It's just enough of a break for John to gather himself back under control, to flex fingers holding onto his hair and rub his other hand slowly up and down Ianto's back.

"Yeah," he responds absently, "it is."

His name. Ianto. Taking a shaky breath he lets it out slowly, bucks up against Ianto again to encourage him back into action. The light touch of fingers along his thigh is making him shiver, and he craves more contact -- more of the firm encouragement his hand was giving before.