Work Text:
It wasn’t until the third night in a row of Jon tossing and turning all night long, stretching and cracking his back and still grimacing and wincing when he sat at the desk to read statements that Martin spoke up. They had been trying to sleep for half an hour or so and Jon was restless, turning this way and that and trying out at least ten different sleep positions in as many minutes. Martin just listened to him, to the rustle of sheets and the irritated huffs he let out when yet another change in position didn’t leave him in any less pain than the one previous.
“Erm - Jon?” Martin asked, his voice feeling like a mallet shattering the silence of their bedroom. “Are you feeling okay?”
Jon turned over to face him, hair rumpled from his head being mashed against the pillow again and again. It was dark enough that Martin couldn’t make out exact features, especially without his glasses on, but he could see the sparse light shine off of Jon’s eyes as he blinked up at Martin.
“Define okay,” he murmured.
“Impending apocalypse aside,” he amended. “It’s just… you look like you’re always sore, and you can’t ever seem to get comfortable.” Martin hadn’t brought it up before because he didn’t want to push any boundaries with Jon - their relationship as it was now was very new and they were still getting used to each other. It was happening quite quickly now; they bordered on domestic bliss most days and it was really lovely. Even Jon seemed more content than Martin had ever seen him, affectionate with Martin and so fond in his tone and his touches. “I just want to try and help,” he added, reaching between them and finding Jon’s hand in the dark. He held it, tracing his thumb over the back on Jon’s hand, skin warm and dry and smooth where it wasn’t marked with scars.
“My back is sore,” Jon said, which probably wasn’t new information but hopefully talking about it would lead to them putting strategies in place. “It’s been a problem for a long time - working long hours in the archives didn’t do me any favours.” Yeah, Martin could have guessed that. “I guess I had just been sleeping less and less so it’s been less of a problem until recently.” He shrugged and looking down at where their hands were entwined, probably seeing more than Martin ever could. “I’ll be fine. You should get some sleep.”
“Do you want something for the pain?” he asked, reaching up his other hand and touching Jon’s face with it. He traced his stubbly jaw up to his ear and tucked a few ratty curls behind it. “I think I saw a heating pad in the closet. Or I could make you an ice pack.” He paused. “Or give you a back rub.”
Jon had been opening his mouth to protest Martin’s concern but at the last suggestion he seemed to take a moment to consider. He thought for another couple of seconds, then shook his head. “You don’t have to. You should go back to sleep.”
“Wasn’t sleeping, so there’s no loss,” Martin said quickly. He moved the hand that had been touching Jon’s hair and laid it on his shoulder, squeezing gently. “I just want you to not hurt so much.”
Jon was silent for another long stretch, then he sighed. “Alright.”
Martin turned one of their bedside lamps on and sat up. He helped Jon get arranged on his front and crawled over him to straddle his narrow hips and sit on his skinny rear. Jon shifted a little, getting comfortable with his arms at his sides. Martin didn’t have any oil or lotion like he would normally want to use, but he thought Jon might not like the sensation anyways. Maybe if Jon got used to him doing this, they could find some in the village and he could start using that.
“Have you ever gotten a massage before?” Martin asked as he started rubbing Jon’s back through the shirt he was wearing. “It was covered by medical at the institute.”
Jon shrugged. “Don’t really like strangers touching me.”
Martin knew that meant people who aren’t you .
He pressed his hands hard into Jon’s shoulders for a minute or so before Jon piped up. Martin felt his words rumbling through his back just as much as he heard the words, muffled in his arms. “Would it… would it be easier if I took my shirt off?” he asked, tentative.
"... yeah, if you're comfortable with that," Martin replied. He lifted himself up onto his knees above Jon and helped him push his shirt up his torso and then wriggle it off over his head, setting it on the bed next to them. He hesitated for only a second before he finally put his bare hands on Jon’s bare back. He admired the contrast between their skin tones - Martin’s pale hands, dotted with brown freckles, pressing into Jon’s dark brown skin. They were beautiful together. Jon shivered under him for a moment, as if he too could see the art their skin made together, before he went still again with a deep exhale that had his torso shrinking like a deflating balloon under Martin’s hands.
“Is this okay?” Martin asked after a few minutes of rubbing Jon down from where his shoulders met his neck down to the back of his ribcage. He knew that Jon was enjoying it at least a little - he’d sagged noticeably into the mattress and he occasionally let out happy little sighs so Martin had to be doing something right.
“Yes,” Jon replied so quietly Martin almost didn’t hear him. “It - um. Makes it better.”
“It?” Martin asked after a moment, rubbing out a knot under Jon’s right shoulder blade. Jon was warm and his skin was dry but smooth, raised in a few spots where he carried scars. Martin was gentle but firm, pressing into his tight muscles and working them out. He was reverent in his touch, his hands big and warm on Jon’s skinny frame.
“Your touch,” he replied after a long pause. “It grounds me. Makes everything less….horrific.”
It was Martin’s turn to pause then. He thought for a long time about what to say, and didn’t end up saying anything at all. He just smiled a secret little smile at the back of Jon’s head and kept working on Jon’s sore muscles, making him melt under his worshipful hands.