Chapter Text
It's not like they had anywhere to be.
John always appreciated kissing; it was a fun and pleasurable activity for evenings like this, too early to sleep but too cozy to move. He and Martin had been tangled up underneath the covers for a good while now, kissing, laughing, and just enjoying each others' physical presence. John's current area of focus was Martin's neck. John loved the way Martin's chin flowed down to his chest in gentle curves, ample and yielding.
John shifted his body weight to better reach the edge of Martin's soft jaw. John's legs moved with him, his thigh now resting between Martin's more impressive legs, and John quickly noticed something unexpected.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Martin blinked, and his brow briefly furrowed before he realized just where John's thigh was and, critically, the current state of his own responsive body.
"-OH!"
Martin jumped back and let his hands cover his face as he sputtered.
"Oh God, Jesus, I'm. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"
John was a bit amused. It was cute, really, and even if erections weren't usually his thing, he rather liked the idea of inciting excitement in Martin.
He also felt a bit accomplished that he managed to do so from just cuddling and kissing. A "good job!" sticker on his proverbial assignment: full marks, outstanding work.
John called out to his shy love, who was still shivering in the covers.
"Martin?"
But Martin didn't answer. He continued to hyperventilate, spouting out apologies, the situation becoming less "cute" and more concerning by the second.
"I didn't mean to, promise, it was-"
John reached out to him, unsure of what was happening but knowledgeable enough to know that this was not typical bedroom behavior.
"Martin, it's okay-"
Martin's eyes were glazed over and turning glossy with growing tears. His words became more forceful as he punctuated them with startling self-flagellation. He repeatedly bit into his lip, pressing his teeth down whenever the words allowed-as if to not let his body rest for a moment between bitter syllables.
"It was just an accident, I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry- I'm stupid, I'm horrible, disgusting,"
"Martin!"
John rushed to reach for Martin's face, unwilling to lay with his (figurative) fingers up his (idiot) arse while his partner self-harmed centimeters away.
"Y-yes, John?"
Martin froze before John could reach him. Martin looked up at him, and John felt his chest burn as he recognized the familiar look in his lover's eyes: fear.
John's hand was still floating between them. He tried to rest his palm on Martin's arm, to console him, but after seeing his boyfriend flinch, John hesitated. After another moment of more awkward hand-hovering, John swiftly pulled his hands back in.
The silence felt uneasy and uncomfortable.
John collected some data.
He and Martin had been kissing. That had been lovely. Then, at some point, Martin had gotten an erection. John pointed out this development, and now they were here. Sad Martin and Confused John.
John thought back to some of his less-than-lovely physical experiences. Before Georgie, some before he was even called John. Girls who smelled like smoke and bubble gum twisting up their faces to deride his lack of arousal. Boys who shamed his disinterest calling him a prude, some claiming he was too straight and others that "she " was too gay- all of them being very wrong.
John remembered the guilt, confusion, and burning shame.
"Martin."
John paused.
"Would you want me apologising for not getting hard?"
"What? No, god, no."
"Because I'm likely never going to be able to do that, not like that-"
Martin clipped off John's "-and not just because of the whole 'anatomy ' thing," with overlapping affirmations; "Yes, of course, I know, and I love you, respect you, all of you."
"Even my sexuality?"
"Yes, yes. And there's no 'even,' it's just you, you, and I love all of you."
"Okay."
John took a breath.
"So why wouldn't it be the same for you?"
Martin blinked.
"What?"
With a slight sigh, John continued.
"If you love me, all of me, my sexuality, my body, and its responses, why shouldn't I feel the same way about you?"
John watched his boyfriend shift. For the second time in this exchange, John couldn't help but feel a tiny bit of pride.
Martin really fell right into that one.
"Well, obviously because- that's different. You're a gorgeous, endlessly endearing, incomparable man, worthy of adoration and respect, and I'm a sentient marshmallow left out long past its expiry date."
"Martin."
"Oh, come on. Here's where you tell me that I'm your little marshmallow, then I can call you a cheeky apparition, and we maybe argue a bit for sport until we've worn ourselves out enough for bed."
"Not tonight. You're lovely, and you should know that."
Martin squirmed under John's sincerity.
"Okay, okay. No fun, I suppose."
After this brief grumbling, Martin continued.
"Thank you." He paused again, looking away from John, deep in thought as he considered each word. "I'm being difficult, I know. It's just. You're not- the first, a- Ah. Hm. a...spectrum person, I've been with."
"Oh"
John's monosyllabic retort was part-way between a statement and a question. In another context, one where John didn't just witness his boyfriend have a panic, John might have expressed some defensiveness at Martin's reference to the "a-ah-a-spectrum." Given the circumstances, John tried to repress that instinct when responding.
Tried.
"Well, you know Martin, that asexuality, if that's the umbrella I'm being put under, is a rather large umbrella, and not all asexuals are the same. Human sexuality is a very complicated subject, and each person-"
"I know that I'm just- I-" Martin could clearly tell John was struggling (and failing) to not lecture, but Martin at least appreciated the effort. "...sorry. I'm not trying to lump you all together-I know that it's not all the same; it was just- A bit of a traumatic experience."
"Oh."
Martin didn't use the word trauma lightly. Neither of them did. How could they, after everything they'd been through?
This was..worrying.
"Martin... You don't have to, I won't make you, but. Do you want to talk about it? I can listen, I want to listen, and talking about it, it could help."
Martin continued to fidget uneasily, wishing he had something to occupy his anxious hands.
"I don't know, it's. It's going to involve sex. Are you okay hearing about that?"
"As I've told you before, yes."
"I just like to check in."
"I know." John placed his palm over Martin's twisting hand and tried to soothe his partner with gentle thumb strokes. "And I appreciate that. But it's okay."
"I-" Martin looked at John's resolute and loving expression. "Okay. Well. Shocking as it may be to believe, I had partners before you. Not many, mind you- being a chubby teen dropout doesn't exactly make the boys come running-"
"To your yard, one might say. "
Interrupting your boyfriend, the one who just told you he had experienced significant trauma, wasn't the best way to collect his narrative, but it wasn't like the tape recorder was running.
Although it probably wasn't great for comforting either. Damn.
"...Okay, I just got a handle on you knowing who Uncle Ben is- I don't think I'm ready to process you casually referencing early 2000's pop jams."
John smiled and couldn't resist teasing. "Sorry, you're just so adorable when you're surprised."
And when you're blushing, John thought as he watched Martin's cheeks go pink.
"Oh, s-shut up. But yes. My milkshake was decidedly un-alluring and ineffective. For the most part."
"I did meet a few guys, over the years, including this one, well, Lukas. He was called Lukas. Short guy, small build, glasses, and big brown eyes, and oh god, I think I may have a type."
"Seems like it."
"You're much more lovely. Anyways, we were young. Lukas was in uni, and I-well I was about his age. I used to sneak him up to my room through the window, try to get a bit of physical comfort between half lucid berating from mum."
John squeezed Martin's hand, a small and silent "I'm here,” and “I'm sorry your mum was horrid. "
"It's okay, I'm okay. So. Well, Lukas, he wasn't really much comfort."
"Things were really great, at first, maybe. Hard to say honestly, especially looking back, god, over a decade now. But they certainly weren't as bad as they would become."
Martin took a moment to breathe.
"Sometimes Lukas liked sex, but. He never liked to talk about it, never liked for me to ask, just sort of wanted me to, guess what was going on. There was really no telling for a while. On any day, he could decide that today was a Sex Day, and off he would go, taking off clothes and assuming I would know to fuck him. Now, if I did something a bit off or moaned a bit too loud, or, god forbid, asked to be touched, he would stop everything, tell me what a selfish, inept idiot I was. He'd have me turn around and close my eyes so he could jerk himself off before bolting right out."
"Christ."
"Yeah. But. Then there were all the other times. We. We would be kissing, in bed, like, well, like this, not as nice, of course, and in a much smaller cot, but. Yeah. He might. Touch me. Just a bit. Not, not directly or anything, but like I said, I was young, and well, I was lonely, and it wasn't like I had many suitors lining up to crawl through my window."
Martin's words were backed with hollow laughter; bitter humor brought no warmth to his weary voice.
There was another pause. Clear apprehension, anxiety? Then Martin continued again.
"Sometimes I would get. Aroused. Noticeably. Maybe just a slight moan, a whimper, or. Something, well, worse."
Martin shifted his legs and briefly glanced downwards, not wanting to be any more direct.
"And Lukas, he- He got upset. Angry even." Martin closed his eyes at that last part, disliking the vivid memories invading his head.
"On a good day, he was just amused, thought it was funny, just a hilarious little joke, ' Pathetic Martin, closet-pervert, so easy to tease.'-"
John tried not to let rising tension seep through his fingers. Now was not the time to consider assassination possibilities.
"- he might do something. Not, usually, to me, more likely an object or something. You know, suck off a bottle of cider? Stare up with those big pretty eyes and watch me fail to look away, to make it go away. Suppose that was good for a laugh."
"Not as good as Lukas falling off a cliff," John thought, barely managing to not interject.
"The anger was harder. I couldn't laugh that off. Lukas, he- he looked at me like I had stabbed him with a knife, like I was the most horrible creature in the world, absolutely revolted, like I had suggested we chop our tongues and serve them up for Sunday supper."
John held his own tongue and refrained from commenting on Martin's distressingly specific simile.
"I mean, early on in the relationship, if you can call it that, I did ask. I asked questions, how he was feeling, what he wanted, what was okay. He didn't like that. Just made him...angrier. If it was a yes, then I was stupid for asking, and if it was a no- Well, then he might just storm out. Look at me with disgust that lingered long after he left; repulsion that seeped into my skin and left tear stains on the bedding."
John would murder this man.
Martin's hands stilled, but his voice began to tremble. He kept the intonation of indifference and a joyless smile: as if his middling mock-mannerisms could camouflage sickening words.
"It did give him a kind of power, cause like I said, he wasn't always against it, at least, not for him. So when he did tell me to grab the lube and fetch the gloves, how, how could I say no? I was the one who was always wanting the sex, asking questions, always dirtying up a perfectly wholesome kiss. So. Who would I be to say no now? How could I say no?"
"Oh, Martin…"
How could I say no ?
The words rang in John's ear like a brass bell struck against his skull.
"It's fine, it's. Okay. I'm okay now, I'm not- I'm not in that place anymore."
Martin steadied himself.
"It took a long while before I could feel anything sexual without just. Overwhelming guilt, shame. I tried so hard to just- remove that part of myself, and the fact that I couldn't, that my stupid horrible body wouldn't let me have this one thing, it-it hurt. So much."
John let his hand run up and down Martin's arm and side. Jon wanted to bring him a bit of comfort, but he knew nothing could make this comfortable.
"What happened with him?"
John was hoping maybe he died in some horrible accident or was tortured by a demon clown.
"Well, he moved south, and before he fled, he politely informed me that in London, 'his dating pool was going to be much wider so naturally, his dating options could be much less wide.' I think I still have the text."
John knew that he shouldn't let his own anger overshadow the need to respond carefully.
"He sounds like a prick."
John let his own anger overshadow the need to respond carefully.
"Oh no, absolute prick. I worried about ever running into him when I first moved to London, but I think he's off in America now, trying to be an actor or something ridiculous."
"Good, let them have him."
"Yeah."
They lay there for a while, past the polite post-joke smiles, and into uneasy quiet.
"Martin, you know- You know you didn't do anything wrong, right?"
Martin pressed his lips together and shifted in the bed, his downturned expression revealing certain uncertainty.
"Martin-"
"Didn't I, though?" Martin lifted his gaze, responding with wide, wild eyes and unsheathed desperation. "I knew he didn't want- things, and still I, I thought about them."
"How could you know when he wouldn't tell you? Wouldn't even talk to you?"
"Well, he told me when he did want it, eventually. If he wanted it, he would say so."
John couldn't block his frustration, his voice raising against his better judgment. "And you were supposed to what? Wait for his permission to feel? Suppress any 'impure' thoughts and quash your involuntary biological responses?"
"Yes! I should have! I should have known better, I should have been better, I knew it would have hurt him, that he didn't want the things I desperately w- an-and I didn't stop, I- I couldn't."
The words stopped leaving Martin's mouth, but worries still spun through his head. Accusations and insults fought their way to Martin's voice, but there was so much to say, to fear, to hate, no sound could slip through.
Things were getting...heated. The bed suddenly felt too small. John took a moment to reassess all the information he'd received so far and determine how to proceed.
He could go with a question; it made sense to eliminate some possibilities.
"Martin, Did you ever force yourself on him?"
John considered his words as he witnessed Martin instantaneously leap up in horror.
"What?! No! God, no, Christ."
"Coerce him?"
"No! Never, I swear, I didn't, I would never, and I- I don't really like talking like this."
"Okay. But you need to know that you did nothing wrong."
Martin let his body fall a bit, shoulders slumping, but it wasn't quite an act of relief. He was less alarmed but still nowhere near at ease.
Perhaps the question had been a "bad move."
Okay then, right. John could try an alternate -alternate tactic.
He tried to remember early conversations with Georgie; she had been so good at this, unlike him, so affirming and kind and-
Ah.
John gathered his resolve and realized what he could- what he wanted to say.
"You can't help your sexuality any more than I can help mine. It's okay. Your sexuality is part of you-"
"It shouldn't have to be."
"It is. And I'm never going to ask you to try and get rid of that part of you, or any part of you."
Martin tried to take in John's words, to steady himself with intentional breaths, but he was fighting against a hatred that had seeped deep into his bones.
John interrupted his internal struggle with a quiet, "You're allowed to want."
"This person, this, Lukas, he didn't treat you well."
Martin looked away, still squirming as John proceeded.
"He didn't. He didn't talk to you, he didn't let you talk, he didn't care for your consent or even your feelings. Even if he was sex-repulsed, he didn't have to make you feel repulsive-"
Martin was still refusing to meet John's gaze, so John kept trying.
"You're not a bad person for having a reflexive physical reaction to stimuli-"
"Thanks."
Martin curtly cut him off. It was as if he really didn't want to hear John finish that thought or perhaps even express it at all.
John took his time to make his voice, demeanor, everything, as gentle as possible, as kind as his dear Martin deserved.
"And," John continued, "You're not a bad person for wanting things. For wanting me."
Flinching at John's words, Martin was evidently unconvinced.
"You're not, Martin. I know how you feel, and I love you as you are. I trust that you would never push me to do anything that made me uncomfortable-"
"And I never would," He interjected.
"And thank you for that. But I'm not the only person in this relationship. Your comfort matters here too."
"...It really doesn't."
"It really does!"
Martin wanted to fight back, to deny his own heart and give in to the pain, but John's face was so determined, adoring yet resolute- he couldn't deny that face.
"....Okay."
"It matters a lot, Martin. You have every right to say no, whenever you want, no matter what."
"Okay."
"Good. Do you promise to do that?"
"Do what?"
"Say 'no.' Or 'yes,’ to say what you mean and tell me what you want, to be honest with me about that."
Martin considered the proposition. After a moment, he replied, "Will you promise me the same?"
"Yes. I promise."
John's response was automatic and vehement. He was sure. Martin could be sure too.
"...alright then. I promise too."
They wrapped their arms around each other and closed the distance between them.
"I love you, John."
"I love you too."
-
The silence was finally comfortable, yet John remained unsettled. There was...something else he wanted to say, to do. Clearing his throat, John quietly continued.
"You know...it's not just your comfort."
"Mm?"
Martin had already closed his eyes and had fully intended on taking a post-trauma-talk snooze. He was surprised to see John's eyes were still wide: very un-snooze-y.
"Your pleasure, that matters too, Martin."
Martin's ensuing laughter came out as an ugly snort. John thought the little noise was delightful but far from the reaction he desired.
"I mean it. I really care about that."
Martin was incredulous.
"Really?"
"Really."
Martin remained skeptical, but it was hard to doubt a shaking (and unreasonably cute) John.
"I care about the enthusiastic 'yes's just as much as I care about your 'no's. And. I want to know."
"Know...? What?"
John shuffled a bit closer to his boyfriend, intertwining their fingers and hoping Martin wouldn't notice the sweat on his palms.
"What you're... enthusiastic about."
"Oh."
"Mm."
"Ah."
"Yes."
So that's where this conversation was going. Martin supposed he could engage, at least a bit.
"Okay, well. Since it's on my mind I-I did have a fantasy, back then, it's. Honestly stupid."
"I don't think it's stupid."
"Yeah, well, you don't even know what it is yet."
"Fine. Tell me about it then."
"Sure thing John, let me tell you all about my late adolescent fantasies and masturbatory habits. And why stop there? Would you like to hear about what I did with the old workout guides mum tried to push onto me? Lots of unintentionally pornographic material for a fat little fairy."
"I'm serious, Martin."
"...Are you sure?"
"Yes. I'll tell you if I'm uncomfortable, and if we have to stop, we'll stop."
Martin hesitated. "Do you-"
"I promise ."
John cut him off before he could finish the question.
Right. Well, Martin could trust John. Martin did trust John.
Martin let himself exhale.
"Okay."
He continued softly, "Well, so, when he, Lukas, wanted sex, it was really just about him; I was just a tool with convenient fingers and cock. So even when it was okay for me to be, well, part of things, it really wasn't, not really."
Martin remembered feeling like a tool, a self-operating sex toy, meekly asking if he might be allowed to participate, if his partner wanted Martin to fuck him or if he just wanted to get fucked.
"Still, I- I liked him. A lot, actually. At least, I liked the snogging. It was nice, and, well, I thought. What if I- I was with someone, and it happened, again, I- you know. Got aroused. Visibly. And so, in my fantasy, 'dream boy,' if you will, what if he- he didn't laugh, or shout at me, or recoil in disgust."
John gently squeezed Martin's fingers, intent on letting his boyfriend continue uninterrupted but still wanting to provide comfort, a reminder that Martin was safe.
"Most nights, just picturing him leaving me in peace and actually returning again for a cuddle was enough to get my nightly pre-cry wank, but. I also thought about him. Staying. Not even having to touch me, not really, but just. His presence, someone's presence, being there, and. Telling me it was all okay. That I was okay, g-good even, more than okay. He would tell me that it was okay to feel the way I felt, that he wanted me to feel good, to touch myself. And so. I... would. I would get myself off with arms around my shoulders and kisses against my jaw, and when I was done, he would just. Hold me. Tell me I was alright, that I had, um, done a good job."
Martin had been avoiding direct eye contact but looked up to see John's fond gaze.
Martin continued, "Honestly, the fantasy wasn't really about him in particular so much as- "
"The comfort," John finished.
"Yeah." Martin hadn't told that to anyone before. He tried to joke away his nerves and continued, "So you can see now that it's stupid."
"It's not stupid."
At that, John pulled Martin close and offered a gentle kiss. Martin couldn't help but relax into the soft touch of John's perfect lips, letting his hand move to cup John's face.
John slowly traveled down, sucking Martin's sensitive lower lip and kissing along his jaw.
"I'd like to help." John punctuated his offer with a slight bite, just enough to make Martin squirm.
"John, ah, John," Martin's partner had moved down to his neck, sweet pecks giving way to decadent caresses and playful bites. Oh god, Martin was already gone, struggling to press his lips together lest they release burgeoning moans.
Damn erogenous zones.
"You don't- you don't have to do this."
"I know," John replied, lips still pressed against Martin's skin. I want to."
John continued down Martin's body, letting his teeth graze Martin's (seemingly sensitive) collarbone and trailing his tongue towards Martin's chest. "Please," John pleaded, "let me ."
Martin looked down at his unreasonably attractive boyfriend and remembered what he had said earlier. They had promised.
"Oh- ah, okay."
"Okay?" John pulled back completely, wanting to confirm Martin's explicit, unimpaired consent.
Martin looked down at his darling John and let once-cloistered desire leave his lips.
"Yes. Yes, John, please."
"Okay."
John eagerly explored Martin's chest, excited to learn about additional ways he could make his partner whine and writhe.
He made his way to Martin's nipple and wondered perhaps if Martin might be sensitive there as well. John licked around the areola, letting the tip of his tongue swirl around to the center, where he placed the hard bud between his lips and offered a suckling kiss.
"Fuck, " Martin moaned, slow and low.
So that was a likely 'Yes' for Nipple Sensitivity.
John smiled against Martin's smooth skin, unable to keep himself from grinning, from letting Martin know how amazing he was.
"You are so, so good, Martin."
"John"
Enthralled, John moved his mouth to Martin's other nipple, offering open-mouthed kisses along the way. He brought his hands up to caress Martin, pinch his chest, squeeze at his full hips, run his nails down from neck to navel.
"I want you to feel as good as possible."
John's hand lingered on Martin's soft belly, grazing where fabric met warm skin and wiry hair.
In an uncharacteristically soft voice, John whispered, "May I touch you? "
Martin hadn't expected this.
Even in his fantasy, it was hard for him to accept that anyone would care for him like that. Martin had to ask. "Are-are you sure? You want to?"
"Yes. Please."
Martin looked down at John, who had claimed Martin's heart, whose glossy lips were still brushing against Martin's reddened flesh.
"Touch me."
John gave Martin's chest another kiss and slipped his hand under the waistband of Martin's soft, cotton trousers. John pressed his hand over Martin's pants, letting himself feel Martin up over the thin fabric. Martin responded by whimpering into the touch, curling forward and gently twitching his wide hips. God, John loved him.
John didn't usually find sex very interesting, but seeing Martin, wound-up, fretful, wonderful Martin, slack-jawed and pliant under his hands- it was thoroughly engaging. He wanted more.
Still, John hesitated to touch Martin directly. John was willing, more than willing, but also...inexperienced. John didn't want to-
John's internal deliberations on suitable dick-touch strategies were interrupted by an especially needy moan as Martin firmly pushed himself into John's hand, pleading between heavy breaths, "please. John. please."
John's confidence was restored.
John impatiently pulled Martin's trousers down his thighs, just enough to get him sufficiently exposed, followed by those very much in-the-way pants.
Slightly trembling, John licked his palm and wrapped his hand around Martin's cock. As soon as his hand made contact, the two of them gasped together, Martin from the sensation of finally being touched, and John from the gorgeous bliss on his partner's face. They met each others' gaze before looking down, both of them enamored with the way their bodies intertwined.
John slowly stroked Martin's length, hesitant yet heady.
"Is that? Like that?"
Panting, Martin replied, "Yes, ungh, h-here."
Martin put his hand over John's and began to move their hands up and down his twitching cock.
Enrapt and eager, John examined Martin's responses, learning the rhythm he preferred, how to tease the tip just so, and make Martin's eyes roll back into his head.
"Yes, yes, John, please, just like that."
Martin's breaths drew faster, each exhale voiced and increasing in pitch. John kept pumping his hand, firm and slick, and moved to get his greedy mouth on Martin's exposed neck.
John interspersed rough kisses and bites between words of praise, increasing in pressure to match Martin's rising volume.
"You're wonderful. You're so amazing. I love you so, so much."
Oh god, it was everything Martin had ever wanted. It was incredible, it was perfect, it was John.
Martin struggled to reply as he felt orgasm draw near. "I love you too, John, I love you so much, I- Ah, fuck, fuck, I love you, I love- AH-"
And it was too much.
" Martin."
Martin shouted, eyes open but unable to see, hips jerking forward, gasping and gasping and gone.
He came in quick bursts, fucking into his partner's hand. John worked him through it, entranced by Martin's elation.
Martin twitched his trembling hips until oversensitivity overcame pleasure. His vision returned, and he could rest.
As euphoria faded and Martin's breathing returned to normal, he felt compelled to express the thought overtaking his mind.
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have anything to apologise for."
John responded so quickly. The words flew out of him easily, like the statement was obvious- like it was true.
Maybe it could be. Maybe it was.
"Well," Martin mumbled, "Thank you then. You didn't have to do that."
"I know. I didn't have to; I wanted to. And I'll likely want to do it again, and other things as well, but first, maybe- ?"
John pulled his hand out from between Martin's legs and waved, wiggling visibly sticky fingers.
"Oh, god! Yeah, sorry. Didn't exactly have- you can just sort of- wipe it off on my pants? NO, sorry, sorry, that's- that's gross, not that I'm NOT going to wash these, of course, I wash all my pants and especially after—
Let me grab you a tissue or something."
"Well, actually Martin,"
"Hm?"
"I am a bit….curious"
Martin watched his boyfriend examine glossy fingers, still coated in Martin's come. Martin gasped as John brought wet fingertips to his mouth, letting his eyes close as his tongue reached out to taste the slick mess.
"Jesus, John. Give me a minute to rest."
John sunk his fingers a bit deeper before looking up in mock-innocence. He punctuated the action with a soft toothless bite, pulling his lips over his teeth and closing his mouth with an audible Ahmf.
Martin gawked at his boyfriend, who laughed in response, delighting in his ability to still surprise dear Martin.
John removed his fingers, still half-chuckling. "Fine, fine." He eased into an adoring smile. "I love you."
90% of Martin's unfortunate life would not be close to anything a reasonable person would label as "lucky."
Looking at John, beautiful, stubborn, impulsive, deceptively dramatic John, Martin felt like the luckiest man in any world.
"I love you too, John. Thank you."
"No need for thanks." John paused. "Although, if you could actually fetch me that towel or erm. Something? This is, um-" John extended his undoubtedly uncomfortable saliva and semen-soaked hand.
Martin sprung back to action, "Oh god, yeah! Of course, of course," His eyes scanning the room for a suitable (not gross) rag.
"I just feel like I could readjust my pants and end up pregnant."
"Yeah, I suspect I was conceived from something like that."
"...You know I could always find out- "
"Please don't!"
Martin scurried out of the room to dampen a towel, and Jon stayed behind, admiring his doting lover.
They were both alone but never so far from lonely; un-surveilled and yet wonderfully seen.