[Poe's trick works. John relaxes again, settling back down.
It seems impossible to disobey him, anyway, so soon after he'd fully submitted. John doesn't have it in him to argue. Poe had overpowered him so thoroughly, shaken John to his core in a way he didn't think was possible.
He'd been scared at the time, but there was a strange safety in knowing Poe was strong enough to hold him down, and keep him steady, or push John farther than he was willing, to places he might need to go, but has always been too afraid to, by himself. John's never had someone behind him, giving him that push, ready to catch him if he falls, and actually capable of doing it.
John wasn't sure that person existed, or if there was anyone in any galaxy who would want to, even if they could.
There are twenty or so small, white scars dotting his upper back. Shrapnel. John sighs, and the scars move with the muscle of his back, dancing over bone.]
[ Poe runs his fingertip across those scars, connecting the dots with a trail of water like somehow it'll turn into a picture that makes sense. The longer Poe's alive, the less sure he is that the universe is under any obligation to make any kind of sense at all.
Why are there people who can't see the value of others except as tools. Why this kind of violence, common across universes.
Why would a man like John be alone.
Poe decides to let that last question alone. He got lucky, is all. Plain and simple. ]
I guess that does mean we have to get out of the tub. And change the sheets.
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no subject
It seems impossible to disobey him, anyway, so soon after he'd fully submitted. John doesn't have it in him to argue. Poe had overpowered him so thoroughly, shaken John to his core in a way he didn't think was possible.
He'd been scared at the time, but there was a strange safety in knowing Poe was strong enough to hold him down, and keep him steady, or push John farther than he was willing, to places he might need to go, but has always been too afraid to, by himself. John's never had someone behind him, giving him that push, ready to catch him if he falls, and actually capable of doing it.
John wasn't sure that person existed, or if there was anyone in any galaxy who would want to, even if they could.
There are twenty or so small, white scars dotting his upper back. Shrapnel. John sighs, and the scars move with the muscle of his back, dancing over bone.]
I can't wait to go to sleep with you.
no subject
Why are there people who can't see the value of others except as tools. Why this kind of violence, common across universes.
Why would a man like John be alone.
Poe decides to let that last question alone. He got lucky, is all. Plain and simple. ]
I guess that does mean we have to get out of the tub. And change the sheets.