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Martin’s lips press against his, and Jon sighs into the movement, his fingers sliding through Martin’s curls and down the back of his head. Martin shifts underneath him, allowing Jon’s knees to settle on his thighs.
It’s wonderful, Jon thinks, with as much critical thought as he has left in him, at the moment. It’s wonderful, to kiss Martin, and to be kissed back. It’s been such an impossible fantasy that he can’t quite begin to believe it’s real, and yet, here he is, seated on Martin’s lap, his tongue in his mouth. It’s electric, and Jon can feel it vibrating through his bones as Martin presses back into the couch.
And then, Martin’s hand slides up under his shirt, and the bubble pops. Martin’s fingers dance across his chest, leaving burning lines of heat, and it should feel good. It feels good to Martin, judging by the way he smiles into their kiss, and Jon can’t bring himself to pull away, pushing down a shudder and pressing himself into Martin. He can do this, for him. If it were anyone else, anyone , he wouldn’t cross these lines in his comfort zone, but it is Martin, and Jon can’t bear to have this conversation with him, not when things are so perfect.
He kisses Martin, again, injecting more heat into the action, and tries to relish in Martin’s gasp. He likes the kissing, that much is real, and Jon attempts to focus on that as Martin’s hands trail downwards, gripping his waist and weighing him closer to Martin. He pushes down the violent wave of discomfort, and carries on, trailing a kiss down Martin’s jawbone to hide his shuddering breath. He can do this.
He can’t do this. Martin’s hands are on his waistband, now, fumbling at the zipper, and it’s too much. He shoves himself backwards, out of Martin’s arms and slamming into the other armrest of the couch. Martin startles, pushing himself up on his elbows from his half-lying position and staring at Jon, eyebrows knit in concern.
“Sorry-” His eyes are wide, worried, and Jon curses himself. “Was that too forward? I should have asked, Jon, I-” Martin’s face is red, and Jon rushes to cut him off. “No, no, I- sorry, just startled for a moment.” His breathing is still a bit quick. He tells himself that’s normal for their line of activity, and wills his arms to stop shaking long enough to push himself back over to Martin, pressing into a kiss with forced enthusiasm. Martin kisses back, for a moment, before he catches up with himself and pulls back, eyes on Jon with ever-mounting concern.
“Woah, Jon, hold on,” He catches Jon’s wrists as he goes to loop them around Martin’s neck, holding them loosely in the air between them. Jon’s still half on top of him, chest heaving as he shoves down the tendrils of panic that are currently attempting to claw out his remaining ribs. “Let’s- let's hit pause on this, alright?” Martin’s voice is slow, careful not to spook him, and Jon nods wordlessly, sliding off of Martin’s lap and allowing him to sit upright next to him on the couch. Jon folds his hands in his lap to hide their shaking, face red and embarrassed.
“I’m sorry.” He whispers, eyes trailing anything that isn’t Martin’s face.
“Okay.” Martin takes a hesitant breath, “Sorry for… what?”
Jon finally glances at him, confused. “For- freaking out. I apologize.”
The look on Martin’s face makes Jon want to run out the door and hide. A mixture of surprise and confusion and worry and something Jon can’t quite place, and it’s a bit much to have focused on him. Jon looks away again, cheeks still smoldering.
“Jon, love, that’s- there’s nothing to apologize for. I genuinely should've asked first, that’s on me. We aren’t in a rush here.”
Jon scoffs. “Odds are we both get killed in the next couple of weeks, so I’d say we’re in a bit of a rush.” As soon as the words are out of his mouth he regrets it, and can’t look to watch Martin’s wince.
“Don’t say that, Jon, please.” Martin sighs, running a hand through his hair. Jon murmurs an apology. “It’s- well, it’s- I get it. But I don’t want us to rush into things because we’re worried about time. We can take those steps in our own time, when we’re both ready.”
“I can take the step now. I- I’m ready.” Jon tries to send an encouraging smile to Martin, although judging by Martin’s expression, he is unsuccessful. “Martin, I- lets just get back to it, okay?”
Martin wrinkles his nose. “Get back to it?” He repeats, voice dipping from slight concern to full-scale worry. “Jon, this should be something we both want. If you’re not in the mood right now, that’s fine, I get it.” His smile is gentle, resting a warm hand on his thigh, and Jon should feel comforted. Instead, he wants to throw up, or run, or both.
“What if-” Jon cuts himself off, taking a breath. It was going to come out at one point or another, he knows, but knowing doesn’t make him any more prepared to see the disappointment on Martin’s face. “What if I never am?”
“What?”
“What if I’m never… in the mood?” Jon squeezes his eyes shut, turning his face away from Martin. It doesn’t make the plummeting feeling in his chest when Martin removes his hand from his leg any easier. “I’m sorry, Martin.” His voice is a whisper, but he knows Martin hears him. There’s a long pause, and Jon waits, tense and unmoving. Eventually, he hears Martin take a breath.
“Are you ever in the mood?” Martin asks, his voice inquisitive, calm, and carefully even. Jon shakes his head, face flushing in shame and misery. Martin exhales, slowly. “God, Jon- I’m so sorry.”
It’s not quite what Jon was expecting, and on instinct, he looks up, and Martin catches his gaze. He looks upset, his cheeks pink and eyes round. “What?” He asks, and it sounds stupid, but he can’t organize his thoughts well enough to come up with something more educated.
“I just wish I had known you weren't comfortable with that.” Martin elaborates, leaning back into the couch, still watching Jon, carefully not touching him. Jon wants to burst into tears, and crawl into a hole somewhere and never come out. Suddenly, he wishes he had been more open about this particular setback of his from the beginning, as well. That way he wouldn’t have known the way Martin makes him feel, the way he looks in the morning when the sun dances off his curls, the way his cheeks go red when Jon calls him love, darling, dearest. He wishes he had ended it before it began, so he didn’t have to feel it get ripped away.
“I can sleep on the couch.” Jon inhales, careful not to let his gaze fall on Martin in fear of falling apart. Martin takes a sharp breath. “Jon-”
“It’s fine, Martin, I understand.” Horrifically, Jon can feel himself choking up, tears springing to his eyes despite his best efforts. “I’ll- I-” He cuts himself off before he can incriminate himself further, fingers curling into fists in his lap, nails digging into his palms.
“Wait, Jon,” Martin breathes, clearly sorting through his words before he speaks, “You- if you want to sleep out here, that’s fine, but- Jon, I feel like we’re misunderstanding something here.”
Jon scoffs, the sound wet and closer to a sob. “What is there to misunderstand?”
“Well, first of all, I don’t know if I understand exactly what's going on. You’re asexual?”
Well, Jon thinks miserably, he knows the word, at least. He knows Martin’s general tendency to take fault for everything, a trait he can, admittedly, closely relate to. Perhaps this means he won’t blame himself. This way, he can just blame Jon. He takes a breath and nods. Martin lets out a breath. “Alright. Thank you for telling me, Jon.”
A note of confusion cuts through Jon’s cloud of misery. “What?” He asks again, feeling just as stupid for his lack of eloquence the second time as the first, and, risking collapse, he looks up at Martin. His face, shockingly, is not filled with the bitter disappointment Jon had come to expect from these sorts of conversations, and it’s this that forces him to pause. Martin’s expression is genuine, still worried, but not mad. Jon drags some air into his lungs, exhaling with careful regulation.
“Thank you for telling me.” Martin repeats, tilting his head.
“Why?” Jon can’t help but ask, endless confusion flowing through him as Martin considers the question, eyes sad. “Because I don’t want to do anything you aren’t comfortable with.” He offers, and Jon doesn’t know what’s happening. “We’re in a relationship, Jon, we both need to know the others boundaries. We probably should have had this conversation before, but that’s not really something we can change now, right?”
“You’re- We’re still in a relationship?” Jon is dimly aware that his mouth is open in shock, and he would bother worrying about how ridiculous he must look if he wasn’t being flooded with so much relief that it threatens to knock him over.
Martin’s eyebrows raise. “Yes? Of course we are, Jon-” His eyes widen. “Is that what you meant by sleeping on the couch?”
Jon is silent, unable to formulate his words. Martin waits patiently, and after two full minutes of attempting to pull himself together, he speaks.
“You’re not breaking up with me?” He asks, finally, voice quiet. “No.” Martin confirms, his voice carefully steady. “No.” He repeats, his voice firm, “Never, if I can help it.”
“But-” Jon struggles through his muddled thoughts, “I can- I’ll never be able to do- that .”
Martin nods, and Jon can’t detect a hint of disappointment in his voice when he speaks. “That’s alright, Jon, really. That’s… well, it’s not something I need , I guess.”
“You’re- most people need that, Martin, it’s what relationships are. I’m just- weird.” He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. Martin makes a noise of contempt.
“That is so wrong in so many ways, Jon.” He sighs, drumming his fingers against his thighs. “People aren’t in relationships just for sex. Well, I’m sure some people are. But that's not what relationships are . Sure, I wouldn’t be opposed, and I’m not going to deny that I find you very attractive, but that’s not why we’re in a relationship.”
Jon flushes at the complement, rubbing at his legs self consciously. His head is spinning with emotional whiplash, unable to tear his eyes away from Martin. The relief washing over him is dizzying.
“I’m here because I love you.” Martin continues, and Jon feels himself smile, cheeks blazing. “Because I care about you. Not because I’m trying to get in your pants. Sorry for the crude analogy.” He adds at Jon’s expression. “It’s fine, Martin.” Jon sighs, leaning forwards hesitantly. Martin opens his arms in invitation, and Jon presses into his chest with a sigh.
“Sweetheart, I get this is- difficult to talk about,” Martin says, partially into Jon’s hair, “But we’ve spent enough time withholding information from each other, for one reason or another. I only want to do things we’re both comfortable with, but Jon, I’m not a mind reader, and while you technically are, I would rather you just ask.” He chuckles, and Jon joins him, lifting his chin and settling it on Martin’s shoulder.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Hmm. Let’s set our first boundary: Less apologizing. That goes for both of us.”
Jon huffs. “Yes, alright. I think that’s reasonable.”
Martin giggles. Jon smiles, leaning into Martin’s neck with a sigh. “Okay. You- I’ve got some boundaries too.”
“Go for it.” Martin shifts, turning his ear towards Jon, although he doesn’t pull away. Jon can’t help a bit of relief at that. As much as he likes Martin’s face, eye contact makes these things more stressful than he can take at the moment.
“I… am not comfortable with sex. At all.” He takes a breath, scanning his mental list of ‘ no-goes ’. “Nothing… below-the-belt, as it were. I’m fine with touching, mostly, in the torso-area, although I’d prefer clothes on.”
Martin nods into his hair. “Okay. Good to know.” He doesn’t sound upset, not in the slightest, and Jon thinks he might burst into tears for an entirely different reason. He presses into Martin in silent thanks, and Martin kisses his cheek. “How about kissing?”
“Ah. Well. I enjoy kissing. I enjoy it quite a lot, actually.” Jon’s face heats, and he can feel Martin’s stifled giggles. “Well, I quite like it as well.” Martin’s grin is audible, and Jon pulls back to press a kiss to his temple.
“That’s good. You know I appreciate feedback, although typically in a more professional manner.” He grins at Martin out of the corner of his eye. Martin grins back.
“Ah, of course, I’ll mark it on my HR report about our inappropriate workplace relationship.”
“Don’t bother, Martin. There’s nothing to report. It’s not as if we’re sleeping together.”
Martin laughs, and Jon stifles the sound with his lips.