Ianto palms at his back for another moment, kneading against the solid warmth of muscle he finds there -- god, his skin feels so good underneath his hands, he has to wonder how it would feel pressed against his, but that can come at another time. He lets himself believe that there will be another time, running his hand up John's back and through his hair before he nods against the side of his head.

"Yes," he replies in turn, somewhat breathlessly -- he's being very distracting. "God, yes. You'll not hear a complaint from me." Like he would ever say no to the tease of John's fingers on his bare skin or the promise of his mouth pressing down there as well. The idea that he wants this -- he wants it? -- sending quiet shocks of pleasure straight through him all on its own.