Martin grins stupidly at John's little grunt, as he curls in close, knuckles brushing softly over Martin's belly. That used to give him a bit of an automatic start, but now it's become a comfort, to be touched with such easy affection. Even this sleepy, accidental contact feels imbued with it.

"Hi," he answers, his voice as soft and warm as the rest of him. He hugs John a little closer, as if to protect him from the prospect of waking. His hand drifts into John's hair, fingers curling to scritch gently at the back of his head. He knows he's making it even easier than it would be already for John to just drift back off, and he feels lightly conflicted about it. On the one hand, he wants to allow John all the comfort he desires, to facilitate it and hold him through it; on the other, he tends to be an early riser, and he'd rather start the gradual climb toward breakfast now.

So he mitigates his soothing touches and shielding embrace with more gently uttered words: "Sleep okay?"