John just wants to swallow those moans, like if they landed right in his mouth that might make the two of them even closer somehow. It's a ridiculous thought, but one that runs through his head anyway.
"Mm," he agrees, shifting and lifting Q's leg a little higher -- the other man is young and flexible and John's doing him a favor here because that prostate isn't gonna find itself. Also, Q's abso-fucking-lutely right. He'd hate it if he shut up, which is why he's prompting even more of those pretty moans even as he adds some of his own to the mix, finds a rhythm that isn't infuriatingly, distractingly tempoed.