John moves as if to dodge the touch, but it's too slow and too late anyway. He's warm to the touch, although not burning hot, and a little clammy.

"It's fine," John says in preemptive protest, "probably just a side-effect of the stuff. At least my arm isn't hurting as much."

Nothing in life is free. He picks off a small amount of the bread to try and eat again, because he figures if he eats some more then maybe Ianto will feel less inclined to keep fussing over him so much. It's worth a try, anyway.