The sight before him brought a smile to his lips as John couldn't help but stare at you as you lay snuggled up in a thick, warm blanket in front of the bedroom fireplace as he finally opened the bedroom door. You had your back turned to him so he wasn't sure if you were asleep yet, the day had been exhausting enough and he knew you had given it your all. He wouldn't have been surprised if you had fallen asleep during your hot shower.
John wasn't sure if you deliberately chose the place by the fire so as not to share the bed with him - assuming you even wanted him in the same room. The hard ground wasn't the most comfortable place, despite the fur you lay on, but it was definitely the warmest. Gosh, he was hoping you needed the warmth and not the distance from him. It was hard enough to follow your wish to forget for today and only talk about what had happened tomorrow. He wasn't sure what he would do if you didn't want him near you as well.
When he saw your hands coming out of the covers, holding them close to your face and blowing warmth onto them, he couldn't help but walk towards you. You were cold and even if you might prefer some distance at the moment, he wouldn't let you freeze if he could help it. He took off his own clothes, slipped into his sleeping pants, and after not being able to find his favorite shirt - the one you had given him just a few weeks ago - he put on the first one he could find.
As he laid down next to you, he wondered if it would be okay to slip under the covers. He might put it down to the fact that direct contact was certainly better against hypothermia than the barrier provided by the blanket. But if John was honest with himself, he had missed you and longed to hold you in his arms. Even the clothes you wore were already too much of a barrier, let alone the thick blanket. Two weeks had been two weeks too long. He could put off not talking about what had happened until tomorrow, but not being close to you.
And so he settled on the fur, slipped under the covers and snuggled up to you. Only his iron will held him in place as his front met your back but when your feet touched his, John couldn't help but exclaim: "Jesus, you are freezing."
"Mmhmm. But now you're here and I hope you'll lend me some of your warmth, amore mio."
How could he not grant you that wish as he put his arm around you and pulled you closer. A smile on his face because you've gone back to your old habit of calling him "my love" in a foreign language. When it first had happened, John hadn't been able to place it. But it had happened over and over again. Until you had finally called him "my love" in a language he understood. And he has cherished each of those displays of love ever since.
John wasn't sure if you found it easy to forget for today or if you were just good at pretending. Because John had expected a lot, but certainly not lying in front of the fire with his arms around you, almost as if nothing had happened. He hadn't been aware that his hand had started to wander while he was deep in thought. You seemed to welcome his touch, but when his hand slipped under your shirt, a startled gasp made him stop abruptly. It pained him that his touch wasn't welcomed. But he contented himself with taking it slow and pulled his hand out from under your shirt. He didn't want to lose contact entirely, because before he got too daring it had brought you as much comfort as it had brought him, and so he kept sliding his hand up and down your arm. Trying to get some warmth into you. Reassuring himself that you were okay. Realizing that you were here, that you hadn't left him.
The touch of the side, from arm to waist to legs and up again, slowly but surely transformed from the simple touch intended to provide warmth and comfort into the gentle caress of lovers. John noticed your goosebumps had returned, but this time not because of the cold, but because of the action that such a simple touch could evoke in you. He gently rolled you onto your back and looked at you.
Your eyes told him everything he needed to know. Everything you couldn't put into words. Everything he couldn't put into words himself. He slowly lowered his head to you, making his intentions clear, but leaving the choice up to you if it was too soon. But he didn't have to worry because you met him halfway. You've kissed many times and yet it felt like your first kiss. And in a way it was.
