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Summary
He’d been in the kitchen, back to you, identity unclear.
Long legs, narrow hipped, mussed black hair. Biceps that flexed with every enthusiastic hand gesture. Broad shoulders made for manhandling, for taking, for owning.
I want to climb that like a tree, you’d thought, and then John’d turned around and said ‘hi karkat!’, smiling like he was genuinely glad to see you. Beefcake, buff lumberjack, horribly true, with his neckbeard and plaid vest and shoulders straining the seam of his shirt. But the smile had been the same, as well as the dorky snort-laugh.
He’d said yes.