Once Martin is underway, John trades marking him for milder torments: nipping lightly at his neck and giving his hair brief, teasing tugs. Winding him up isn't the goal so much as escorting him over the proverbial finish line, and John has done so often enough, now, for it to be surprisingly comfortable territory. It doesn't hurt that even now, Martin is careful, slumping back against the wall instead of crowding close, demanding nothing. It helps, too, that he's devoid of the tension John's come to associate with him trying to draw things out on purpose. All of it conspires to leave John feeling more at ease than the John of several months ago would ever have thought such circumstances would allow, and he continues his almost idle ministrations until Martin seizes his arm and curls in on himself with a gasp.

John draws back at once, though only a little, sticking close enough to offer support. The grip he has on Martin's hair relaxes, and when Martin's head comes to rest on his shoulder, John's hand naturally curls into a fond, supportive cradle around the back of Martin's neck, his thumb rubbing a gentle arc against the base of his skull. His other hand lifts to brace against Martin's elbow, and he chuckles softly in response to Martin's wordless assessment.

"Happy to oblige," he drawls, turning his head and pressing a kiss to Martin's hair (now considerably more tousled than it was when they came in).