Oh. Ianto hadn't honestly been expecting this after all of John's earlier uncertainty on the matter, not for John's ridiculous little come-ons nor for the physicality that seems to be coming with it. He can hardly say that he's complaining, though he quirks an eyebrow to at least pretend he's putting up a good fight in questioning his reasoning.

Spreading his hand wide across the other man's stomach where John has directed it, Ianto strokes his fingers across his skin. His other hand slipping out of his collar to play against the back of his neck.

"Very scientific," he agrees, wryly.