The balance between curiosity and torpor can be delicate, and it swings a little more towards warm lethargy as Martin bends to kiss his hair. Taken as a whole, it's been a novel evening — but this, here and now, is so soothingly familiar that what happens next feels less like a question and more like a scene they've rehearsed a hundred times: so solid and comfortable that even a little light improvisation isn't enough to throw them off their stride, or change the direction in which things are headed.

John's eyes remain shut, but he can feel Martin shift his weight on the mattress, and he hardly needs the encouragement to turn towards him, snuggling near the comforting warmth of his body as if on instinct. The kiss is telegraphed through the brush of Martin's fingers against his cheek and the whisper of his breath against his skin, and John meets him with a quiet hum. One hand lights on Martin's side, then drifts round to his back as John pulls himself a bit closer.