Martin chuckles, relaxing into John's affectionately telegraphed peace offering. It isn't difficult to let his more inconvenient fancies slip away for the moment; he hadn't been so wound up as all that, yet, and it is far easier and more desirable at the moment to return to a shared equilibrium.

John's last remark, though, simply won't do. Had he not said it so gently, Martin might be inclined to let out a heavy, put-upon sigh, to scold John for his self-deprecation, walking the line between playful and sincere. But now, playful doesn't quite fit anymore, and instead he just says softly, "I wouldn't go that far," and catches John's eyes with a bit more intent. He smiles, small and fond, studying him for a quiet moment. Then he leans over toward the window sill, setting his cup there carefully, turns back to John to take his cup and set it aside as well. Once they're both out of the way, he gives John another brief, assessing look before leaning in to kiss him.

It is fairly chaste but slow, thoughtful, an impulse pursued with great care. He lets himself linger, his mug-warmed fingers reaching up to brush along John's cheek, to lightly trace the line of his jaw. When he draws back, he doesn't go far, studying John again and smiling warmer still.

"You're everything I need," he murmurs, and lets his hand drop, settling back and reaching out to recover his cocoa as if that's all there is to say.