Despite S's uncertainty, J smiles, soft and fond and faintly amused. It's logic he's given countless time for his own bravado, charging forward for fear he'd otherwise turn back. It's for the best, too. For as confident as he's let himself sound, it's still a big thing to face. He might lose his nerve, too, if he had to wait. Now that he's set his mind to this, they should probably go ahead and do it.
"That would be okay," he agrees softly, leaning close to try and kiss S's cheek. For a moment, he considers suggesting that he be the one to handle it. If he does the unbuttoning, he can pause as needed. But he knows S, knows how much he likely needs control of this moment. He can't take that from him. Leaning his head against S's, he sighs. "I love you. And you trust me, darling. So trust that, if I need... a moment or to stop or... I will say so. And I wouldn't say this if I didn't believe it. I wouldn't do that to you."
S knows this. J is sure he does. It still awes him to know that S does, because there's a long list of reasons why S shouldn't trust him or believe him at all. Sitting here, though, cradling him close, trying to soothe S's fears as best he can, he's surprised to remember that there's an even longer list of reasons why S might, built on a long history of friendship and intimacy. A lot of what J has figured out about handling this, his awful whiplash instinctive reaction notwithstanding, is because S has held his hand through so much, given J a metric for what support looks and feels like that he can hold up alongside what he knows of S and of his own needs. It's a strange patchwork, but he thinks it works. At least, right now, it makes sense to him, and as long as it makes sense to S, too, that's all that matters.
He draws back just the slightest bit, still bent close but not pressed against S's hair now. Being able to focus on S through this helps keep him settled, but it doesn't prevent the flicker of nerves in his gut, or the worry he's miscalculated. Whatever happens, he tells himself, they'll know. They'll have talked. It will be out in the open, and they'll both be better off because of it.
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"That would be okay," he agrees softly, leaning close to try and kiss S's cheek. For a moment, he considers suggesting that he be the one to handle it. If he does the unbuttoning, he can pause as needed. But he knows S, knows how much he likely needs control of this moment. He can't take that from him. Leaning his head against S's, he sighs. "I love you. And you trust me, darling. So trust that, if I need... a moment or to stop or... I will say so. And I wouldn't say this if I didn't believe it. I wouldn't do that to you."
S knows this. J is sure he does. It still awes him to know that S does, because there's a long list of reasons why S shouldn't trust him or believe him at all. Sitting here, though, cradling him close, trying to soothe S's fears as best he can, he's surprised to remember that there's an even longer list of reasons why S might, built on a long history of friendship and intimacy. A lot of what J has figured out about handling this, his awful whiplash instinctive reaction notwithstanding, is because S has held his hand through so much, given J a metric for what support looks and feels like that he can hold up alongside what he knows of S and of his own needs. It's a strange patchwork, but he thinks it works. At least, right now, it makes sense to him, and as long as it makes sense to S, too, that's all that matters.
He draws back just the slightest bit, still bent close but not pressed against S's hair now. Being able to focus on S through this helps keep him settled, but it doesn't prevent the flicker of nerves in his gut, or the worry he's miscalculated. Whatever happens, he tells himself, they'll know. They'll have talked. It will be out in the open, and they'll both be better off because of it.