'Bastard' is right, and John lets the facade slip just enough for a brief, shit-eating grin to shine through. "A bit," he agrees. It's only fair to concede the point, not least of all because even without the constraints of their collective professionalism, practicality imposes its own limitations on what they might reasonably do here. Their current configuration is a comfortable one that John is loathe to actually disturb, and while he enjoys winding Martin up, following that path to its inevitable conclusion would require a bit more pre-planning, here, than has ever been their habit.

In short: while he may be a bit of a bastard, he doesn't want his mouth to write any proverbial cheques, etc.

So he softens, and gives Martin a light nudge, as if to physically steer them into calmer waters. "Hardly deserving of you, really."