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It's raining, and the heavy clouds blanketing the sky cast the room in grayscale. Water rushes through the gutters and spills past the window in rivulets, the sound dampened and comforting from inside. Jon closes his eyes and listens. He could fall asleep like this, tucked into his favorite corner of the living room sofa in the peaceful dark, if it weren't for Martin's absence. He smiles, twisting the golden band on his finger under the heavy quilt draped across his lap.
Just as he starts to wonder if it would be a little pathetic to call Martin to ask for his ETA, the sound of the door being unlocked and then swung open yanks his attention toward its source.
Martin is fumbling with his keys in the doorway with shivering hands, soaked to the bone and muttering in annoyance under his breath. Two bulky bags hang from his shoulders - one for work, one for groceries - and nearly slip when he kicks the door shut behind him. He hikes up the straps with an irritable grunt and the keys fall out of his hand and onto the welcome mat.
Martin stares down at them, biting the insides of his lips, before tipping his head back as if to ask god why. Jon manages to catch his chuckle in his hand before Martin can hear it.
It's not that Jon likes seeing Martin angry. It's that Martin's glasses are dotted with raindrops and white with fog, his cheeks damp and ruddy. It's that he decides not to even bother trying to bend to pick up his keys and kicks off his wet shoes like they are somehow to blame. It's that he almost loses his balance in the process, which only adds more color to the expletives he hisses out from between his teeth. It's that he looks pitiful and, incidentally, so adorable it makes Jon's chest hurt with the need to make it all better.
"Oh, dear," Jon says as Martin stomps into the kitchen on soaked woolly socks that squelch with each step. He swings his bags onto the island with a huff, not even bothering to turn on the light. "What happened to your umbrella?"
"Broke," Martin spits. He reaches into the grocery bag and pulls out item after item with unnecessary force. Jon wants to tell him he's going to shatter the jars of jam he's slamming down onto the granite, but bites his tongue just in time. "The wind snapped the - " His nose wrinkles as he twirls a wrist, trying to conjure the words, "oh, what do you call them - the metal thingies in the actual umbrella part of - "
"I know what you mean," Jon interrupts gently, smiling as he pads into the kitchen. He flicks on the lights and puts a hand on Martin's wrist just as it dips back into the grocery bag. "Here, darling, let me. Go take off your coat, it's soaked through."
"Fine." Martin marches toward the coat stand by the door, wrestling out of the wet, clingy material before hanging it there and finally picking up his keys. At least the jumper he's wearing isn't dripping wet, Jon notes, but it's still damp around the neckline where his coat didn't quite manage to cover it. Poor thing.
Martin returns to the kitchen looking more defeated than angry. Jon decides the best course of action is to give him a moment to collect himself and keeps busy by sorting through their groceries. When he finally sticks the last carton of milk in the fridge, he chances another look at Martin over his shoulder.
He's leaning back against the island and trying to clean his glasses on the sleeve of his jumper. It's the wrong material for it, which Jon is sure he knows, so he doesn't comment, instead putting his hands over Martin's for a moment before gently taking the glasses from him and wiping them clean with the hem of his What The Ghost?! hoodie. Once he's inspected the lenses and finds them to his satisfaction, he deposits them back on Martin's nose. His eyes are big and brown and familiar behind them.
Jon sighs, hopelessly endeared. "Hi, darling."
Martin lets out a weak laugh. "Hi, Jon."
Jon reaches up; lets Martin's cool cheeks fill his palms for him to warm. Martin shuffles closer and leans into his touch, closing his eyes.
"Rough day?" Jon asks, just a hint of mirth in his voice as he grazes the subtle ridges of Martin's cheekbones with his thumbs. Martin's hands close around his wrists, still cold.
"Yeah," he says, the word seeming to deflate him, his brow heavy with tired frustration. "Or - Well, nothing major happened, just a bunch of little things." He sighs. "My supervisor is still a complete dick."
"Not to worry." Jon pats his cheek, cracking a smile. "Give it a few years and he'll be begging you to gouge your eyes out with him."
Martin's mouth twists.
"Oh. Sorry," Jon says. Maybe not the best time to revisit that particular stage of their relationship. Jon goes on stroking his cheeks. "You were saying?"
"Well, after work, my umbrella broke on the way to the store, so I had to go shopping soaking wet." He cringes through a self deprecating laugh. "And my glasses were so fogged up I kept accidentally bumping into things. And - oh." His tone softens to match the suddenly unhappy line of his mouth. He looks down at his feet. "The socks you knit me…I'm sorry. They're probably ruined."
"They'll be fine," Jon tells him, lifting one wrist out of Martin's hold to brush back the wet hair plastered to his forehead. "Besides, I'm more worried about you. Are you feeling alright?" He covers Martin's brow with his palm.
"I'm fine, Jon, just - " Martin lets out a harsh breath. "Ugh."
Jon nods in understanding, a sympathetic smile on his lips.
Jon wouldn’t say he’s happy , what with Martin being so upset, but his concern is underpinned by how strangely good it feels to be able to have hard days in the normal way; to lament bad weather and wet socks; to have problems that are nothing a lazy night in and good company won't fix. They fought so hard, to have days like this.
"Let's get you warm," Jon says, scratching lightly at Martin's scalp as he considers their options. Martin squeezes his wrist. "Shall I draw you a bath?" Jon's fingers crawl down to the hair on the back of his neck. "I could wash your hair for you, if you like."
Martin's eyes blink open. "You don't have to do that," he mumbles, and Jon knows immediately that the answer is yes.
"I want to," he assures him, rising to the tips of his feet to warm Martin's cheek with a kiss.
Martin sighs, glancing down. "Jon - "
"Martin." Jon takes Martin's chin in his hand and forces their eyes to meet. "Let me take care of my husband, please?"
Martin's eyes widen in surprise for a moment before softening. Finally, the crease in his brow fades and a sincere, watery smile graces his lips. His fingers close around Jon's wrist again, this time to raise his hand from his chin to his lips. Jon feels the cool golden band on Martin's finger where it's pressed into his pulsepoint.
"I still love the sound of that," he murmurs, turning to kiss the center of Jon's palm.
Warmth floods Jon's chest. So does he. It's still so new, but so right.
"I know you do," he says, smiling back. "It's very convenient."
Martin rolls his eyes, but doesn't let go. "Gee, thanks, love you, too."
"For better or for worse..." Jon recites through a grin, voice rich with affection, and pulls Martin into a kiss. His lips are cold, but not unpleasantly so, and besides, Jon can think of an easy enough remedy. He runs his tongue along Martin's plump bottom lip, tasting the rain. Martin sighs, lets his mouth fall open. Jon loops his arms around Martin's middle to pull him closer; to keep him safe and happy in his embrace. He savors the liquid warmth of Martin's mouth with a low hum for a moment before ebbing back. Martin breathes out, resting his forehead against Jon's.
"I'm so tired ," he whispers like it's been dragged out of him. "Why am I so tired?"
Jon hushes him, not to quiet, but to soothe. "Come on, my love. You get undressed while I get the bath ready."
Martin gives a weak nod and Jon leads him upstairs to the bedroom. He makes one last attempt to kiss Martin's frown away before making for the ensuite.
"You can wear your robe while the bath fills up, okay? I'll bring it to you," he says over his shoulder as Martin balances on one leg to peel off a sock.
Jon turns on the water, running his hand under the stream to test its temperature and adjusting the knobs until he's satisfied.
On his way back into the bedroom, he plucks Martin's robe from his hook on the door and lays it down on the bed for Martin to put on when he's ready. He's got a matching one, and for a moment he considers changing into it, maybe joining Martin in the bath - but no, he wants to focus on Martin's comfort, because it's not every day that Martin is willing to let him. He's gotten better about that over the years they've been together, but judging by Jon's own neuroses, Jon wagers the guilt Martin feels whenever on the receiving end of care might not ever completely go away.
That's why Jon knows that, even if Martin's struggles today were mostly external - wonderfully trivial, even, in the grand scheme of things - this sort of thing can easily kickstart a spiral. He could do with some pampering; some tender reassurance that he's loved - and very dearly, at that.
When Jon returns to the bedroom, Martin is facing away from him and undoing his belt. Jon steals a lingering glance at his bare back, putting a hand over his heart as if that could stop it from fluttering. Then, because he's allowed to, he puts that hand on Martin's shoulder blade, his skin cool under the pads of his fingers. He massages warmth into it and shuffles closer, pressing a kiss to the back of Martin's clammy neck.
Martin breathes out a pleased sigh, so Jon kisses him again. His other hand joins the first on Martin's back, and then he lets them wander, smoothing his palms over his shoulders, down his spine. They find his love handles, squeezing softly, before reaching around and resting on the swell of his belly. He presses his body flush with Martin's, squishing his cheek to the plane of his scapula.
"You look good," he murmurs, palms feeling out the bulk of him in slow, sweeping motions. "I ought to steal more of your shirts until you're out of things to wear."
Martin breathes a laugh and covers Jon's hands with his own, thumbs circling the knobs of his wrists.
"Not very conducive to the whole 'getting me warm' thing," he points out.
Jon sighs, nails grazing the hair below Martin's navel. "That's true, isn't it," he grumbles before pressing another kiss to the freckles on his shoulder. "I suppose I could delay my schemes until summer..."
"How magnanimous." Martin's voice is dry, but he's still tracing soft circles into Jon's wrists. Then he breathes out, body sagging into Jon's hands.
"I love you," he continues after a moment. His fingers find the dips between Jon's knuckles, petting the delicate skin. "Thank you. For - Just - Thank you." He laughs under his breath. Jon feels the vibrations in his cheek.
"It's my pleasure," he answers. He gives Martin one last squeeze before slipping out of the embrace and letting him get back to undressing. "Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Wine?"
"Oh," Martin says, shucking his damp trousers and glancing over his shoulder, "do we still have that bottle of moscato?"
"I believe so," Jon says, watching Martin bend to drop his jeans in the hamper. "Shall I bring you a glass?"
Martin turns to face him with a tired smile. "Yes, please."
"Won't be a moment," Jon vows, making for the kitchen, only to pause at the bedroom door.
"Jon?"
He turns, looks at Martin, his husband, still flushed from the cold and stripped down to his boxers, and decides that he really has no choice but to walk back over and give him one last kiss. Martin shivers against him, curling his fingers into the pocket of Jon's hoodie. Jon fills his palms with Martin's love handles again, squeezing indulgently, before letting them trickle lower to fill with something else.
Martin squeaks against his lips, but doesn't pull away until Jon stops fondling him to put a hand on his chest and gently push them apart.
He gives Martin a pat, right over his heart. "Okay."
"Okay," Martin echoes, slightly hoarse.
"I'll be right back."
He fights a grin on his way down to the kitchen, finding the moscato tucked away in the pantry and a wine glass in the cupboard. He returns to an empty bedroom and, when he steps into the ensuite, is pleased to find that the bath is full and that Martin is draped in his robe, turning off the water.
Jon sets down the glass and the bottle on the vanity and pads over to Martin. He places his hands on his chest, feeling the soft material of his robe under his palms. He trails them down until they reach the loose knot Martin tied in the sash. He undoes it slowly, feeling not unlike he's unravelling the bow on a Christmas gift, glancing up to meet Martin's eyes. Martin's cheeks are flushed and Jon wonders just how much of it is still because of the time he spent in the rain.
When the sash is undone and the robe falls open, Jon helps Martin slip out of it and into the bath, admiring the now exposed swaths of his freckled skin.
"Are you going to stare at me like that the whole time?" Martin asks as he gets settled, water lapping at the walls of the tub with his movements.
"Like the love of my life is naked right in front of me?" Jon replies, taking a spare hand towel from the shelf in the corner. He gestures for Martin to lean forward so he can tuck it between the back of his neck and the rim of the bath. "Yes."
Martin leans back against the makeshift cushion, blinking when Jon plucks the glasses off his nose. His blinded gaze follows Jon to the vanity.
"It's nothing you haven't seen before," he says, a touch bashful, as Jon sets down his specs and pours him the glass of wine he'd promised.
"That doesn't make me want to see it any less." Jon hands him his glass, then catches a leg of the shower stool Martin bought for when Jon's knee or rib or any of the other million things wrong with him act up with his foot and drags it over to the head of the tub. He grabs shampoo and conditioner before sitting down and rolling up his sleeves. "One would think I'd be allowed to admire my husband's figure without getting grief for it."
"I'm not giving you grief," Martin stops sipping his wine to protest. "I'm just - ugh, I don't know. I give up."
Jon laughs, bending to kiss Martin's wrinkled brow. "Just relax, darling." He dips his hands into the warm water, seeking out whatever parts of Martin's body he can reach as he tilts his face to his ear. "I've got you."
Martin lets out a shuddering breath with a subtle nod. Jon kisses his cheek before straightening and getting to work. He gets Martin's hair wet, squirts some shampoo into his palm, and starts massaging his scalp, white foam building up between his fingers. The scent of coconut fills the humid air. Martin sighs, long and low, sinking deeper into the bath and Jon's touch. His arm rests on the edge of the tub, holding his glass in a loose grip.
"How's that, my love?" Jon wonders, dipping his hands back in the water for a moment to get rid of excess suds before returning them to Martin's hair.
"It's good," Martin answers quietly. "Warm."
Jon hums, smiling to himself. "I'm glad. You deserve good and warm things."
"So do you," Martin says, taking another sip of his wine before setting the glass down on the bath's wide rim. He lifts a knee, the cap rosy where it peeks out of the water. "You could join me in here, you know."
Jon huffs a laugh. "Don't tempt me." He lowers a cupped hand to the water to fill it, then uses it to rinse Martin's hair. "I'd never want to get out."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
Jon hums noncommittally, repeating the process until Martin's scalp is sud-free and a soapy off-white film coats the surface of the bathwater. He ducks to kiss the top of Martin's head before reaching for the conditioner.
Martin tips his head back to meet Jon's gaze upside down. He's smiling now, drowsy and unguarded. "C'mon, sweetheart, what do you say?"
"I don't think so," Jon chuckles, tipping Martin's head back down before his willpower wanes even further. They're powerful things, Martin's eyes. "Will you let me do just one nice thing for you without trying to make it about me instead? Hm?"
"Hey, my motives aren't totally altruistic here," Martin argues as Jon lathers his hair with conditioner. He hums his agreement too enthusiastically to be genuine and Martin makes a baffled noise in response. "What, do you think I don't get anything out of having you take a bath with me?"
"Darling, I know you," Jon says, taking care to keep his hands gentle as he works the conditioner into his scalp. "You are an incredibly generous lover, almost to a fault. You'd spend all your time seeing to my needs instead of letting me see to yours."
"But I like seeing to your needs," Martin insists, pausing to take a sulky swig from his glass. "It makes me feel good."
"Letting me spoil you would feel good, too, if you'd just let me."
"I don't need to be spoiled."
"You deserve it, though."
Martin tilts his head back again, fixing Jon with an unimpressed look. "And you don't?"
"Now you're getting it." He drops a kiss to Martin's forehead, then his nose. "Just let me do this, Martin, please?"
He uses a lilting tone that he knows Martin has trouble saying no to, but when Martin opens his mouth to speak with an intake of breath that suggests he's about to argue, Jon switches tactics, dropping his soapy hands to Martin's shoulders and squeezing. Martin's mouth shuts; Jon hears his teeth click together.
He leans in closer, pitches his voice low. "Darling, you had a long day," he purrs by Martin's ear, watching it go red. "Let me be good to you. That's all I want." He digs his thumbs into the muscle under his hands, slow and firm. Martin makes a low noise of begrudging pleasure, body slumping forward to give Jon more room to work. Smiling, Jon massages his way down Martin's back, feeling out knots and kneading them away.
"That's it," he murmurs, "Relax for me, just like that. Perfect."
"I hate you," Martin groans as Jon prods at a particularly tense spot, just beneath his shoulder blade. He shudders. "Ugh, no I don't. I don't hate you. Not even a little."
"And I don't hate you," Jon laughs, voice soft, hands tender. "Isn't this nice, letting me make you feel good? It's certainly nice for me."
Martin hums like he agrees and he's angry about it, but doesn't try to argue anymore. Jon holds back a chuckle, focusing on the pliant tissue under his hands. The sound of rain is fainter here than in other parts of the house, but still adds a comforting layer of white noise to the room.
After a few minutes, Jon lets his hands return to Martin's shoulders and tugs him back into his previous, reclined position. Martin blinks up at him with sleepy eyes, the already rosy tint to his cheeks having blossomed further. Jon kisses each one, then drops another few to his hairline, cupping the underside of his jaw.
Martin sighs, eyes sliding shut again. "You win," he mumbles.
"I'm so glad you agree." Jon moves a hand to cradle the back of his head, rinsing his hair with the other.
"I'll get you back, though," Martin vows. "Next time you're in a bad mood, I'll give you a whole spa day."
Jon grins. "I'm sure."
"I mean it," Martin continues through a yawn. "Mani-pedis and everything."
Jon can't help himself. As soon as Martin's hair is clean, Jon drapes himself around his neck and holds him tight, not caring that he's wet. He lays his head on his bicep and tattoos Martin's cheek with kisses, its warmth seeping into his lips.
"I'll hold you to that," he whispers into Martin's blush. He gives him one last kiss, then says, "Let's get you to bed, how's that sound?"
"Mm, bed," Martin mutters, eyes fluttering open.
Martin stands on wobbly legs and steps into the towel Jon holds open for him, allowing himself to be squeezed and patted dry. There's a lovely moment where their eyes meet under the towel as Jon is drying off his hair and Jon tugs him down into a kiss by the ends of it, toes curling in his socks.
Once that's done, he bundles Martin back up in his robe and, after securing the sash around his waist, ushers him into the bedroom with a pat on the rear. He stays behind to drain the bath and collect the wine, allowing himself a small sip as he makes his way to bed.
Martin is already propped up against the pillows, face pleasantly pink in contrast to the white of his robe. He smiles sleepily up at Jon, patting his empty side of the mattress.
Jon deposits the bottle on his side table after refilling Martin's glass. "Someone looks happy," he muses as he climbs into bed, taking care not to spill any of Martin's wine, and hands it to him once he's settled.
"Well you don't have to sound so smug about it," Martin mumbles, but the corner of his mouth is quirked in a smile. "Really, though, I do appreciate it. I don't want you to think I'm not grateful - "
"God, no," Jon assures him, placing a hand on his thigh over the plush fabric of his robe. "You're just not used to being doted on."
"Yeah," Martin sighs before taking a sip of wine. Then he makes an urgent noise, pulling his glass away with a gulp. "Not that you're not affectionate enough, or - "
"Oh, and here I thought you'd finally relaxed," Jon laments, wistful tone offset by the playful smile he gives Martin. "I get it, Martin, you don't have to explain." He reclines against the headboard, spreading his arms. "Now come here. I'm not finished flirting yet."
Martin rolls his eyes but snuggles closer, letting Jon curl an arm around him and leaning his head back against his shoulder. "Alright, Casanova, do your worst."
Jon ducks to kiss his temple through his silky strands of coconut-scented hair, planning his next move. "You know, before, when I said you look good?" He lifts his hand from Martin's shoulder to the v of his robe, smiling when he feels Martin give a relaxed sigh. He walks his fingers down Martin's chest, nosing the shell of his ear.
"I think," he hooks a finger into the fabric, tugging it aside to reveal more flushed, freckled skin, "upon further examination..." His hand slides down and under, seeking out what he can't see with a hungry palm, "...that my assessment was wholly inadequate."
Martin hums around a long sip of wine before tilting his head back to catch Jon's gaze. His free hand finds Jon's thigh, thumb stroking the seam of his trousers.
"And how would you amend your assessment?" he wonders, pitching his voice low in what Jon recognizes as an affectionate impression of his own.
He scratches gently through Martin's chest hair, humming in thought.
"You look," he says, mapping out the face of this man he loves so much, and realizes he still lacks the right words; that he probably always will. Martin's hair curls dark and damp against his forehead, cheeks pink under the autumnal smattering of freckles covering them. His lips are full, curved in an easy smile that makes his honey-brown eyes crinkle. Jon doesn't even know where to start.
"I'm so glad I married you," seems as good a place as any, and he sighs it like a poet, sweeping Martin into a kiss. Martin accepts it with a throaty chuckle that bleeds into a moan when Jon starts to explore his mouth and licks the wine off his teeth; strips the sweet coat of it off his tongue. The hand not fondling Martin's chest reaches up to cradle his jaw, pulling him in closer.
"So handsome," Jon whispers between breathless kisses. Martin squeezes his thigh. "So lovely."
"Jon, I..." Martin's voice trembles. Jon kisses a path from the corner of his mouth to his ear; takes the soft lobe into his mouth. Martin's hand curls into a fist around Jon's trousers. "I can't believe how good I have it."
"I feel much the same," Jon mumbles, smiling. "We are a smart match, aren't we." He shifts, kisses Martin's lips again, slower but no less passionate. Martin's hand unfurls, cupping Jon's thigh again. They part with content sighs.
"All better then, my sweet?" Jon asks, brushing his palm down Martin's neck to cup his pulse. He nudges Martin's nose with his own before pecking his top lip, then the bottom. "Feeling nice?"
"Very," Martin laughs breathlessly. Jon kisses him again.
"Good." Another kiss. "Is there anything else I can do for you? Anything at all?"
Martin sighs wistfully, staring at Jon's lips. "I need to get caught in the rain more often."
Jon huffs a quiet laugh and swats his chest. "Don't you dare. That is not the intended takeaway, here."
Martin lets his head loll back against Jon's shoulder, looking up at him out of the corner of his eye with a small grin. "We could have dinner?"
"Want me to cook?"
"No, I," he shifts, nuzzling into the crook of Jon's neck, "I want you to stay here with me."
Jon's chest aches. "Delivery it is, then. What do you fancy?"
"Mm...Thai?"
"Excellent choice." He grabs his phone from his side table, opening deliveroo and scrolling until he finds their usual Thai restaurant, and places their usual order. "Should be here within the hour," he says, putting his phone away. "What would you like to do in the meantime?"
Martin taps his lips with his glass in thought before raising it to Jon's. "Drink?"
"Oh, with pleasure."
Later, Martin dozes with his cheek squished to Jon's chest and an arm slung across his waist, sated and sleepy. Jon's fingers slip in and out of his hair in drowsy motions, nails scraping lazily against his scalp. After a while, he concludes that 90-day-fiancé isn't nearly as fun to watch without Martin's commentary, so he switches off the wall-mounted tv across from their bed and attempts to slip out of Martin's sleepy embrace to go brush his teeth and change.
The arm around his waist cinches tighter, its owner letting out a low, despondent "Noooooo..."
Jon snorts. "I'll be right back, I promise."
Martin groans, but allows Jon to slip out of bed and into the ensuite. True to his word, Jon returns a few minutes later to find Martin curled up in the center of their mattress, clutching Jon's pillow.
"Oh dear, I've been replaced," Jon sighs, padding over to the dresser. He pulls out an old henley and a pair of soft flannel pajama bottoms. As he starts undressing, his eyes slide back over to the bed.
Martin is peering at him over the pillow he's buried his face in. He hooks his chin over it to reveal a smile.
"Yes, darling?" Jon asks, fighting a grin of his own as he pulls his hoodie off over his head. His t-shirt comes off next.
"Just looking," Martin says.
"Oh, so you're allowed to look, but I'm supposed to just ignore all your - "Jon cuts himself short, flapping a hand in Martin's direction.
Martin's sleepy eyes light up somewhat. "All my what?"
Jon huffs. "You know."
Martin hums, still smiling. "You're allowed to look, too," he says at length while Jon pulls on his henley. "I like when you look."
"Well." Jon feels heat fill his cheeks, trying not to look too pleased. He starts to unbutton his trousers, letting them pool around his ankles. "See anything interesting?"
Martin's eyes crinkle. "I see you're wearing that underwear I like."
"Oh." Jon steps out of his trousers, looking down. He brushes a hand over his front. He hadn't noticed. "That's a happy coincidence."
"Very."
Jon considers his underwear, then the flannel pajama bottoms he pulled out of the dresser. With a coy grin, he ignores them and shuffles over to the bed.
Martin makes a surprised, happy noise, rolling onto his back with open arms. After switching off the bedside lamp, Jon falls into them, eliciting a weak oof from Martin, and apologizes with a kiss.
"You smell like peppermint," Martin mumbles against his lips.
Jon wrinkles his nose. "You smell like green curry."
"Worth it. Hashtag no regrets."
Jon smiles and shakes his head. "Come on, under the covers with you, if you're not going to brush your teeth."
Martin groans, but does as he's told, and soon enough they're huddled together under the duvet. Jon parts Martin's robe just enough to kiss up from the center of his chest to his pulse point, holding onto the fabric by the handful.
"Mmn." Martin loops his arms around Jon's waist. "Thought we were going to sleep."
"We are," Jon says into the crook of his neck. He gives him a peck there before something occurs to him. "Oh, unless - ?"
"No, no." Martin yawns, running a hand down Jon's back. "Way too tired."
"I thought as much." Jon lifts his head, brushes his nose against Martin's in the dark. Martin tilts his chin up for a quick kiss. Jon returns it. "So."
He can hear Martin's lazy grin. "So."
"How did I do today?"
"You did so, so good, sweetheart," Martin sighs, hands warm on Jon's back, thumbs sweeping back and forth. "I love you so much."
Jon feels himself blush and smiles. "Yeah?"
"Mm-hmm." He can feel Martin nod. "Love you more than anything in the world."
"More than tea?"
At this, Martin is quiet for a moment. "If you're the one making it, definitely."
Jon pouts, but only because he knows Martin can't see it. "There's nothing wrong with the way I make tea."
"There are some things wrong with the way you make tea."
"This is intolerable. I reheat it in the microwave one time - "
"In a non-microwavable cup, Jon."
"I had the fire completely under control."
"I'd rather you have the tea-making under control so we could skip the fire altogether."
"Well, now you're just being unreasonable."
Martin laughs loud for someone so tired, swatting Jon's shoulder. Jon beams in the dark. He curls his arms around Martin's neck, pulling him into a kiss, and then another, and another.
"I love you, too," he murmurs between pecks. "I'm glad I could make you feel better today."
"Like, all the way better. You way overcorrected but I'm willing to let it slide."
Jon rolls his eyes. "Oh, good."
"Thank you, Jon, really." Martin takes a different tone now, still fatigued but firm and warm. "You're so good to me."
Jon softens, touching his forehead to Martin's. "I just want to do right by you," he says, holding Martin tight. "I'll always do right by you."
"I know." Martin squeezes him back, giving his cheek a long kiss. "Roll over?"
Jon complies, and the two of them twist and wriggle blindly under the covers until Martin's head is back on Jon's chest, cradled there by a hand on his cheek and another in his hair. Martin's hand slides under the side of Jon's shirt, undemanding, in search of warmth and nothing else. Jon drops kisses to his crown long after that hand has stilled.
The rain still drizzles quietly outside their window and, this time, he lets it lull him to sleep.