John wants to bite back. To knock Poe off the pedestal he must have found some magic shortcut to, after falling so hard only just a few short days ago. He hates being told what to do. Hates being looked down on. Hates to be pried at, and studied, as if what he's thinking and feeling is anyone's goddamn business but his own, so long as he's getting the job done. Which he always does. One way or the other.
Hates even more that Poe's right, because he does worry, he worries a lot, and John isn't used to people being right. He's used to them seeing what he wants them to see. What he's comfortable showing them. What's safe.
Hates himself, for turning something that should be enjoyable, with a person he likes, likes a lot, into a nightmare because he's so afraid.
He felt safe, somehow, when Poe was holding his wrists. Grounded. John isn't sure he likes that either. As a man who's always been obsessed with freedom and independence, he's never understood his oppositional urge to be tied up, and held down. Married. Locked into a military contract. Commander.
He doesn't know how he can be so angry at Poe, so scared, his heart hammering, nerves shot, blood spiking with adrenaline, and an almost willing slave to his kiss at the same time.
Why he only feels safe right now, helpless, when his brain isn't calling the shots.
His hands spasm uselessly at his sides, a sounds something like a whimper escaping his lips and into Poe's mouth. John could come right now, if Poe let him. His body's release and escape from the almost painful buildup of tension shaking him from head to toe.
John tilts his head back, opening his mouth more, giving Poe everything. Trying to force himself to relax. Changing his tactics. He just can't stop himself from grasping for control, even when he doesn't want it.]
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John wants to bite back. To knock Poe off the pedestal he must have found some magic shortcut to, after falling so hard only just a few short days ago. He hates being told what to do. Hates being looked down on. Hates to be pried at, and studied, as if what he's thinking and feeling is anyone's goddamn business but his own, so long as he's getting the job done. Which he always does. One way or the other.
Hates even more that Poe's right, because he does worry, he worries a lot, and John isn't used to people being right. He's used to them seeing what he wants them to see. What he's comfortable showing them. What's safe.
Hates himself, for turning something that should be enjoyable, with a person he likes, likes a lot, into a nightmare because he's so afraid.
He felt safe, somehow, when Poe was holding his wrists. Grounded. John isn't sure he likes that either. As a man who's always been obsessed with freedom and independence, he's never understood his oppositional urge to be tied up, and held down. Married. Locked into a military contract. Commander.
He doesn't know how he can be so angry at Poe, so scared, his heart hammering, nerves shot, blood spiking with adrenaline, and an almost willing slave to his kiss at the same time.
Why he only feels safe right now, helpless, when his brain isn't calling the shots.
His hands spasm uselessly at his sides, a sounds something like a whimper escaping his lips and into Poe's mouth. John could come right now, if Poe let him. His body's release and escape from the almost painful buildup of tension shaking him from head to toe.
John tilts his head back, opening his mouth more, giving Poe everything. Trying to force himself to relax. Changing his tactics. He just can't stop himself from grasping for control, even when he doesn't want it.]