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There is a pernicious voice in Martin's head, some malingering presence that wants to insist this is mortifying and wrong, that he should pull away at once, ashamed and apologetic. But it stands overruled. Maybe this isn't something he earned, but some version of him has. Just because he can't remember all these months and years they've spent together doesn't mean he can't see the signs of it all, in how different John is, in the shared flat, in the quiet evidence of this exchange. There is no awkwardness or hesitation in John as he utters soft reassurances; no tangible indication that he is uncomfortable with this. Perhaps it makes Martin weak, perhaps even manipulative, but he cannot bring himself to deny the comfort that is offered.

And it's in there, in that refusal to look away, in that desperation to accept what's given, that he feels it: an expanding warmth moving through him, a fluttering in his stomach. He was already near enough to the blurred line between attraction and feeling that it's barely even a surprise. If all this is here, tucked behind that prickly, unkind exterior John always put up — if even a fragment of it had shown itself — Christ, he'd have been done for. And all this, now?

When he finally extricates himself, it is with a furious blush and an averted gaze. He sniffs softly, more-or-less recovered, pulling back, if not all the way. His hands still settled at John's arms, uneasy but unwilling to let go.

"I, erm..." he murmurs, and breathes out slowly. The dream has passed now, replaced by a tangle of confusion, curiosity, and desire. He hesitates, caught and exposed with nowhere to hide. He's laid bare before John, and John... this John doesn't seem to mind one bit.

"I'm okay," he says. "I'm okay now."

And it's true; but his hands stay put, and he feels stuck there, unable to see what should possibly come next. There are only questions, and his own waning guard against them. Talk about something else, John suggested, and there is only one direction he can find.

"John," he says softly, and finally looks up, nervously meeting John's eyes. "What's it... like? I mean, what are we like?"

The question terrifies him the moment it's out, but nothing, not even terror, is strong enough now to pull him from it.