John looks up and catches Ianto's eyes, pauses a moment to try to read his expression. He's distantly aware of how warm his skin is under his hands where they've pause on his shoulders, of the play of his muscles, of how awkwardly Ianto is holding himself. it's something John has long learned to compartmentalise, though, to put away and try to ignore.

"You want me to do this all myself?" he prompts, and there's a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips he can't quite suppress.