"Mmm..." Martin draws the hum out playfully, giving the question a proper consideration. He is tempted to ask for more, simply because it feels nice, but he also doesn't want to drag this out to the point of absurdity, and the water is already approaching room temperature. He's not looking forward to getting out — to the aches starting to seep back into his bones, the sick feeling to return to the fore — but it'll have to happen either way. Better to end a good thing while it's still good, he thinks.

He ends up just shaking his head with a little murmured "Mh-mm," then amends, "Just the towel, I think."

Before John can get up, Martin catches him, one hand over his forearm. "John," he says softly, looking up into his eyes. "Thank you."