John looked at him. Squeezing Bobby's hand seemed too basic a gesture. Instead he brought his hand up to cup the back of Bobby's skull and tug him forward and slightly to the side so he could drop a kiss on the slightly taller man's hair. "And like I said I can barely remember most of the times I've done it," he added, with a shrug. He'd drank back in Manhattan because that took away the nerves, drowned out the self-hatred, gave him excuses.

"First times can be bad. But you get better. With practice," he finished, with a nip to Bobby's ear and a brief grin. The grin faded into something softer as John looked at his nervous boyfriend, and felt his own nerves leaking through: "And I-" deep breath, John "-and I trust you to see me sober. To know me." He tugged gently at Bobby's arm again, but the shuffle he led Bobby on was slow, able to pause at a moment's notice, if that was what he wanted.