Martin grins, unable to deny it and uninterested in trying, softening into a quiet sigh the moment John pulls him in again. He's not certain they've ever been this desperate for one another, at least not so entirely sober. This, he thinks, is far better than any discussion could have been — not that that couldn't also have been helpful, but Christ, he can't imagine just talking about what happened in Kagura when instead they have this: John smiling like that, drawing him in like that, playing with his collar.

Another soft murmur rises up and out of him, pitched higher as he breaks away, coming up for air, his breath heavy and his cheeks flushed. "John—" he breathes, unfettered and directionless, before sinking forward again to resume the kiss. He reaches up on autopilot to divest himself of his coat, halfway intending to hang it up and then letting it drop to the floor without a second thought. His hands have better occupations, brushing delicately along John's cheek and curling around the back of his neck.