Martin shudders, a low, euphoric whine dragging out of him as John redoubles his efforts; then there's a sudden, startling scrape of teeth that feels on the very precipice of too much, and he lets out a noise that is closer to a shriek, his whole body tensing. From there another light tug is all it takes, and Martin does not have the wherewithal to let John go, to hold him at some imagined safe distance like he normally would. Instead his instincts take hold and he pulls John closer, enfolding him tight against his chest as though anchoring himself against the intense wave of orgasm. Then it's over, and he's left trembling softly, struggling to catch his breath, still holding John to himself.

"I—" he starts to loosen his grip, awkwardly, like he's remembering how his limbs work. He's flushed, impossibly happy, but not enough to drown out a little note of concern at the unprecedented contact. "Are you—"