Martin tips his head back helplessly as John presses in close, his breath coming thready and shallow against John's ear. A part of him wants to laugh at those teasing remarks, but the only sound that makes it out is more akin to a whimper, breaking off in a little huff when John sucks so briefly at his neck. It takes very little for John to ruin him completely, and John knows it; he's obviously enjoying himself as he traces his fingers through Martin's hair, down his neck, across the softer, sensitive span of his throat, and finally reaches his shirt.

It's clear where he intends to go; he's done this before, opened Martin's shirt up a bit to mark him somewhere that won't be easily seen. He's never done it quite so slowly, though, with such deliberate intent. It's that that has Martin shivering pleasantly beneath John's hands, unable to stop another plaintive whine from slipping out as he kisses him rather desperately.

"Oh, please," he whispers between breaths.