Martin relaxes into John's touch as he starts in on a proper exploration, his eyes falling shut and a soft smile playing about his lips. He loves John's hands; holding them, playing with his fingers, or feeling them on him, in his hair or on his skin, as gentle or as firm as the situation requires. But this, the sort of precise, delicate wandering of his fingers... it's not a new sensation, but there is new context for it, and there's nothing for Martin to do but focus on it, enjoy it. He's not really used to that. But it's nice. It's wonderful.

He chuckles lightly at both the little kiss and John's offer, but there's no part of him that considers it a joke. Observing and describing things are sort of John's specialty, and having that focus turned on him, being so profoundly seen and... and appreciated, adored, is desperately tantalizing, and he will never take it for granted.

"I think I would," he says, faintly coy.