Alex hugs him, and he snaps back out of his fugue. He wasn't expecting it, in spite of the fact they'd spent the entire night in each other's arms. Sex has always been easy for John, and he's never had a shortage of interested partners. Easy to keep simple. Get the other person off, and you can pat yourself on the back and call it a night.
It's the casual intimacy that gets to him. Hugs. Holding hands. Lying together, like this, instead of bolting for the door as soon as they're finished. Sometimes, he just doesn't know what to make of it. Whether he likes the feeling of being held close, or if it's painful. Because he knows it won't last, and that he shouldn't get used to it. Then he doesn't have to go without, or feel the lack of it, when he's alone again. Which he always is.
Right now he feels raw, so raw that her question, however gentle, makes him flinch. John prefers to lick his wounds in private. So no one can rub salt in them. He made the mistake of opening himself up to Poe, and now he's regretting it.
"Not really." He shifts uncomfortable, suddenly feeling stiff, like a stranger in his own bed.
He wants to forget. Wants to stop thinking about him. Wants to stop aching Liquor and sex are a decent band-aid, but beneath the skin, he's still badly bruised.
"I don't doubt you're a good listener, it's just that I'm a bad talker." He gives her a half-smile. It's a bad joke, only kind of funny because it's mostly true.
But Alex is so soft, soft enough that she doesn't hurt leaning into him, soft enough he doesn't want her to go, because without her he's left to his own abrasive thoughts. It's selfish, he knows it is, she deserves better than to be his comforter.
"I didn't go looking for anything. It just sort of... happened. I don't know what I was thinking, starting anything in a place like this, with what I've got going on back home. He had his own stuff going on, too. Guess I got too attached, was asking for too much, when I shouldn't have been. He never wanted it. I just ignored the signs, because it felt good."
He sighs, scrubs at his face. Closes his eyes, and turns his face into her hair. Forces his heart down out of his throat and back into his chest.
no subject
It's the casual intimacy that gets to him. Hugs. Holding hands. Lying together, like this, instead of bolting for the door as soon as they're finished. Sometimes, he just doesn't know what to make of it. Whether he likes the feeling of being held close, or if it's painful. Because he knows it won't last, and that he shouldn't get used to it. Then he doesn't have to go without, or feel the lack of it, when he's alone again. Which he always is.
Right now he feels raw, so raw that her question, however gentle, makes him flinch. John prefers to lick his wounds in private. So no one can rub salt in them. He made the mistake of opening himself up to Poe, and now he's regretting it.
"Not really." He shifts uncomfortable, suddenly feeling stiff, like a stranger in his own bed.
He wants to forget. Wants to stop thinking about him. Wants to stop aching Liquor and sex are a decent band-aid, but beneath the skin, he's still badly bruised.
"I don't doubt you're a good listener, it's just that I'm a bad talker." He gives her a half-smile. It's a bad joke, only kind of funny because it's mostly true.
But Alex is so soft, soft enough that she doesn't hurt leaning into him, soft enough he doesn't want her to go, because without her he's left to his own abrasive thoughts. It's selfish, he knows it is, she deserves better than to be his comforter.
"I didn't go looking for anything. It just sort of... happened. I don't know what I was thinking, starting anything in a place like this, with what I've got going on back home. He had his own stuff going on, too. Guess I got too attached, was asking for too much, when I shouldn't have been. He never wanted it. I just ignored the signs, because it felt good."
He sighs, scrubs at his face. Closes his eyes, and turns his face into her hair. Forces his heart down out of his throat and back into his chest.
"But this feels good too."