Well, that's successfully got Martin out of his little sulk, though the exchange of one sort of indignation for another wasn't exactly what John had in mind. He's not entirely sure what he does have in mind, besides an instinctive (and perhaps ill-considered) urge to just keep kissing him, but he restrains himself in deference to Martin's squirming, and his continued parceling out of an explanation.

Said explanation really does nothing helpful for the urge to kiss him, and John's expression takes a turn for the hopelessly besotted. "Martin..." he starts, and then flounders for a beat. He wants to insist that Norah is plainly not attracted to him — he has a hard time imagining her being attracted to anyone, honestly, but it feels presumptuous to speculate about her proclivities, or to trust his own assumptions on the matter. At any rate, he's confident that if she had such inclinations, and considered them to be any of his business, he'd have been made aware by now. His ignorance, then, could be taken as evidence that it's really none of his concern.

But he's getting bogged down in the details, and he gives his head a small shake. "I suppose it's lucky that I'm madly in love with you, then," he murmurs, lifting his hand to Martin's cheek and leaning forward until their foreheads touch. "Though if you needed a little extra... reassurance," he adds, voice dropping to a purr, "I would be more than willing to oblige."