If he'd allowed himself to think a little harder about all this before giving into the overwhelming strength of his desire, he'd probably have gotten very hung up on how little he knows about what John might want, what he might even tolerate. He's never seemed particularly tactile to Martin, and while there's clearly a lot that's changed, this sort of physicality is entirely different from comfort offered after a nightmare, or holding hands on a walk. He scarcely has any room for relief on the subject, though; John's reaction is so pronounced, so staggeringly positive, that it's equal parts astonishing and intoxicating. Martin grins as John gasps and arches into him like a bloody cat; and then John pulls him in tighter and he lets out a little gasp of his own, a pleading murmur immediately swallowed up as John parts his lips.

Martin keeps his hands where they are and presses in a little closer, though he feels like he might melt. He is a little more tentative as he parts his lips in acquiescence; he isn't terribly practiced at this, or at least he doesn't feel like he is. John is very easy to meet; unlike some of the men he's kissed in the past, it doesn't feel like he's expected to know what to do with his tongue, or to do anything with it at all. It's more like they're breathing together, and... it's good, Christ it's good. He doesn't want it to stop.

Even wanting it to go on forever, it doesn't feel unnatural to draw back after a moment, gasping, his heart pounding and his face flushed up to his ears. "John," he whispers, breathless, blinking up at him as he allows his fingers to curl softly in John's hair. "Oh, god."