Work Text:
Martin was sitting on the kitchen floor when he came home.
Jon set his work bag down on the little dining table with a huff. Now he more often than not found himself sleeping in The Archives, but it was a Friday night and Daisy had given him a very stern look when he said he wasn't planning on going home soon and his back was whining about being subjected to another night in his office chair or the cot, so he was home.
If he could even call it "home" anymore.
Martin had had free reign of their shared flat for months now and the place reeked of The Lonely, enough to make Jon have second thoughts before he even got the key in the door. It wasn't unclean or unkempt, Martin had, all things considered, kept the place in decent shape, but it felt like walking into a freezer, emotionally and physically. Jon had been home recently before now, for a week or so after he woke up, occasionally when he was herded out of The Archives by one of his assistants, but the shock of how Lonely their little home had become still hit him.
Martin didn't acknowledge his presence, sitting against the cupboard and absently staring off into nothing. There was a wine glass next to him, and in one hand was a nearly empty bottle of rosé. Jon recognized the brand, the same kind they had drank the night they got engaged. His appearance was almost a shock to Jon as well, if he didn't know all too well what all of them were going through. Purple lined the bottom of his eyes, even darker against his paling skin. The top two buttons of his shirt were undone under his loosened tie and his shirt and slacks were wrinkled and creased at odd angles, as if he'd left them in the machine instead of hanging and folding them. Jon wondered how long he'd been sitting there and how much longer he would if he didn't intervene, and just how many nights had he spent drinking alone. He stopped wondering as soon as The Eye tried to inform him.
Jon slid down the cupboards as well, sitting close enough to press against his side. When that didn't garner a reaction he swung his legs over his lap, careful of the wine glass, and took the bottle from him. Martin's eyes followed it as Jon tilted it up and drained the last few mouthfuls, before resting his head on Martin's shoulder.
"I miss you," Jon said softly when Martin finally met his eyes. Martin said nothing back, but his hands found themselves resting on Jon's legs, tracing the seam of his trousers up and down. The gold on his finger glinted in the orange light above the stove as he absently fidgeted, and it twisted something in Jon’s chest to see it so loose on his finger. His face dropped again to stare at his hands and Jon wasn't having it. He took Martin's head in his hands, turning it to face him again. His skin was cold to the touch. Jon studied his face for a few moments, before leaning in to kiss him, giving him more than enough time to pull away. He didn't, but he also didn't kiss back. His lips were cold too.
Jon rested their foreheads together, "What can I do to make it better?" "It" could be a lot of things at this point, and Jon wasn't particularly picky about what issue he was needed to solve.
Martin just stared at him blankly. Jon moved to straddle Martin's lap and leaned back in, kissing up his neck and across his unshaven jaw and cheeks, nuzzling into the unsettling coldness of his husband. Martin shuddered under him, but made no move to pull away.
Once he was sure he'd kissed every inch of Martin's face, Jon rested back onto his shoulder, "Come to bed with me?" Following their recent pattern, there was no response.
The sat together on the kitchen floor for god-knows how long (13 minutes and 47 seconds) before Martin sighed. One arm wrapped under Jon's bottom and the other gripped the counter as he attempted to stand while mostly drunk and carrying someone. Jon gasped, arms wrapping around Martin's neck as he swayed dangerously for a moment before getting his balance back. After ensuring he wasn't about to topple over, he readjusted his grip on Jon and carefully made his way out of the kitchen and across the flat. Jon was deposited on their shared bed, and Martin began to strip out of his work clothes.
For a moment Jon thought that he'd want to engage in sex, and mentally prepared himself for it. He wasn't always in the mood for it, and definitely wasn't right now, but if it meant Martin would touch him, talk to him even, he'd do damn near anything. But he needn't worry, Martin just crawled under the covers, leaving them pulled back for Jon to join him.
And join him Jon did, and despite feeling like he was cuddling a block of ice, he let Martin curl into him, two big hands wrapping around his smaller ones.
"I love you," Jon whispered into his hair.
Martin squeezed his hands tighter, sighing into the crook of his neck.