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Martin sucks in a sharp breath which then catches in his chest as John kisses and murmurs his way up the line of his throat. The inane impulse to say something flustered and incredibly stupid like Wait dies on his lips, replaced by a soft moan that almost surprises him. Why it should be surprising is beyond him; as if John isn't now sucking on his ear. He still can't quite believe this is happening, but Christ, that in no way translates to wanting it to stop.

Because John is a catch; and what's more, John is his. Why the hell would he want to deny himself that, under any circumstances?

"O-okay," he manages to get out, breathless and quivering slightly, feeling himself list back a bit like he might actually topple over. His body finally seems to wake up, one hand going out to brace against the back of the couch and the other grasping onto John's shirt like he wants to pull him closer. Another layer of that silly, reflexive stubbornness that had been holding him back fractures, and he answers again, his voice shaky but still more decisive: "Yes."