When Jon's arms wrap around him, there is always first an instinct to recoil with self-preservation.
But his arms are strong. They’re warm, secure. Safe. When Jon's arms wrap around Damian, in the span of a single heart beat, his stiff posture always gives way. He melts into Jon’s shoulder, curls his arms around Jon's middle. He holds tight, burying himself in that feeling of comfort.
Damian allows himself to bask in the scent of summer on the Kent’s farm, the warmth of a face turned towards an open bonfire, for as long as he is permitted.
If Damian holds tighter for longer than he should, can you fault a monster who so rarely feels wanted?
//
When Damian reciprocates, holds Jon just as tightly as Jon holds him, it's like fuel for every thought he's ever had to wrangle into submission.
Thoughts that he'll keep pushing down, back, deeper and deeper, until they don't jump to the front of his mind every time they touch.
Damian's hesitation lasts an eternity; his heart stutters before he gets it under control, and Jon knows. He knows it's his fault. Jon's not right. He's afraid. He's broken. He doesn’t know who he is or what he wants. He's a flake on the best of days.
If Jon squeezes tighter, tries to keep Damian right here, right now, can you blame a coward for being weak?