John's response is distantly hilarious — or rather, it exposes how hilarious his own 'offer' truly sounds. It's really down to his own arousal that Martin doesn't have to think too hard about not laughing. And anyway, he loves it, the sarcasm, the precise needling of his own word choice, deserved as it is; not just because it's funny, but because it's so patently John. "Well," he says, his voice unsteady, strung between that extremely faint air of defiance and the bizarre luxury of theatrical embarrassment. "Not the institution, exactly."

This is right on the bloody knife's edge of being a bad, obvious set-up. He knows it, and John knows it. One of them is going to have to escalate, and it is very much going to have to be him. He can't quite believe they've both managed to corner him here, but then, it was probably inevitable, wasn't it?

So there's only so much more tense silence he can maintain before he finally relents: "It's more what I might offer you," he says, his voice softening from nervous breathlessness as his eyes dart up to meet John's. "Specifically."