It is tempting, with the sort of indulgent mood he's adopted, to make a show of considering the request; to hum and tip his head thoughtfully, draw it out. A little teasing, a little nod to all the times John's done that sort of thing with him. But he thinks better of it. It's not the same kind of circumstances. It's not a game, really; this has all stemmed from a robust and earnest desire to make John feel good, to know he is beloved. So, while his smile remains a little, coy, there is no hesitation when he answers, "Of course."

He bends down to kiss John once more, a brief parting peck, and gently insinuates one arm beneath John's back, coaxing him to sit up. "It's no trouble," he murmurs, his hands slipping to John's sides, clutching the hem of John's undershirt in much the same way as John had tentatively touched his earlier. Here he does hesitate, drawing back a few scant but critical inches to look John in the eye. Always wanting to be sure. "May I?"