John huffs softly, amused, and tips his head to both rest against the gentle curve of Martin's belly and give Martin better access to his hair. "That's the spirit," he replies, half-muffled against Martin's jumper.

It isn't long at all before his breathing slows, and his smile fades into something smaller and effortless. The absent curling of his fingers against Martin's side lasts a little longer, but he can't really compete with Martin's practiced ministrations. He's too deliciously comfortable to resist the pull of slumber, even if he'd wanted to.

He's asleep before his abandoned cocoa has had time to fully cool.