For just a moment, Martin could swear John's about to laugh, and if John starts laughing, he'll start laughing, and that'll be it for the whole bloody thing. Not the end of the world, probably, and he's sure they could salvage something nice out of it, but nice wasn't really what they were going for.

So it's a bit of a disproportionate relief when John doubles down on the nastiness instead, hitting Martin with a pointed question that would topple him in any other context. Instead, strange as it may seem, Martin feels calmer in the teeth of it, even as he feels his face heating, his heart pounding ever quicker. Even as he squirms in his seat.

After a moment's crackling silence, he tips his head down demurely. "It doesn't matter what I want," he says. "Does it?" He raises his chin enough to meet John's eyes, holding contact for only a flickering instant before he looks down again. "You can have whatever you like."