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The music was loud, the room was crowded, and Jon was having more fun than he could have ever thought possible at a university party.
It was his last year - their last year, as he was here with Martin - and finals were finally over. For once, he had no responsibilities hanging over his head, no essays to write or classes to go to the next day, and he could finally, finally, cut loose.
A cheer rose up over the sound of the music, and Jon joined in, though he hardly knew what he was cheering. Freedom, probably. Freedom from the endless grind of grade point averages and academic reviews. Yes, he was going on to get his master’s after this, but he wasn’t going to think about that right now. Right now, he was done.
“Martin!” he shouted over the noise of the crowd, winding his way back from the drinks table to the corner where they’d been spending the evening. “Martin, they’ve cleared the dancefloor, come on!”
“What?” Martin shouted back to him, cupping one hand around his ear. His shoulders were pressed back against the wall, making himself small. He said something else, a question that seemed to end in ‘drinks’ - Jon had been going to fetch them before he’d seen the floor open up - but Jon just shook his head, grabbing his wrist and leaning in so he could talk directly into Martin’s ear.
“Dancing!”
Martin pulled back to look at him, and Jon pointed with his free hand to the middle of the room. Martin looked, then looked back at Jon and nodded, smiling. Jon smiled back, dragging on his hand to pull him through the crowd and onto the dancefloor.
It wasn’t all that much clearer than the rest of the room, truth be told, but everyone was moving and there weren’t as many drinks at risk of getting knocked over, so it was possible to jump in place and wiggle a bit without annoying the rest of the crowd. Jon laughed as they immersed themselves in it, grabbing Martin’s other hand and tugging him along in time with the thumping bass line.
Martin’s eyes were bright with mirth as he followed along, and Jon couldn’t tell if he was enjoying the movement or just laughing at Jon. He didn’t really care either way.
The song faded away, and in the brief moment of quiet before the next one came on Martin leaned in. “Having fun?”
“So much fun,” Jon grinned, and that was all he managed before the music came back and drowned him out again.
He wasn’t sure if what they were doing could technically be called dancing, but whatever it was Jon knew he looked ridiculous doing it. There was a lot of… random gyrating happening in the crowd around the two of them, and Jon tried to mimic it, occasionally grabbing onto Martin for balance when he tripped over his own feet. Martin, for his part, seemed to be picking it up pretty well, steady on his feet and stepping out of the way of other dancers as they careened past. His eyes barely left Jon, and the heat in the room was making his face flush.
...Maybe he was just embarrassed at how bad Jon’s dancing was. Jon didn’t particularly mind. Martin blushing was one of his favorite sights in the world.
A third possibility made itself known to him with startling suddenness, as Jon attempted a spin and collided with one of his fellow dancers. They both reeled back, grabbing for the people around them to steady themselves. Jon felt Martin's hands latch onto his shoulders, but his momentum still carried him into a full-bodied backward fall against the other man. They froze there for a moment, motionless in the press of dancers around them as Jon struggled to get his feet steady under him, and he realized, with a world-shifting shock, that his best friend and long-time crush was hard.
He could feel it through Martin's trousers, right where his own hip was flush against Martin's crotch. Martin was aroused, highly so, the solidness of him pressing against Jon, and oh, he had been watching Jon dance, hadn't he?
Jon finally got his feet under him, peeling himself away from Martin and turning to face him. Martin was blushing harder than ever, trying to avoid Jon's gaze.
Sorry, he mouthed, cringing slightly, and then another sentence that Jon couldn't lip-read.
Jon grabbed his wrist, tugging until Martin finally looked at him.
Is this because of me? he mouthed, but Martin just frowned at him.
Jon rolled his eyes, silently cursing the loud music. He flicked a quick look down to the almost-visible bulge in Martin's trousers, then up at his face again, hoping he would understand what Jon was asking.
Me? he mouthed again.
Martin hesitated, then nodded, small and quick. Jon couldn't stop the grin that spread over his face at that.
Come on, he mouthed in the face of Martin's baffled expression, and started dragging him toward the edge of the crowd.
The air outside the building was cool and damp, and the ground glistened slightly under the streetlights with recently fallen rain. Somewhere between the dancefloor and the doors Jon had slipped his hand down from Martin's wrist, lacing his fingers between his friend's, and had felt a sharp thrill go through him when Martin responded in kind.
He took a deep breath as the doors shut behind them, closing off the noise of the party, and turned to Martin with a grin.
Martin was still blushing, looking at him with wide eyes. "Where- um. Where are we going?" he asked, swinging their entwined hands between them.
"Back home," Jon said decisively. "Back to the flat."
Martin inhaled sharply, hand tightening around Jon's. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Jon said, and began tugging him along.
He wasn't entirely clear on what his own plan was, here. And he was fairly sure he should be discussing it more with Martin. It was hard to think through the noise in his head, though. He'd pretty much gotten as far as 'my crush thinks I'm sexually appealing' before his higher brain functions had decided to shut down and throw an even more raucous celebratory party than the one being held in the building they'd just vacated.
He glanced to the side, catching Martin in the act of doing the same, and laughed, leaning to the side to bump their shoulders together. He felt giddy, light as air.
Martin thought he was hot.
It was a short walk through the quiet streets to their flat, and a shorter walk up the stairs to their floor. Jon only dropped Martin's hand once they got to the door, and he had to fish in his pocket for the keys.
They abandoned their shoes on the mat by the doorway, and Jon grabbed Martin's hand again, pulling him toward the bedrooms. Martin made a small, surprised noise at that, stumbling slightly as he followed. Jon elected to use his own room for this; they may have shared the flat, but there was still enough privacy to the separate rooms that inviting Martin into his own in such a manner felt intimate and new.
Speaking of newness…
Jon kicked his bedroom door shut behind them, and as soon as it was closed he reached out, grabbing Martin by the collar of his shirt and pressing him back against the wall as he kissed him.
Martin made another noise, a better noise, a small whine just on the edge of a moan, and his mouth fell open under Jon's as his hands found a purchase on his waist to draw him closer.
Jon smiled into the kiss, leaning forward into Martin's warmth and letting his hands migrate up into his hair. God, he'd wanted this for so long, had been pining and yearning and who knows what other poetic words Martin would use for it, driving himself to distraction with idle daydreams about what life could be like if only Martin liked him back.
And now Martin's fingers were finding their way under his shirt, brushing gently over the skin of his lower back, and Jon had to stop kissing him for a moment because his smile was so wide.
"Jon," Martin breathed out, eyes closed, mouth open, lips pink and damp from kissing Jon.
"Martin," Jon replied, then in a flash of inspiration ducked back in to start kissing a line from the corner of his jaw to his ear. He was pretty sure he'd heard Martin say that was hot, once.
Martin squeaked, jumping in surprise, and Jon huffed an amused breath across his cheek in between kisses.
"A-are-" Martin stuttered "Jon, are you drunk?"
Jon snorted, nose pressed into the hair behind Martin's ear. "No, I'm not drunk. Wait-" He froze, then, as a thought hit. "Are you drunk? I don't want to do this if you're drunk."
"No, no, I…" Martin's hands brushed lightly over Jon's back, rucking his shirt up a bit, and Jon's eyes slipped shut at the feel of it. "I feel like I must be drunk, otherwise this wouldn't- but I only had a few sips of beer, I'm completely sober."
"Good." Jon kissed him again, on the lips, and made a soft noise of complaint when Martin broke it off quickly.
"Yeah, someone forgot to bring me a drink, how could I be drunk?" he said, and Jon really didn't think that comment was worth stopping a kiss to say.
"Oh, shut up. You don't seem to be complaining about the change in evening plans," he said, and kissed Martin again before he could reply.
They stayed like that for a long while, caught in the soft movement of lips and tongue and the occasional nip of teeth, and Jon could feel himself melting into Martin as those hands continued to run over his back, drawing away the ever-present tension in his shoulders as well as any massage.
Even as Jon relaxed, he could tell Martin was getting more and more wound up against him: his breath was coming quick, his kisses getting sloppier and more desperate, his hands shifting from brushing gently over Jon's back to clutching eagerly at his shirt. Jon ran his hands over Martin's chest, pushing him back against the wall again, and slipped a hand under his shirt to repeat the motion, only this time without the layer of cloth between them.
Martin whimpered at the feeling of Jon's bare skin against his own, and Jon came to a sudden and certain decision of how he wanted this night to go.
He dropped both hands from Martin's chest, pressing one against him through his jeans - Martin gasped, throwing his head back against the wall hard enough Jon was briefly worried he'd given himself a concussion - while his other fumbled with the button.
"W-wait, Jon!" Martin's hands seized on his wrists, stopping him from pulling down the zipper, and he held him there for a moment while he struggled to get his breath back. His hands were shaking slightly. "I- I thought-" he finally managed. "I thought- you're asexual?"
Jon kissed him. Martin clearly wasn't expecting it, letting out a muffled mph! against his mouth. Jon hadn't really planned the kiss either, to be fair. But the fact that Martin cared enough to pause and ask him, even here, even now, even though Jon was the one initiating, made his heart swell with fondness.
"Action and attraction aren't the same, we've talked about this." They had. A lot. Martin had gotten the brunt of Jon's research-driven ramblings back when he was first figuring himself out. "I want to do this, Martin. I want to put my mouth on you." Martin gasped again. "Do you want me to?"
"Yes." He released Jon's wrists, pupils blown wide with desire. "Yes, please."
Jon grinned, finally sorting the zipper and palming at Martin through the cloth. Martin's head fell back against the wall, gentler this time, and he moaned.
"God, Jon."
"This feel good?" Jon asked, squeezing lightly.
"God," Martin said again, shutting his eyes. "Yes."
Jon kissed him, softly, on the cheek because it looked like he was having trouble breathing as it was without Jon coming along and blocking his mouth. He leaned his forehead against Martin's, closing his eyes, and focused on the movement of his hands as he pushed the jeans down a bit, and then slipped a hand under the waistband of Martin's briefs to finally wrap his fingers around his cock.
Martin made a soft choking noise, hips canting forward to push himself further into Jon's hand.
There wasn't much room to maneuver from this angle, but Jon did his best, running his fingers lightly along Martin's length, trying to be gentle given the lack of lubrication he was working with. Martin kept making those small noises, somewhere on the edge between desperate and pained, and after a moment Jon stilled his hand to murmur against his lips.
"Martin?"
"Yes," Martin gasped. His voice was shaky.
"Are those- um, I can't tell. Are those good noises, or…?"
Martin laughed. It sounded a little hysterical. "So good, Jon, please don't stop."
"Okay, good." Jon kissed his cheek again, resuming the movement of his hand, and Martin whimpered.
Another moment of this; then Jon pulled his hand away entirely, pressing his lips to Martin's as he did so to swallow the desperate groan that drew from him. The groan trailed off into a sigh as he opened his eyes, and then he fell silent, watching as Jon sank to his knees before him.
"Oh," he said.
"Yeah." Jon grabbed the waistband of his jeans, pulling both them and his briefs down in a single movement and leaving Martin bare. "I did say I wanted to put my mouth on you."
Martin swallowed. "So you did."
There was already precum beading at the head of his cock. Jon reached out, wrapping a hand around him again, and stroked him a few times just to hear him gasp.
"Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" he said, scooting forward on his knees to bring himself level with Martin's erection.
"That's, uh, probably not going to happen," Martin said. Jon glanced up. Martin was staring at him, eyes wide with wonder, face flushed.
"Still." He leaned in, opening his mouth, and Martin's breath hitched. Then he paused. "And, um. You can put your hands in my hair. Just don't pull."
"Okay." Martin moved, placing his hands on Jon's head. "Can I take out your ponytail?"
"Yeah." Jon dipped his head slightly, and Martin worked the elastic free, letting out a soft sigh as Jon's long hair fell loose around his shoulders. He brushed it out of Jon's face, thumbs running softly over his cheekbones, then moved his hands to the back of Jon's head to tangle his fingers in it. Jon smiled.
Then he leaned forward, grabbed Martin's hips to hold him in place, and took his cock into his mouth.
"Jon…" Martin moaned, hands tightening in his hair, and Jon hummed a wordless reply that had Martin gasping for air.
He made a mental note of that. Humming, apparently, felt nice.
Then he focused on the task at hand.
It was a… strange sensation. Jon held still for a moment, adjusting. Martin’s skin tasted like… well, skin. It was soft, and very warm. The precum at the tip tasted slightly bitter, which he had been expecting, and slightly salty, which he had not. Jon sucked, experimentally, and Martin made a sound like he was in pain. He wasn’t acting like he was in pain, though, so Jon assumed that this, too, was a good noise.
He should probably move. Jon bobbed his head a little, taking another inch or so of Martin’s cock. It felt larger, now that it was in his mouth, and no matter how delightful the noises Martin was making were, Jon didn't particularly want this to end with him retching on the carpet. He contented himself with what he had managed so far, running his hand over the rest of Martin’s length and squeezing gently to draw another of those noises from him.
Good. He could do this.
Jon bobbed his head again, matching its rhythm to the pace of his hand moving over the base of Martin’s cock. It was slick and easy, wet with his spit, and he started to sink into it, letting his racing thoughts calm and just feeling what it was like to have Martin under his hands like this.
It was… nice. It was very nice. Unexpectedly nice, in that Jon was beginning to feel a low-level buzz of answering arousal simply from the feeling of Martin's hot, slick cock moving in and out of his mouth. Not enough to do anything with, but still more than he had anticipated.
He hummed again, enjoying the feeling, and Martin gasped. He twitched, hips pushing forward off the wall and driving his cock deeper into Jon's mouth, back and into his throat. It was a heady sensation, the heavy, thick length of it filling his throat and choking off his breath, and Jon let out a small whimper through his nose as the faint arousal he was feeling spiked sharply. That was… interesting. And something he'd be curious to explore more in the future.
For now, though, there was barely a second to process the sensation before Martin was pulling back again with a stuttered apology, and Jon gagged with a delayed wave of nausea at the intrusion.
He pulled off entirely, lengthening the strokes of his hand to cover the space his mouth no longer did, and swallowed thickly before talking.
"It's, ah, alright, Martin," he said, voice a bit rough. "I don't mind, just- try not to do it again?"
"Yeah, yeah, of course," Martin panted, pressing his head back into the wall as his whole body shivered under a wave of pleasure. "God, Jon," he choked out. "You feel so good."
"Glad to hear it." Jon grinned, then dived back in, taking Martin back into his mouth and sucking enthusiastically to draw another deep moan from him.
Martin didn't last long. A few minutes wound their way past them, lost to soft noises and heated breaths. Jon could feel the tension building in Martin's muscles even though he had closed his own eyes. He drew back, just a little, and flicked his tongue over the tip of Martin's cock.
"J-Jon-" Martin gasped. His hips were twitching, small, aborted movements as he held himself back from thrusting further into Jon's mouth.
Jon gave an inquiring hum.
"Jon I'm cl-" He broke off on a moan, tried again. "I'm close."
Jon considered the situation. Then he pulled off. This was something that needed to be verbally confirmed. "Martin," he said, slowly and solemnly, looking up at Martin from his knees. "I want you to come in my mouth."
Martin choked on a breath, his eyes snapping open to look at Jon. "G-god, are you s-sure?"
"Positive." Jon leaned forward again, close enough that his breath ghosted over Martin's cock as he whispered, "Come for me, Martin."
Then he surged forward, taking Martin as deep into his mouth as he could manage without gagging.
Martin cried out, throwing his head back. His hands tightened in Jon's hair, almost to the point of discomfort; then relaxed, with a very deliberate motion that told Jon Martin was very much aware of what he was doing, and consciously avoiding hurting him.
Warmth flooded Jon's chest at the thought; he sucked, hard, and a second later warmth was flooding his mouth as well as Martin came with a cut off moan. All of his muscles tensed for one long, suspended moment, and then he sagged against the wall behind him, breathing hard.
Jon, for his part, pulled off as delicately as he could manage, and swallowed quickly to dispense with the mouthful of Martin's come he had been left with. It didn't taste bad, per say, but it certainly didn't taste good, either. And it had a weird texture. He coughed, once, then looked up to where Martin was still leaning against the wall, looking dazed.
“Martin?”
Martin’s knees buckled. Jon’s hands shot out to brace him at the hips before he could slide too far down the wall.
“Hold on, your jeans’ll get tangled,” he said, and pulled both Martin’s pants and jeans back up, tucking him carefully away before doing up the zipper. Martin shifted his gaze down from the unfocused stare he had been giving the ceiling to watch him with a stunned expression.
After Martin was sorted out, Jon turned to his own situation, casting around on the floor nearby until he spotted his messenger bag propped against the base of his bookshelves. He leaned over, snagging it by the strap to drag it closer, then opened the front pocket with two fingers and reached inside to retrieve a wet wipe. This he used to clean the residue of Martin’s come and his own saliva off his hands and face; then the strap of the bag, and the place he had touched the front pocket.
He tossed the wipe into the trash bin across the room with an easy movement and ran a hand through his hair. It was still a rumpled mess from Martin’s hands; he smiled, and looked back up at Martin.
Martin was staring at him, lips slightly parted, eyes wide. He held Jon’s gaze for a second; then his legs really did give out, and he fell to his knees. Jon attempted to catch him, but didn’t quite succeed: they ended up facing each other, both sitting back on their heels, with Jon’s hands on Martin’s arms.
They looked at each other for a long moment.
“Was that… alright?” Jon asked hesitantly. Martin’s continued silence was making him nervous. “It’s the first time I’ve ever done something like that, I don’t exactly have much practice…”
Martin let out a breath of a laugh, ducking his head. “I, uh… I don’t know? No one’s ever, I mean…” He paused, blushing. “I haven’t, either. It felt amazing, though.”
“Oh,” Jon said, relieved. “Good. In that case I’m going to assume I aced it.” He raised an eyebrow, grinning, waiting for Martin to get it.
Martin groaned. “Jon, was that a joke?”
Jon chuckled. “Come on, you have to admit it was a good one.”
“Yeah, yeah, that was- really, Jon?” But he was laughing too, and he leaned forward into Jon’s chest, breath huffing across his neck until they both calmed down.
“Hey,” Jon said softly, holding him. “Stay the night?”
Martin leaned back, just a little, enough to raise an eyebrow at Jon. “We live together.”
Jon rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I know, I mean- stay here. With me.” He jerked his head to the side, toward his own bed.
Martin followed the motion, glancing in that direction, before looking back at Jon. He had a terribly vulnerable expression on his face for a moment. Then it eased into a sardonic grin.
“Oh,” he said, overly-serious. “But then I’ll have to do the walk of shame in the morning to get back to my place.”
Jon snorted. “Don’t worry, I’ll walk you home,” he said, blasé. “All the way across the hallway.”
“Will you really?” Martin asked earnestly, and they were both still laughing as Jon stood up, tugging on Martin’s arm to drag him after, and pulled them both over to the bed.
Jon kicked his jeans off before sliding under the blankets, and Martin followed suit before joining him.
They laid there for a moment in the semi-darkness, not touching.
It occurred to Jon quite belatedly that they hadn’t really talked about what had just happened before it did, in fact, happen, and though both of them had been quite clear that they wanted it they hadn’t established what it might mean.
A lump formed in Jon’s throat as he realized that it might not mean the same to Martin as it had to him. He screwed up his courage.
“Martin,” he said quietly.
“Yeah?” There was a wavering undercurrent to Martin’s voice. He was nervous too, then.
“We should… we should talk.”
“Yeah.”
Silence.
Jon took a shallow breath. “You think I’m attractive,” he started with, as it seemed to be the most certain fact he was working with.
“Yeah,” Martin said again. “...You don’t seem to be bothered by that.”
That was an understatement.
“I’m not.” Jon fiddled with the edge of the blanket where it was pulled up over his shoulders, trying to find the words to say what he meant. "I suppose… I suppose I’m just wondering how far it goes? Is it… do you just think I'm hot, or do you have feelings for me?" The last words were said in a rush, as his nerves caught up with him.
Martin paused for an agonizing second before responding, and when he did, he spoke slowly, choosing his words with care.
"I do have feelings for you," he said, and Jon would have kissed him if he wasn't too curious about what else Martin had to say. "I've had feelings for you for… well, for a while, at this point. But I value our friendship too highly to have acted on them." He paused, and Jon didn’t have to look to know he was pursing his lips, brow furrowing as he thought. "Or, to have acted on them with no indication of whether or not you felt the same. You- well, you did- yeah.”
“Yeah,” Jon echoed, smiling. He certainly had.
Martin said nothing. Jon turned his head to the side to find Martin staring at him, frowning slightly. "Um," Jon said, realizing he hadn’t exactly articulated himself clearly. "I do. Feel the same. Toward you."
"Oh," Martin breathed, face splitting into a stunned and relieved smile. "Oh, you- you do?"
"Y-yeah," Jon mimicked the smile. "Um. For a long time, now. But I- I didn't think you reciprocated."
"I do," Martin said quickly, then laughed. "That's… wow, that’s…"
"Yeah," Jon said again. "So, um. Do you… want to? Um, be with me, I mean. Like, date. I'd like to, but if you'd rather we just be friends I underst-"
Martin moved, sudden enough to make Jon startle, and covered his mouth with one hand.
"I want that, Jon," he said.
All the tension drained from Jon’s shoulders. He smiled into Martin’s hand. “Good,” he said, muffled, and Martin laughed, his eyes bright.
“Very good,” he agreed, dropping his hand.
Jon leaned forward, crossing the small space between them to place a chaste kiss on Martin’s lips. It was careful, and gentle; it felt far more vulnerable than the heated kisses they had exchanged before, and all the better for it. Martin pressed back into it, lifting one hand to rest against Jon’s side as he did.
They pulled back after a long, slow moment. Jon smiled softly; Martin just looked at him, with eyes that were wide and full of wonder.
“C’mere,” Jon said quietly, and rolled onto his back, opening his arms. Martin took the hint immediately, curling into him, tucking his head into Jon’s chest. Together they pulled and tugged at the blankets until they were both enclosed in a warm cocoon, and then they settled, falling into a peaceful silence.
Jon tried to relax. It was hard, though, with the weight of Martin in his arms and the giddy sparks of delight that it set off in his chest. He found himself grinning into the darkness, his lips twitching back into a smile every time he felt Martin’s chest rise and fall against his own. He was just so happy. He’d had feelings for Martin for so long, and to find out he felt the same - to be here, falling asleep next to him, literally living out one of his fantasies - it was better than he ever could have dreamed.
He was focused on the rhythm of Martin’s breathing, trying to match his own to it in an attempt to ease himself into sleep, so he noticed immediately when Martin’s breath hitched.
Jon frowned, and leaned back a bit to try and catch a glimpse of Martin’s face.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Is everything-” Martin shifted, and Jon saw that he was crying. His heart dropped like a stone. “Oh god, Martin, is everything okay?”
“It’s- it’s fine, Jon, I’m-” Martin said, choking on an embarrassed laugh. “It’s great, it’s just, it’s all starting to sink in? You- you’re here, you like me, this is real, and- and it’s a bit overwhelming, and sometimes when I’m really happy I start to cry? It’s not bad, it’s just a thing, and I know it’s weird…” he trailed off, eyes searching Jon’s face. “Jon?”
Jon stared at him for a long moment, expressionless. Then he said: “That’s adorable.”
“Oh!” Martin’s cheeks pinked. He looked flustered. “Is- is it?”
“It really is.” Jon leaned forward to kiss him again, and Martin’s breath caught. He pulled back, brushing away a fresh wave of tears with his thumb, and pressed a kiss to Martin’s damp cheek. Something in Martin’s expression cracked, and a choked sob forced its way out of his chest. He was clearly trying to hold it back, but-
“C’mere,” Jon said again, pulling Martin back into his arms. He laced a hand through his hair; kissed any part of him he could reach; let him cry into his shoulder. “As long as you’re alright, I’m happy,” he said firmly. “If this is because you’re happy-” he broke off with a disbelieving laugh. “God, Martin, do I really make you this happy?”
“You really do,” Martin said, through his sobs.
“You make me happy too,” Jon whispered into his hair. “I’m so glad you’re here, Martin.”
Martin just clung to him tighter.
It took a while for the storm of emotions to pass; when it did, Martin murmured a quiet thanks into the crook of Jon’s neck, hiding his face away.
“Any time,” Jon replied, running his hand over Martin’s back.
Martin hummed softly; adjusted his arms around Jon so he could burrow closer. “Can I still stay the night?”
Jon huffed a laugh at the thought that he would ever, under any circumstances, retract that offer. “You’d better,” he said. “I haven’t felt this cosy in ages.” He tugged the blankets a little higher around them to prove his point.
“Noted,” Martin said, with a smile in his voice. “In that case… goodnight, Jon.”
“Goodnight, Martin,” Jon echoed. He leaned their heads together for a brief moment, then relaxed back into the pillow.
It was quiet in the room; comfortable. He listened as Martin’s breathing evened out into the deep and regular rhythm of sleep. He closed his eyes; smiled. Tried to remember a time when he’d been happier, and couldn’t.
Safe and warm, with Martin in his arms, Jon fell asleep.