Inspiration:
art/What-are-titles-307042082
The sun was warm, but John's skin was warmer.
John had been the one to insist on the picnic in the park. Karkat preferred to avoid the daylight whenever he could, despite the fact that the earth sun was nowhere near as volatile or as dangerous as the Alternian sun, but when John was that eager and persistent, there wasn't a whole lot Karkat could do to resist him. It certainly didn't help that when he grumbled and complained and called him an annoying fuckass that John just called him cute in return.
When their lunch of finger sandwiches and juice and grapes and cookies was over, Karkat had expected them to just go home (he'd never really been on a picnic before and had no idea what to expect), but it seemed John had had different plans. He had pulled them off the red and white checkered picnic blanket and under the shade of a giant, leafy oak tree, where he'd lied down on his back and insisted Karkat do the same.
Reluctantly, Karkat did so, using John's outstretched arm to rest his head on. The blades of grass covered in shade were cool beneath him, and sunlight shone between the leaves in patches, scattering his shirt and legs and hands with soft golden-green patches that slowly seemed to radiate warmth.
But nothing could be warmer than John lying next to him. Karkat's arm was pressed along John's chest and his head rested comfortably against his arm. The cool grass beneath him with the soft warmth of John's body pressed against his was unbearably heartening and Karkat actually felt himself relaxing in John's grip. His ever tense muscles began to loosen and he took a slow, deep breath, letting his eyes slip shut, feeling his heart slow down to a comfortable pace. He took a moment to just breathe deeply as his chest rose and fell at a slow, steady rate.
John leaned into him at that point, nuzzling his face into his messy hair, kissing his horn so softly that it made Karkat shiver. When Karkat felt John's glasses scrape his scalp a bit, he reached up and pulled them off of John's face, so that he could continue his soft nuzzles without interference.
Karkat would never admit how much he loved this, but it wasn't as if he had to. As his heart fluttered lightly in his chest and he curled a bit into John's soft touches, he knew John well enough to know that he didn't have to say anything for John to understand. Even if he never again begrudgingly told John that he loved him, that wonderful idiot would already know it was true, he would be able to sense it in the way dogs or children knew things without words. He would feel it in the way Karkat would actually give him an awkward twist of his lips in the form of a smile, or the way their hands lingered on top of each other when they reached for the same thing, or the way Karkat would lean into John and let the teen baby him when no one was around to look. All Karkat had to do was be himself, and John just knew what he meant to him.
And ultimately, maybe that's what happiness really was. Maybe happiness was as simple as understanding an unspoken message, or knowing when exactly to kiss a cheek to cause a soft blush to rise to it. Maybe happiness was lying in the arms of the one you loved under the golden-green patches of sunlight and slowly drifting off and not giving a damn about the rest of the word because right now all that mattered was him and his perfect, warm, dry, smooth skin and the way it felt against yours as your cheeks brushed and he held you close and loved you.
Karkat was so, so happy.