John blinks when Martin stays him, stilling until he realizes what Martin is driving at. And then he smiles, fond and a little sheepish, ducking his head in a gesture that is both acquiescing and helpful as Martin removes first the recorder, and then his bag. It shouldn't seem so significant; they've helped each other with outerwear plenty of times before. But this feels different to the casual courtesy the action usually represents, and John finds himself actually blushing as Martin takes off his coat.

By the time the garment is set aside (with far more care, he can't help but notice, than Martin had bothered with for his own coat), that itch he felt during the ride over has returned full force. He gazes down at Martin with unchecked fondness, but there's something else there, too: anticipation, and a hint of assessment as he considers just how to proceed from here.

The first step, fortunately, is obvious. "Thank you," John murmurs, easing back into the space between them. His hands settle at Martin's waist, and he dips his head to meet Martin in a gentle, leisurely kiss. He takes his time, breathing him in, tasting the faint tang of cider on Martin's lips, and then he slowly pivots them both, backing Martin towards the wall of the entryway.