"I'm plenty patient," John says, but it's clearly just a mirthful lie, since he snatches up the little bottle and squints at it for a tick. Not that it really matters what it is, only that it is.
It's very hard to concentrate when Q feels the need to make a complete mess of weals on his skin, but he's hardly going to complain about that since the younger man's too-red lips seem to know exactly what they're doing and it's a little hot in both meanings of the word.
No matter -- he's a master at this (self proclaimed, but still) - and so flips the lid of the lubricant open and finds that it pours out entirely more quickly than he thought it might. "Blimey," he mutters, because Q is biting at his neck and now he's gone and made his fingers entirely too slick. Oh well. Best put it to use then.