All of it is too much, John thinks. Being here is too much. Knowing why he's here is too much. Ianto's touch is too much. The raw, exposed flesh of his arm is too much. The raw, exposed emotional nerve of how recently he reduced himself to dropping to his knees and begging Ianto is too much.
He sets his jaw and flits his eyes away, turning a little so he cant read Ianto's expression as easily out of the corner of his eye.
"Don't worry about it," he says, because it needs doing and John can cope -- although his whole body is projecting tension anyway. It clearly hurts still.
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All of it is too much, John thinks. Being here is too much. Knowing why he's here is too much. Ianto's touch is too much. The raw, exposed flesh of his arm is too much. The raw, exposed emotional nerve of how recently he reduced himself to dropping to his knees and begging Ianto is too much.
He sets his jaw and flits his eyes away, turning a little so he cant read Ianto's expression as easily out of the corner of his eye.
"Don't worry about it," he says, because it needs doing and John can cope -- although his whole body is projecting tension anyway. It clearly hurts still.