John will happily let Ianto do just about anything. He's drunk enough to be malleable, easily pushed around like a loose-limbed doll. The touches make him sigh contently as the other man tucks his face into his neck, twitching and letting out a gentle hiss as his nipples are pinched before Ianto's hands venture lower. Let me, he prompts, and John flops backwards across the bed in a vague attempt to help.

"Not stopping you," he replies, and his voice may still be scratchy but John sounds like he's already pretty satisfied even with just this much attention.