[John looks into those eyes, dark and soulful, looking back at him with a sadness reflecting the hurt in his own heart. Selflessly, or selfishly, John won't leave him.
Can't.
It's not about the sex, not right now, but they're not men of words. They're men of action. Sex is just a medium used to convey emotions left unsaid. A way to connect with body and touch, and to speak truth with voices lost or forgotten. John's become so used to suffering in silence that he doesn't know how to cry, and Poe has his own demons.
He answers Poe with his lips, kissing him again, hard, arms draping loosely over his broad shoulders. John wants him, and he's not leaving. Hands following the outline of Poe's scapula, fingers digging into the tense pillars of muscle on either side of Poe's spine. Fingertips tracing the curve of Poe's ribcage, heaving beneath his touch, to his solar plexus.
His hands reach Poe's shoulders again. He almost can't bear to break the kiss, but he remembers Poe in his fear, himself in his fear that night when Poe pried him out of himself, kicking and screaming, into a freedom he'd never known until that night.
John draws back, looking at Poe again, holding him with his eyes, and pushes down. Gently. Firmly. To his knees. Where John commanded him.]
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Date: 2018-02-25 04:57 am (UTC)Can't.
It's not about the sex, not right now, but they're not men of words. They're men of action. Sex is just a medium used to convey emotions left unsaid. A way to connect with body and touch, and to speak truth with voices lost or forgotten. John's become so used to suffering in silence that he doesn't know how to cry, and Poe has his own demons.
He answers Poe with his lips, kissing him again, hard, arms draping loosely over his broad shoulders. John wants him, and he's not leaving. Hands following the outline of Poe's scapula, fingers digging into the tense pillars of muscle on either side of Poe's spine. Fingertips tracing the curve of Poe's ribcage, heaving beneath his touch, to his solar plexus.
His hands reach Poe's shoulders again. He almost can't bear to break the kiss, but he remembers Poe in his fear, himself in his fear that night when Poe pried him out of himself, kicking and screaming, into a freedom he'd never known until that night.
John draws back, looking at Poe again, holding him with his eyes, and pushes down. Gently. Firmly. To his knees. Where John commanded him.]