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He wasn’t a stranger to sex. He’d had lots and lots of sex, loads of sex. He wasn’t afraid of the physical aspect of their relationship (even if the idea of having a cock in his arse still made him feel a little weird). No, in fact, he loved the physical side of their relationship. John’s mouth could do things that no girl had ever done for him before. And his fingers, shit. He’d never come so hard before with John’s fingers in his arse, playing his prostate like a damn bass.
No, it wasn’t the sex or the physicality or even the fact that John was a man that was making him lay awake that night. It was the way his heart fluttered when John smiled softly at him from across the rehearsal hall before going back to what he was doing. It was the gentle brush of hands as they walked down the street together. It was the soft little snores John was making as he lay, head pillowed in Roger’s chest, bare skin still damp from their earlier activities, hair floofy and everywhere.
It was the stupid urge to grin like a crazy person that made him shuffle out of bed as best he could without disturbing John, and snatching his smokes from the bedside table, fumble his way in the dark to the living room fire escape. It was the way he wanted to just give John sweet kisses all the time that had nothing to do with sex. It was the feeling in his chest when he watched the younger man working on one of his electronics projects or when he was working through a complicated bass line. It was the L-word hanging over his head - not that either of them had said it, but Roger was at least thinking it.
“Rog?”
John’s sleepy voice startled him from his thoughts and he turned to see the other man leaning out the window, hair still sticking up everywhere, Rogers boxers sling low on his hips.
“Hey, did I wake you?” Roger whispered back around his cigarette, blinking against the sudden emotions he was feeling.
John made a non-committal noise as he crawled out the window to curl himself next to Roger on the fire escape. “Missed you,” he said around a yawn, nuzzling his face against Roger’s shoulder, making sleepy grabby hands at Roger’s smoke.
Roger chuckled softly as he handed the smoke over and watched the way John’s thin lips wrapped around the cigarette, taking a long drag. He swallowed hard, that feeling starting to creep up on him and he had to fight to keep from running like he had in the past.
“What’s on your mind?” John’s sleepy voice broke the silence again, big grey-green eyes staring at him in the incomplete darkness of a London night.
The openness of John’s expression and the earnest in his eyes made Roger want to confess, so he did: “I don’t know how to do this, but you make we want to find out.”
John blinked slowly at him before he gave him a soft smile, taking another drag from the cigarette before handing it back. “Do what, Rog?” he asked softly, his tone saying he already knew the answer to his question.
Silence hung between them for a long moment, and Roger could hear his heart pounding in his chest. If he said it there was no taking it back. If he confessed it all he couldn’t get out of it. But he didn’t want to run, he didn’t want to get out of it. He wanted all of it. And it was like a sip of warm tea warming him from the inside out as he realized that. “Love you,” he said softly, “I don’t know how to love you and not fuck it all up.”
Gentle fingers hooked under his chin and forced him to look up. “You’ve done a smashing job so far,” John replied just as softly before he leaned in and captured Roger’s lips in a warm kiss. “We will figure out how to love each other, together, what do ya say?”
Roger blinked dumbly at the other man for a moment, blinking back the emotions that threatened to spill over, before he gave John a slightly watery smile. “Yeah, sounds perfect.”