"Yes, yes, because that's possibly the most annoying, useless thing you could ever say at a time like this and -- "
John's hand over his mouth cut off the rest of the words ready to bubble over and out. He left it there, using the slow glide of his thumb up Rodney's cheek, the pad resting awkwardly against the curve of Rodney's nose, to gauge the frantic way Rodney breathed -- too fast, too shallow for panting, like his lungs weren't taking in enough air, working triple time to compensate for their own unending mistakes -- and the equally frantic pulse of his heart, banging so hard John could feel it far away from a pulse-point, echoing and reflecting, growing until all of Rodney was one desperate, despairing pulse, hammering away.
Releasing his mouth, John curved his hand to the back of Rodney's neck, smoothing away the clammy sweat there with his own skin. "You can do this, Rodney, deep breaths."
"Oh, yes, because Lamaze is going to help me
( ... )
"I know," John soothed. It was easier with Rodney's shirt as a barrier, the long, slow sweeps eventually having an effect, the purposefully steady beat of John's heart -- he'd never been one for yoga or meditation but he'd trained himself early how to mimic someone in deep sleep, so this wasn't much different -- catching Rodney's own and bringing him down to something a little less panic-inducing. "I know. It's okay, Rodney."
It wasn't okay, though, not really. John had no idea what'd set this off; Rodney had no idea what had set it off, and that was scarier still since Rodney had an answer for everything. But not know, not here, and it was John who had to come up with the answers. So he petted and stroked, holding Rodney as delicately as he'd hold his niece, three years old and fragile as china the first and only time John'd met her, like the big, solid body that shoved hard against his own would shatter if he pressed too hard
( ... )
Oh, so good! Got to it from Wesleygirl's recs. Loved it! Practically *no* idea whats going on (allergic reaction? something else?) but that doesn't matter - the reactions are what's important. John's so good. :)
"Yes, yes, because that's possibly the most annoying, useless thing you could ever say at a time like this and -- "
John's hand over his mouth cut off the rest of the words ready to bubble over and out. He left it there, using the slow glide of his thumb up Rodney's cheek, the pad resting awkwardly against the curve of Rodney's nose, to gauge the frantic way Rodney breathed -- too fast, too shallow for panting, like his lungs weren't taking in enough air, working triple time to compensate for their own unending mistakes -- and the equally frantic pulse of his heart, banging so hard John could feel it far away from a pulse-point, echoing and reflecting, growing until all of Rodney was one desperate, despairing pulse, hammering away.
Releasing his mouth, John curved his hand to the back of Rodney's neck, smoothing away the clammy sweat there with his own skin. "You can do this, Rodney, deep breaths."
"Oh, yes, because Lamaze is going to help me ( ... )
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It wasn't okay, though, not really. John had no idea what'd set this off; Rodney had no idea what had set it off, and that was scarier still since Rodney had an answer for everything. But not know, not here, and it was John who had to come up with the answers. So he petted and stroked, holding Rodney as delicately as he'd hold his niece, three years old and fragile as china the first and only time John'd met her, like the big, solid body that shoved hard against his own would shatter if he pressed too hard ( ... )
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I love you.
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