This isn't the sort of role reversal that John had ever thought to anticipate, for reasons that he thinks are fairly obvious. They have different needs, different wants, and while John is happy to play a specific role for the purpose of achieving a specific result on Martin's end, there's never been a tidy equivalent for him. Certainly not in terms of production value, for lack of a better phrase: for all the times that Martin has spoiled him or fussed over him, he's never done it quite like this before, leading him along with such insistence. It's gentle, and adoring, but there's no question of who's steering the proverbial ship.

And while John is finding that he quite enjoys Martin leading, he is still unaccustomed to being led. He moves to the bed without objection, nudging The Bishop a little to one side so he can position himself nearer the middle, and then catches himself before he can flop down onto his front. It's the most tempting move, inviting a back rub, but he doesn't want to presume Martin's intentions or nudge him in a direction that might differ from whatever he has in mind. He hesitates for a beat, then settles a little more deliberately onto his side: easy to guide one way or the other.

That's his thought process as it pertains to Martin, anyway. Whether The Bishop has any inkling of the power dynamics currently at play or whether he simply presumes himself to supersede them is impossible to judge, but once John has settled himself, the cat picks his way over the bedspread and enthusiastically hurls himself down into the little spoon position, his back against John's chest and his head nudging up under his chin. "Oh, I see," John murmurs, curling his fingers into The Bishop's belly fur and giving Martin a faintly hapless look. He has no idea if this qualifies as an interference or not, but for the moment, he lets himself enjoy the cat's rumbling purrs.