Reading him hadn't exactly been Ianto's intention. Not the whole of it, anyway. Though Ianto doesn't put up the fight to say as much. It helps, to have the press of John's hand against his back, even for that brief stretch of time. Hell, it even helps to have the other man speak to him so directly, for that matter. Even if he hates that he's pushed him into it.

Ianto takes a deep breath, really, truly considering John's question, given all of the facts. Would he be able to do it, given all of that? If he absolutely had to, yes. He probably could. But there's no reason that he should. Not when it's John's health on the line. Not when his own concentration would be far better if he couldn't feel the other man's pain and nausea on top of his own nervous exhaustion as well.

Pressing his lips together into a fine line, Ianto shakes his head at last.

"It would be better if I did this properly," he agrees softly. "If... I gave you the best of myself that I could." Which means wearing the gloves.

Ianto's eyes fall to his lap. To the gloves in question, and he wrings them between his hands for a moment, before slipping them on.

"I'm sorry," he says, after a beat. "I didn't mean to... I do trust you." How many times has he put his life into John's hands at this point, after all. It's just that he's not so certain he trusts John with his own care, sometimes. Given his track record.