John's gaze warms as Martin scoots down to match him. It puts them both down below the pillows, and he has the brief idea of just ducking under the covers entirely — a childish impulse that might be a holdover from the previous week. But there's nothing childish about the kiss Martin bestows upon him, sweet and gentle as it may be, and John hums quietly against Martin's lips. Christ, he's missed this. The sentiment may be technically inaccurate, but it's still true.

"Hello, yourself," he murmurs, letting his hand wander, as if he needs to reacquaint himself with the well-traveled territory of Martin's back and sides and belly. He hasn't really forgotten, but it's an enjoyable journey, and his palm slides along Martin's waist as he leans in to return the kiss, slow and lingering.