Martin's hands fall away from John's shoulders and end up fiddling around in the vicinity of Martin's lap, a move so wholly inexplicable (in both timing and apparent presumption) that John leans back with a faint cough of wordless indignation to see just what Martin thinks he's playing at. When he realizes that the intention is actually to help with the shirt buttons, he lets out another huff, this one far more amused. For Christ's sake.

"—Help?" he fills in with all due incredulity, doggedly making his way down another button and leaning in to give Martin's neck a pointed nip. "I think I can manage a few buttons, Martin."