Although S might have guessed as much, if he had to do so one way or the other, it's still good, gratifying, relieving to hear. It isn't as if he could have faulted J for being with someone else while they weren't together, for trying to move on, however unlikely the prospect might have seemed, if only in light of everything that's been said today. Still, no matter how sad it might be, how pointless, really, the two of them both alone when they could just have been together instead, he's selfishly glad that it wasn't just him still hung up on what they had before, unable or at least unwilling to look for another partner, even just as someone to go to bed with. This isn't exactly picking up where they left off, it can't be, with everything that's happened, but at least in this particular regard, it is. It's hard not to be appreciative of that.
Maybe one day, there would have been someone else. S knows he can't rule it out entirely, that he can't swear he would have been alone for the rest of his life, not knowing how long that might have been, but he feels certain that it would never have been like this. No one else could ever have made him feel the way he does for J. He wouldn't have wanted anyone to, his heart still so loyal even with J gone, the bond he feels as permanent as the scars on his chest. He's just J's, indelibly, always has been, for better or for fucking worse.
A part of him is tempted to say all of that, too, but S doesn't. Now, on his knees in front of J and determined to make good on his earlier offer, doesn't seem like the time. He can't quite bring himself to do anything but lean into J's touch, anyway, hungry for that gentle affection, leaning back just enough to look up at him. "Just you," he echoes. It's like he said earlier: for him, it's always been J, from the moment they met, before he knew what that meant or would come to mean.
He holds J's gaze for a moment, long enough to make his sincerity clear, and then finally, he leans back in. First, he presses a few more soft kisses to J's thighs, but this time, he inches closer, until he drags his tongue slowly along J's length, taking him in hand as he wraps his lips around the head of J's dick.
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Maybe one day, there would have been someone else. S knows he can't rule it out entirely, that he can't swear he would have been alone for the rest of his life, not knowing how long that might have been, but he feels certain that it would never have been like this. No one else could ever have made him feel the way he does for J. He wouldn't have wanted anyone to, his heart still so loyal even with J gone, the bond he feels as permanent as the scars on his chest. He's just J's, indelibly, always has been, for better or for fucking worse.
A part of him is tempted to say all of that, too, but S doesn't. Now, on his knees in front of J and determined to make good on his earlier offer, doesn't seem like the time. He can't quite bring himself to do anything but lean into J's touch, anyway, hungry for that gentle affection, leaning back just enough to look up at him. "Just you," he echoes. It's like he said earlier: for him, it's always been J, from the moment they met, before he knew what that meant or would come to mean.
He holds J's gaze for a moment, long enough to make his sincerity clear, and then finally, he leans back in. First, he presses a few more soft kisses to J's thighs, but this time, he inches closer, until he drags his tongue slowly along J's length, taking him in hand as he wraps his lips around the head of J's dick.