Chapter Text
Jon shifts restlessly again, pulling away from the loose hold he’d had around Martin’s back. It had gotten too hot. Too much. Too unsure. All of a sudden it had gone from comfortable to anxiety inducing. He curls around himself, pressing his back into Martin’s. He feels the spark of comfort that comes from being in contact with the other man, the calm that the contact with another living being bring - Martin specifically- crawls through his skin and soothes him. Then feeling of ‘not right’ hits again, it’s not enough, it’s too much, its uncomfortable. He groans in frustration as he turns again, Martin’s arm heavily drops across his chest, pinning him on his back. Martin doesn’t open his eyes but shifts to tuck his head into Jon’s neck, a sleepy chuckle ghosts past his lips and brushes over Jon’s neck.
“S’top movin’.”
Jon tries, he turns his head into Martin’s hair. The scent of his shampoo curling into his nose. He counts backwards from a thousand, recalling the dewy decimal categories that correspond with the numbers as he goes. It’s not enough, the feeling of ‘not right’ creeps up again as he fights it with as much as he can, desperately trying to think what part of the arts section 730 covers. His discomfort is palpable enough that Martin raises his head, Jon opens his eyes to find Martin looking at him. He brushes a hand gently over Jon’s face, pushing the hair back from his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
A low frustrated growl rumbles out of Jon before he notices he’s doing it.
“I can’t – nothing’s comfortable. Everything is- it’s too much? But no its- I’m fine and then I can’t breathe and it’s too warm but it’s also not enough, its overwhelming and underwhelming all at the same time, and I get frustrated an- I should just get up and let you sleep. I’ll read some statements an-“
Martin rests his forehead on Jon’s, eyes slipping almost closed again, and Jon loses his train of thought. The contact is once again sweet ambrosia, comfort and calm. The undercurrent of anxiety hums, the fear that ‘this too will pass’ churns in his gut.
Martin presses his lips to Jon’s, too sleepy, too fleeting, to be called a kiss, but the intent the same. The message is clear: ‘no rom-com stupidity’
“Let me try something?” Martin asks against his mouth.
Jon’s head twitches minutely in something like a nod, as much as he can manage without dislodging Martin.
Martin lifts the rest of his body off the bed, the mattress creaking in vague protest.
“Let me know if I’m too heavy.”
He manoeuvres himself wholly above Jon before lowering himself to lie completely on top of him. Jon’s breath is taken away slightly as he adjusts to the taller man’s weight on top of him, there is a little wiggling as pointy bones are moved out of the way of soft flesh and then Martin practically melts into him, tucking his head back into the crook of Jon’s neck.
“Better?” he asks, muffled.
Jon flexes his left foot, softly brushing the inside of Martin’s calf. He feels calm? The anxious scrabbling that usually takes up a sizeable chunk of his brain space has calmed, no more than white noise in the back of his brain. The urge to move goes with it, stifled by the heat of Martin’s body pressing him into the mattress.
“Much,” he decided, half pressing a kiss to Martin’s hair while trying not to move him too much.
“Good, now sleep.”
And, to Jon’s surprise, he finds himself already drifting off.