipated that it would finish the job. Much more surprising, however, is the way Martin's grip tightens around him, clutching him against his chest.

John's small, startled grunt is mostly lost beneath the noise Martin's making, and he blinks owlishly, too stunned to squirm or otherwise resist. He doesn't know that Martin's ever clung to him this tightly before, barring emergencies, and the strength of it surprises him (if only because he's so used to considering Martin's strength, in this context, as something that could be used to push him away, not pull him closer). But there are certainly worse places to be so enfolded, and once the initial shock subsides, John starts to shake with silent laughter. When Martin eventually loosens his grip, John pulls in a breath and releases it in an audible giggle, using his regained mobility to turn in towards Martin's chest in a fond, bashful nuzzle.

"—Okay?" he says, as much finishing the question as answering it. He presses a brief kiss to Martin's sternum, then lifts his head, wriggling a bit so he can prop his chin on the back of his own wrist, gazing at Martin from atop the rumpled ridge of his undershirt. "I should say so. You?"