Martin dips his head as if to hide his sheepish smile, though he has neither the need nor the inclination. John's description is almost amusing in its literal affect, but there is too much warmth and genuine admiration in his voice for Martin to think of laughing. The touch of his fingers is light and exceedingly gentle, especially as he traces the shape he describes.

And then comes the tap of his finger, a sensation familiar and immediately clear in its intent, though he has never been on this side of it before. Martin blinks and breathes through a sudden, startling swell of emotion in his chest, feeling for a precarious moment as though he might burst into tears. John has always been gentle with him, and yet this is — it's so much, still that elusive different he can't quite pin down.

"Yes," he answers softly, unable to completely hide the subtle thickening of his voice.