Martin hums, soft and contented, at the gentle trace of John's fingers. At the sudden reminder of what prompted all this, though, he blinks his eyes back open and lets out a small, embarrassed cough. "Y-yeah, erm... I take your point."

A point made so thoroughly he still finds it a little bewildering. He'd almost managed to forget his earlier confusion, might almost have overlooked it in the interest of simply counting himself lucky (luckiest man in the world) and hurrying to put it behind him. It might've just been a case where John wasn't interested in playing by the expected social rules in terms of his response to Martin being an arse. John doesn't typically put much stock in social rules, anyway. What point would there be in rowing over it when this was so much more enjoyable, so much more a definitive counterpoint?

But there's still something that leaves Martin feeling... curious. Not that John's reaction wasn't negative, not even that he chose to respond like this, but something about the response itself, the fervor of it, his... for lack of a better word, insatiability. Martin studies John for just a moment, but now's not quite the time to ask, his head still full of fluff and static and other matters slightly more pressing.

He lifts his hand, taking in John's awkward position with a sympathetic wince. "Here, this cannot be comfortable. Let me get cleaned up and we can relocate, yeah?" He lets his smile soften. "I'm going to give you such a backrub."

Once John's moved out of the way, he rolls off the couch, heaving himself up and picking his way over to the loo.