Perfect, perfect. It's all John can ever bloody think around Q, and he's pretty sure he needs to bring it up accusingly to the other man when they are in a public place where nudity is frowned upon. Otherwise it'll just end up like this again -- limbs tangled and -- oh. No. It's pretty okay, this.
Perfect.
John rolls his hips up into Q's, groaning into his mouth, settles his hands on the younger man's hips just to keep him where he is. Friction? It's all he really wants right now.