John's hesitation was more rooted in politeness than uncertainty, but even if it had been the latter, Martin would've dispelled it easily. There's no misinterpreting the deliberate way Martin places John's hands on him, or the simplicity of his whispered request. It makes his chest ache a little, the love and the trust it implies, and he swallows thickly before he starts to let his hands wander.

It's different to how he'd touched him before, the exceedingly gentle tracery of his fingertips replaced by the more decisive press of his entire hand. His earlier focus on Martin's freckles is set aside in favor of a broader scope, his eyes and hands taking in the soft curves of him. He strokes one palm down the shallow valley of Martin's spine, then around his ribs until it mirrors his other hand, both resting on Martin's belly. Part of him is tempted to just pull himself close, to drape himself back around Martin and nuzzle into his neck, but that can wait. Instead, he curls his fingers, letting them brush fondly over Martin's skin.

This is the first time he's touched Martin's belly directly. He hasn't given it his extended, single-minded focus since the first time, and the briefer touches he's indulged in since then have always been above Martin's clothes, not underneath. Now, his long fingers fit themselves against Martin's familiar curves with nothing to mute the warmth or mask the softness of them, and he hums in quiet pleasure, leaning in just enough to press a kiss to Martin's hair, a little behind his ear.