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By the time they finally reached the cabin, the sun had set and conversation had long since run dry. They'd talked for hours on the train, about all that had happened and all that it meant - and all that they meant to each other - but after the train had been a bus, and after the bus had been a car, and now, after the car, they were exhausted and achy and just wanted sleep.
A few minutes were sacrificed to unpacking the food and supplies they'd picked up on the road, and then by silent agreement they left any further explorations for the morning and turned, together, toward the bedroom.
There was only one bed. It hardly mattered; they would have shared, anyway, even if there were two.
The door latched with a click behind them, and Martin turned to drop the bag he was carrying against the wall. Jon stepped closer as he straightened again, and, as soon as he was sure Martin saw him coming, cupped his face between his hands and kissed him soundly.
It wasn't their first kiss; that had been had many hours ago, when they were both still frozen and shaking from the Lonely. It was close enough to it to still sing with newness, though.
Martin's hands came up to clasp around Jon's wrists; Jon's skin burned at the contact, every place they touched.
Martin leaned his forehead against Jon's when they parted, smiling ever so slightly. "Ready for bed?" he asked.
"Yes."
"D'you, uh," Martin grimaced for a moment, awkward. "I don't usually wear pajamas?" he continued after a moment. "Will that bother you?"
A tingle crept up Jon's spine, nearly making him shiver. "No," he said. "Not at all. I'm pretty sure I forgot my own, anyway."
Martin huffed a laugh. "Alright, then."
He nearly reached out again when Martin stepped away, missing the contact already. He hadn't realized just how much he needed it until he got a taste; now that he had, it burned it him, a constant drive to be close.
There was still enough awkwardness that they turned their backs as they each stripped down to their pants. Jon tossed his clothes in a pile in the corner and slid quickly under the bedsheets, pulling them up to his neck against the chill of the night.
He waited until Martin had settled in next to him, pulling the sheets up around his shoulders and clicking off the light. Then any restraint he might have been exercising wore away. He rolled over, tossing one arm over Martin's chest and wriggling the other under his back, tangling their legs together and pressing in until their torsos were flush all in one movement. He pressed his face into Martin's hair, inhaling deeply, and squeezed him tight.
Martin's stomach jumped as his breath hitched. "Jon!" he gasped, half surprised, half laughing.
"It this alright?" Jon checked, murmuring the words into Martin's hair.
"Y-yes, it's- yes," Martin said. His own arms came up, tentatively, to encircle Jon in turn.
Jon practically arched into the contact, pressing back into Martin's hands and then clutching him close again. He was so warm. Every place where they touched felt like it was tingling with heat, the deep, good pleasure-pain of a frozen limb beginning to thaw.
"I've been so skin-starved for you," Jon whispered, barely aware of the words as he said them. It was true, in all it's nuance: Jon generally considered himself fairly touch averse, and even more so after everything that had happened over the past few years. But for Martin, and Martin only... Martin he had been aching for, a deep-seated need for contact burrowing its way down to his bones.
He could feel Martin swallow, the motion of his throat as it worked. "Jon," he breathed, and his own arms tightened, squeezing Jon close with a secure pressure that was exactly what he needed right now.
Jon nuzzled his way out of Martin's hair until he could press his nose into his cheek, inhaling warm skin-smell of him; then, on a whim, he tensed, tightening his core muscles and torquing his hips so he could roll them both over, landing on his back with all of Martin's weight settled firmly on top of him, pressing him down into the mattress.
"Jon!" Martin gasped, jumping at the unexpected movement and shifting like he was about to get off.
Jon tightened his grip on him, locking his arms firmly around Martin's back and linking his ankles together at the back of Martin's thighs before he could go anywhere.
"Stay. Please," he murmured, and Martin hesitated for a moment before relaxing, and sinking back down on top of Jon. Like this, their heads were resting on the pillow next to each other, Martin's tilted slightly toward Jon so that he wasn't completely faceplanted in the fabric. Jon leaned to the side until he could feel Martin's breath ghosting over his cheek.
He could feel the tension draining out of his body as they laid there, every ounce of stress bleeding away with the warm solidity of Martin on top of him. Jon had tried weighted blankets before, and they were good, but nothing, nothing compared to having all fifteen stone of his new boyfriend resting comfortably on his chest, his hair tickling Jon's forehead where they leaned together, the warmth of him sinking down into his bones.
One of Martin's arms was pinned under Jon's back. His free hand brushed lightly over Jon's side, sending a pleasant, ticklish tingle across the skin there.
After a moment, Martin sighed.
"Hm?" Jon asked.
"Nothing," Martin said. "I just love you."
Jon felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest, with how full it felt. He squeezed his eyes shut against the prick of tears, and squeezed Martin tighter.
"I love you too," he whispered hoarsely. "I've missed you so much."
Martin moved, pressing his lips to Jon's cheek. "Thank you for coming after me," he said, soft enough that Jon wouldn't have heard it if he wasn't so close.
"Thank you for coming back with me," he replied, so quiet he wasn't sure that Martin would hear him at all.
But Martin kissed him again in acknowledgement, so Jon turned his head to capture Martin's lips with his own.
It was slow, and unhurried; the kind of kiss that said they had all night for it, if they wanted. When they finally parted they stayed close enough that their noses brushed, breathing each other's air in the quiet hush of the room.
Martin's hand, which had come to rest on Jon's waist, slipped off to land limp against the mattress. His breathing deepened, edging into a slightly nasally snore on the inhale. His eyes fluttered behind their closed lids.
A smile tugged at Jon's lips as he realized that Martin had fallen asleep, still on top of him. He couldn't blame him; it had been a long day.
Jon stretched as well as he could, reaching for the ceiling with each arm in turn before settling them firmly back around Martin. He tugged at the sheet, pulling it up until it covered them both.
Then he closed his eyes, settled even deeper into the comfortable warmth of Martin, and joined him in sleep.