It was an impulse, but not a thoughtless one, and Martin doesn't regret it, doesn't flinch from John's hands as they settle around his middle. Faced as he is with such intense clarity, of his own desires, of how much care John always takes with him, there is no room left for doubt or self-consciousness, no bad memories or learned unease to get in the way of what he wants, which is just to be held, to be touched. John likes the way he looks and feels, wants to touch him, and there are no ulterior motives. He doesn't feel like he's being pawed at or pushed, he doesn't feel prying fingers at the edge of his threshold. He just feels safe. He just feels loved.

His eyes slip shut and he breathes out a contented hum, tipping his head back to nuzzle against John after that delicate little kiss. He lays his hands over John's, intending neither to stop or to guide him, just enjoying the extra contact and the acknowledgment of it. He didn't quite mean to draw John's attention away from his freckles, but it doesn't much matter, either; wherever John's attention takes him, Martin feels no trepidation. He will be safe every step.