"I can imagine." While John wasn't clear as to where he should stand - or sit, really - he figured it would be easier to just treat this as visiting anyone's place; make himself at home, but not so much that he was imposing. He followed Ianto around the desk, leaning back against it after giving the machine an appreciative glance. Everyone had their hobbies, he supposed; Sherlock's was the violin, Ianto's was coffee. (John's was, apparently, blogging, but it wasn't exactly something he did a lot of, so. He should probably look into something else.)

"Clearly," he said with a smile, "Not much for the traditional pot, then?" He had to admit, the machine itself was more than intimidating, and he could only hope that Ianto wasn't pulling his leg about being able to make anything with it. He figured it took a special touch, and if Ianto didn't know exactly what he was doing, well... He wasn't capable of choking down bad coffee, no matter how impolite it would be not to.