He'd rather be there, John thinks, but only responds with words of vague encouragement that probably make no sense at all, and it doesn't really matter since they're kissing anyway.
Now is not the time to mention he's no fucking idea how to make video chats work on a computer, not even sure if his is capable of it. It's embarrassing, almost, and Q is some sort of nerd genius with shit like that, and he does not need to get laughed at while he is naked. Instead he thinks about how terribly attractive it would be to watch Q being desperately slutty, but only for him. He wants.
Well. He wants now, too. Rather abruptly he sits up to look for where he put the condoms because suddenly there's just no damn time.