The moment that he feels John's arms wind around him, Harry lets out some small, barely-there noise. Let there be no mistake, he makes one. It's a content, private little noise. It sounds a lot like fulfillment, as though all he's needed, all this time, is someone to hold him. It sounds like everything he's been waiting for, everything he might have ever actually wanted - and he just got it. Like he's been waiting for this tiny intimacy longer than most have. Yet, he had gone and denied John (and himself, in that aspect) the ability to hold and touch him in return - at least, until the very end. For all the progress Harry had made during his tenure as the Knight, there were still more steps to take.
But not for tonight, because he can't even think about moving. His knees burn, his thighs ache, and his stomach is still doing little cartwheels and chanting something along the lines of three cheers 'cause i just fucked john marcone hip hip hurrah!
You sentimental bastard, Harry thinks fondly, and his lethargic smile is full of far too many emotions to place it. John's mouth wanders across his skin, across those marks he'd made - trying so hard to hold onto some aspect of Harry, onto the moment between them. Harry could tell him that the mere stripping John bare and hoarding him into the soft throws and mounds of pillows that constituted his little nest had long convinced Harry to give him another moment -- but he'd all but said he'd like a second go at a "proper date". Harry shifts, wiggles about to escape John's tender kisses as the man tenderizes the bruises and bites along his wrist, kisses at his face, pours all these tiny, much-needed gestures out like this is the only shot he's got to do so. This way, though, Harry can bury his nose into John's hair and spread his hands over bare, warmed skin - trying to give back a little something, hoping to assure John that he's got time, god damn it.
"Look. You're welcome to do so," Harry mumbles, and snakes his arms a little higher - wrapping them around John's shoulders, his neck. He'll loosen up after he drifts off to sleep; right now, he's more than a little bit clingy. His voice is sleepy, but tinged with that darkly playful humor he's been teasing and tempting John with all evening. "But I want to try to make french toast or something in th' morning, so don't wake me up with your obsessive need to catalogue me like this is your one and only chance kaythanksgnight." And it's lights out for one of them, at least.
no subject
But not for tonight, because he can't even think about moving. His knees burn, his thighs ache, and his stomach is still doing little cartwheels and chanting something along the lines of three cheers 'cause i just fucked john marcone hip hip hurrah!
You sentimental bastard, Harry thinks fondly, and his lethargic smile is full of far too many emotions to place it. John's mouth wanders across his skin, across those marks he'd made - trying so hard to hold onto some aspect of Harry, onto the moment between them. Harry could tell him that the mere stripping John bare and hoarding him into the soft throws and mounds of pillows that constituted his little nest had long convinced Harry to give him another moment -- but he'd all but said he'd like a second go at a "proper date". Harry shifts, wiggles about to escape John's tender kisses as the man tenderizes the bruises and bites along his wrist, kisses at his face, pours all these tiny, much-needed gestures out like this is the only shot he's got to do so. This way, though, Harry can bury his nose into John's hair and spread his hands over bare, warmed skin - trying to give back a little something, hoping to assure John that he's got time, god damn it.
"Look. You're welcome to do so," Harry mumbles, and snakes his arms a little higher - wrapping them around John's shoulders, his neck. He'll loosen up after he drifts off to sleep; right now, he's more than a little bit clingy. His voice is sleepy, but tinged with that darkly playful humor he's been teasing and tempting John with all evening. "But I want to try to make french toast or something in th' morning, so don't wake me up with your obsessive need to catalogue me like this is your one and only chance kaythanksgnight." And it's lights out for one of them, at least.