Martin lets out a plaintive, keening sigh when John's hands cup delicately around his face, when his attention returns to his mouth. He recognizes the impulse distantly and answers it in kind, softening almost by instinct, settling by degrees and allowing John to lead, to bring him back down. When John pulls back, still near enough that Martin can feel the breath on his lips, Martin's eyes flutter open, his gaze heavily lidded.

"John—" he murmurs in partial acknowledgment, though the reassurance is almost more than he can bear, and his eyes slip shut again as he tries to memorize the way this feels, John close and leaning over him and promising the reality of his own presence. He tries to speak again but can't quite manage it, the only noise that comes out a formless little whimper, and he leans forward to brush his lips against John's once, twice more, small and gentle and this time brief.

"I love you," he whispers, and when he finally relaxes it's almost more of a slump, sinking suddenly boneless into John's arms and tucking his head up under his chin. "I love you," he says again, like it deserves to be echoed, deserves to be reiterated and heard as much as possible.