Martin grins broadly, delighted (and relieved) that his jokes seem to have landed; he hums his acknowledgment of John's rejoinder, part acceptance and a smaller, facetious part more of a 'see that she doesn't.' Then he settles as John does, mystery solved, equilibrium re-established, easing back into the simple pleasure of kneading John gently beneath his hands.

That might've been that, if John had remained quiet. But he speaks again, soft and deeply, unbearably sincere, and Martin goes still, his breath catching his chest, not quite making it out for the Oh shaped by his lips.

It's only a brief hesitation. That it's being uttered at all, and with such intensely tender phrasing, is more a surprise than the sentiment itself. But it cannot go without answer, and Martin leans back down, redoubling his efforts to loosen John's muscles even as he presses a kiss to John's hair; then finds that lacking, and keeps kissing around toward John's cheek until he drags his hands back up and coaxes John to turn into him, needing him, just for a moment. "Come here," he murmurs as their lips finally meet.