#twodrunkencelestials

He’s taken up birdwatching. Wildlife watching really, seeming to take as much joy in finding a ladybird as he does an eagle. Once he’d spotted basking sharks off the coast and they’d sat there together and stared out over the waves for hours. He tries not to watch people. Avoids meeting their eyes. Martin can see the way that Jon’s pupils have gone wide, the crinkles at the corners from pain and fear and hopefully, with time, from laughter. He strokes his thumb against the head of his cock, eyes fluttering closed. Jon’s breath rasps briefly, gets faster, and Martin swears he can feel the weight of his gaze on his body.  That weight had left him pinned before, the uncanny heaviness of it, more than physical. A spiritual weight, is the only way that Martin could think of it. Something that could rend and tear, something that loved in a way that wanted to take you apart. His hips jerk into his hand, and Martin gasps and gives a soft laugh. When he opens his eyes again, Jon is smiling. His gaze is intense, but gentle. A love that preserves instead of dissecting. “I could watch you forever,” Jon says. The heat in his voice makes Martin squirm. His grip tightens and he rocks into his hand a few more times before he comes hard, spilling over his hand. “Did you like that?” he asks, when he can breath again. Jon is still leaning forward, watching, always watching, gaze darting over every inch of Martin like the sight of him is something Jon wants to burn into his memory. “Always,” Jon says.  Martin doesn’t want him to ever look away.