Jonathan Sims

Martin stays put as instructed, pulling the towel close around himself and tucking his chin down to hide the warmth of his smile and accompanying blush. He waits, not so much patient as too dazed and tired to think much of anything, so that he's almost startled when John returns.

He blinks at the robe in John's hands before his grin returns, equal parts sheepish and delighted. "Mkay," he murmurs, and gives himself a final sluggish toweling off before reaching for the clothes John brought. "I s'pose it does."

He dresses himself as quickly as he can under the circumstances, which is not saying much, before turning and allowing John to help him into the bathrobe. It's warm and soft and a little too long for him, and he lets out a shy giggle as he all but burrows into it. It's so nice. This, all of this, has been so nice — far nicer than the circumstances seemed to allow. He lifts his hands, obscured by the overlong sleeves, then wraps them around John, pulling himself close for a hug. All but melting against him.

"G'night," he announces.