"Mmh," Martin sighs as John answers him with another kiss, then smiles at the verbal answer and the next little kiss at the corner of his mouth. The mention of the tea feels like it ought to throw him off balance — ordinarily he might nervously interpret it as a subtle reprimand, or at the very least he might allow the threat of wasted tea to distract him. But it barely registers. He lets out something close to a giggle and says, "I think I can live with that."

He closes the distance again, kissing John a little gentler and slower, as if wanting to explore him or commit him to memory. His hands drift down to cup John's face again, his thumbs brushing at the hair at his temples, before he slides them back into his hair, hoping to get another reaction, even if it's a smaller one.