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John isn’t entirely sure how he got here.
He cooked a mediocre dinner for Arthur and him, still learning how to cut and dice things with precision. He washed the dishes, cleaned the kitchen, and completed the chores for the day.
He was going to tell Arthur he was finished and find his notebook to continue writing, but he’d just told Arthur the kitchen was clean when the man pulled him down and kissed him.
Now John is sitting on the couch, and Arthur’s in his lap, his mouth on his, and John never learned how to kiss someone, but he’s trying to copy the way Arthur’s lips move against his. He thinks he can’t be doing that bad since Arthur’s kissing him harder, pushing him deeper into the cushions. John wraps his hands around his waist, leaning forward and kissing him back just as eagerly.
He doesn't quite understand why Arthur is kissing him. It’s not an unpleasant sensation, but it is strange. Humans are interesting. Becoming human himself (at least physically) has not changed that.
He understands touch. John wants to be close to Arthur, to meld their bodies back into one. Biting admittedly is something he struggles to explain outside of it being instinct. Arthur said it isn’t the most common form of affection, in that tone he uses when he’s trying to be delicate with his words.
John likes being in control, and he likes feeling Arthur’s presence, so pinning Arthur to him makes sense. It would probably be concerning if Arthur giving up control didn’t feel so sweet. As much as he enjoys the violence of it, he can’t deny how much Arthur handing him all responsibility just makes him want to take care of his other half. John wants, more than anything, for Arthur to be safe and happy. Control is no longer about taking advantage, it’s about having the power to make him relax and smile.
He seems happy now, and he's in John's arms, so John thinks he’s happy too, but the appeal to kissing is still a mystery to him.
Arthur pulls away for air. John takes a moment to study him. Blush tints his cheeks pink and his eyes are lidded. It's captivating, but more so because of its curious nature than him finding it attractive. John has found himself interested in human nature, whether it be philosophically, psychologically, or in this case, physically.
“Why did you want to kiss me?” he asks.
Arthur hums, tilting his head after a moment as he processes what was said. John smiles amusedly; he didn't seem prepared for the question. Watching Arthur's headspaces became much more fun once they weren't life-or-death situations or grief-inflicted.
“It's just what humans do, I suppose. We like kissing people we love. It's a sign of affection.”
John pulls Arthur closer to him in lieu of a response.
“You do want this as well, right?” Arthur checks.
“I do.” John's perfectly happy with this arrangement, even if what they're doing matters less than the fact they're doing it together. Though he isn’t used to Arthur taking the lead. He’s still trying to wrap his head around what that means for him.
Arthur nods. “I suppose it's a mixed bag for me. I…” He takes a deep breath, then continues. “I liked kissing Bella, the first couple of times. Before we made things official and everyone else made our relationship their business. After, though… Everything was about being the perfect lover, the perfect husband. It started feeling wrong.”
“This doesn't feel wrong, right? We don't.” John would be crushed if it did, but he'd rather the truth.
“No, not at all,” Arthur assures him, and his shoulders relax. “You said this doesn't have to be romantic. I like that. It might be the same action, but the context is completely different.”
John's not sure he understands emotionally, but he does in the way that matters. “Okay.”
Arthur smiles and leans down to kiss him again.
“What about you? How do you feel about this?” he asks, running his thumb across John's lower lip.
“It's enjoyable, but it doesn't feel all that… important? This is given a lot more weight in fiction.” Arthur laughs. “Kissing doesn't hold that much weight apart from the importance you place on it. You give it meaning, so it’s special. Outside of that, I just like it because it's you and I like being close to you.”
“Is that so?”
Arthur's face seems even redder now, but John chooses not to comment on it.
“Yes.”
Arthur kisses him again, and it seems he's done with the conversation because he doesn't stop. His arms are on John's shoulders, pressing him down.
It's easy to get lost in the feeling of it all. It's almost completely relaxing.
Almost.
Arthur moves on to trail kisses down his jaw and throat, nipping at the skin. The top few buttons of John's shirt are already unbuttoned since he hates how tight the collar feels, so Arthur easily pushes the fabric away.
He's circled a hand around John’s neck, a thumb pushing at John's jaw, encouraging him to tilt his head back. His neck is sure to be covered in marks with the way Arthur works his skin between his teeth, but John can't seem to bring himself to care at the moment.
He's too focused on how restricted he is right now to think about the future.
Something inside him urges him to push Arthur off. He doesn't understand why. Arthur's not going to hurt him, he's safe. John knows this.
He's not going to fight back and ruin another thing because he can't handle vulnerability. Because this does feel good, if only he knew how to enjoy it. He'll regret pushing Arthur away. He always does.
John squeezes Arthur's waist to ground himself, tightening his hold. Looks for even a semblance of control in the action.
Arthur hums, speaking against his neck, “I'm here. I've got you.”
Something in John breaks.
He wants that to be enough. Wants to let go and trust Arthur to hold him together. But how can he?
Why can't he just bask in the feeling of Arthur kissing and biting him?
John wants this, so, so bad. It's almost painful.
Arthur moves back up to kiss him directly again. His hands cradle John's face, and it's fine, until Arthur freezes.
He reels back, breaking off the kiss. “What's wrong?”
“What?”
His brow furrows. “Why are you crying, John?”
“I'm–” he is crying. Soft, slow tears trail down his cheeks. “I'm fine.” John leans forward to kiss him again.
Arthur moves away, his hand closing over John’s mouth, and he shakes his head. “Clearly not, if you're crying.”
John doesn't know how to answer.
Arthur pulls back further, beginning to climb off of John's lap. The small voice in John’s head tells him to let him, but it's drowned out by the chorus of want that yells at him to fix this.
He tugs Arthur back down, and he complies. Confusion and concern are painted on his face. The expression threatens John's tears to fall harder, but he swallows down the overwhelming feeling of being cared for.
He doesn't know how to explain. So he asks, “How do you feel? When I… do this, for you?”
Arthur blinks, thrown off. “Oh! Uhm… good? Yes, good. It feels nice. Comforting. Safe. I know you won't go too far. I suppose it's just nice to be able to give up control, to not have to carry the burden of life and making decisions for a moment.”
John gets it. That's the worst part. He honestly wants to be able to do that, but he just can't let go.
“I want to feel that way, but I don't know how. I want to trust you with that, I swear I thought I trusted you this much already, but I don't know how to give up control. I feel like it’s going to be used against me, somehow. I know you won’t. I guess you just expect what you see in yourself,” he says self-deprecatingly, looking away. “It doesn't help that all this attention makes me feel judged.”
“Judged?”
“Yes. As if I'm doing something wrong. It feels like I'm being scrutinized, and I'm just waiting for the criticism.”
“Oh, John…” Arthur sighs, cupping his face. John leans into the touch. It's not a subconscious decision. “We don't have to do this. Especially if it makes you feel this way.”
“But I want to,” John argues, pushing his cheek further into Arthur's palm. “I want to like your love.” He circles a hand around Arthur’s wrist, pressing a kiss to his palm.
Arthur flounders for a moment, lips opening but nothing coming out. It'd be funny if John didn’t already feel as if he ruined the moment.
Arthur snaps his mouth shut and nods. They sit in silence, Arthur brushing a hand through John's hair, deep in thought.
John wishes, not for the first time, that they were one again. Maybe the bleed-through of their emotions would give him a clue as to what Arthur’s feeling right now, or help him get the message through of how much he wants this.
There's this constant ache in him that's only satisfied by Arthur's touch. Desire sits in his bone marrow, threaded through his body like a vital organ. John might be his own person, but he still needs Arthur to live.
His body is betraying him, giving him fear when he should have pleasure, but that doesn't change his need for Arthur.
“When we sleep,” Arthur speaks up, “you prefer being held than holding me. How does that work?”
“It... reminds me of being inside you,” John answers, feeling himself get flustered with the admission. “It's the closest I feel I can get to being together.”
“Hm.” Arthur swipes his thumbs under John’s eyes, cleaning away the tear streaks. “I want to try something.”
“Oh?”
Arthur rolls off of him and stands up. John immediately misses the contact, but his curiosity takes over and he lets Arthur go.
“Lie down.”
“... Okay.”
He does as asked. “What now?”
Arthur feels forward, his hand landing on John’s chest and moving up to brace himself on the couch. His arms come to circle John’s head as he lifts himself onto the couch and lies down on top of John.
His weight is a crushing feeling on John’s chest, and for a moment he panics. But Arthur caresses the side of his face, holding it gently, and his other hand holds onto John’s shoulder, his thumb brushing over the pulse point at the base of his neck. His confusion clears and he realizes: Arthur is trying to replicate the comfort of being together while still taking some control from John.
It's not a bad idea. John closes his eyes, hoping not being able to see Arthur separate from him will help.
“Is this better?” Arthur asks, his breath ghosting over John’s lips.
“I… Yes. It is.”
“I mean, do you want this? Is it good?”
“Yes, Arthur, it’s good.”
“Alright.”
Arthur runs a hand through his hair, letting his hand settle at the back of John’s head. “If you don’t like it anymore, or it’s too much, just tell me to stop or push me away.”
John huffs. “Fine.”
“I’m serious,” Arthur insists, tapping his shoulder. “You should enjoy this too.”
“... I know. I will.”
“Good.”
Arthur moves to rest his lips on the space between John’s neck and shoulder, just above his collarbone. He stays there for a moment, unmoving, his breaths fanning against his skin.
Despite John brushing off Arthur’s assurance, he does appreciate the reminder that he can stop this at any moment.
It’s a conflicting idea, going back to being a part of Arthur. He does miss being close to him, their souls so deeply intertwined not even a God could separate them. But the lack of agency was horrible. He was trapped within a body he could barely control, with no voice outside of the one Arthur gave him. John does not miss that part one bit.
This way, he can have both. Not in actuality, he and Arthur can never go back to being one, but they can come close. John’s only giving up as much control as he wants, and he can take it back whenever he chooses.
It doesn’t fix things right away. That voice in his head still nags at him and tells him he’s making a mistake. He suspects it will for a long time, if not always. But this way, he can learn to tune it out.
Arthur opens his mouth, scraping his teeth over John’s skin and slowly biting down.
John remembers biting Arthur for the first time and smiles amusedly at the resemblance. It’s almost a reversal of that scene. Somehow, it helps. How could Arthur judge John when he’s essentially copying him?
He can feel his heart beating in his chest, still faster than he wants it to be. He ignores it, and instead hugs Arthur, wrapping his arms around his waist. He tries to give himself permission to relax.
Curiously, Arthur doesn’t bite as hard as John does. His teeth in his skin are not something he can ignore, but it is not an attempt to bleed. The bruise he’ll get from it is more a byproduct than an intention. John wonders if he’s holding back– Arthur made clear his stance on reciprocating John’s actions. He’s grateful if he is, because he’s not quite sure he’s ready for that level of aggression yet.
He’s also impatient and wants Arthur to be more rough with it. But that’ll have to wait.
Arthur loosens his jaw, switching to kissing the spot. John’s skin tingles with the gentleness of the action, like sparks, but coming from a small and controlled fire, built to shield the cold rather than a blazing forest fire. He kisses along John’s collarbone, leaving short and sharp bites as he maps out the bone with his mouth.
His touch manages to be both fleeting and intimately present. John doesn’t know how, but he finds himself able to accept it. It’s as if the man knows how to appeal to both sides of his inner conflict. John loves him for it.
Arthur leans up to press his lips underneath his jaw. “Is this okay?”
John lifts his arms to Arthur’s face and pulls him into a kiss, hoping to get the meaning across in Arthur’s language. “Yes.” Another kiss. “I want you to do it over and over, until accepting your love becomes as easy as breathing.”
Arthur stills.
John frowns, worrying he did something wrong. “Arthur?”
“Christ, John,” Arthur says, choked up. “Yes. Of course, as long as you want it. Only if you want it.” He rests their foreheads together. “I don't ever want to force this upon you. I love you. How I get to show that won’t change the fact I do.”
“I know,” John assures. “I want this. I want you. I’ll always want you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Arthur kisses John deeply, and he may not understand why kissing is so important to humans, but he can still parse out the meaning of this one:
It’s a promise.