crimson-winter:

the jolto ship sails in my tumblr family tonight and i’m adding to the mix

sometimes john looks at james and he is so comfortable – he knows every line and twitch and color and when he’s angry versus when he’s disappointed just by a certain angle of his head and he’s so used to what he looks like because it’s all he looks at every day, it’s an extension of himself, whether james’s face is covered in dirt and grime and shielded by a helmet in the pit or if he’s just fresh out of a cold shower and he’s a bit pale from the chill or when they’re rolling, spines and tongues and hands, and his cheeks are flushed and his thin blond brows are knit – john knows it all

but then… then james will do something, anything – tell a story, eat a piece of fruit and wipe his mouth, enter john’s tent without warning, strut across the base, shout an order, kiss him when he’s not supposed to… and john sees him as this fresh, new something that he’s been looking for for what seems like forever. he’s golden sun and clear lake eyes in the hottest, driest place around and he’s a small smile that could stretch across the channel and wouldn’t mean as much as a tilt of his lips, and he’s this new, beautiful, fantastic, handsome thing and john just stares and stares and stares and james catches him staring and he almost laughs, he almost calls him out when he can, tell him that its nothing he hasn’t seen before, but he knows just what it feels like to be so used to a man’s face and still feel his breath catch when the sun bathes him like that