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Jon comes out of the bathroom in a towel and Martin watches him rummage through their bags (which are somehow still not unpacked, even after a month) out of the side of his eye. He ends up wandering back into the bathroom still undressed and comes back out with the laundry hamper.
“You’re not putting on something dirty are you?” Martin asks with a wrinkled nose, because Jon knows he has opinions and one of those opinions is that only clean clothes should go on clean bodies and clothes only have a wear-life of one day before they need washing. Yes, even jumpers. No, it doesn’t matter that they don’t actually touch your skin, they still get dirty.
Jon gives Martin a guilty look. “The only clean clothing of mine I can find is a pair of socks. I was going to put the laundry on…”
“You can wear one of my jumpers,” Martin suggests.
He has eight of them, stuffed into an ikea bag as they wouldn’t fit in the suitcase. One or two might be going to holes around the cuffs, but it’s hard enough to find the thick, baggy jumpers Martin likes that aren’t also made out of that scratchy wool blend that makes him nauseous to wear.
“Are you sure?” Jon asks, like it wouldn’t be. It’s not as if Martin considers his jumpers sacred or anything. He just likes them. A lot.
He likes Jon a lot too. It would make sense that he would like them in combination.
“'Course,” Martin says. “You can borrow a pair of my sweats too, if you like.”
“I don’t think those are going to fit me. They’d be too long.” Jon doesn’t mention that they’d probably also fall down. A belt might at least solve that situation. They don’t have a pair of stilts to fix the height problem.
“Are you planning on going somewhere?” Martin asks. If Jon isn’t moving around it them, it won’t matter that much.
Maybe he doesn’t like big baggy clothes? Jon’s never mentioned it, so it’s not like he can expect Martin to know.
“Well, to the washing machine,” Jon says. Not a far journey. “I don’t want to trip with a full basket.”
That’s understandable.
Besides, the maroon jumper that Jon goes into the bedroom, selects, and then pulls on is long enough to hit him at mid thigh. No need for trousers under that. Not that Martin particularly wants to ogle, but he does like it when Jon is soft and comfortable. (At least he didn’t choose the truly massive blue one - even Martin swims in that and it would probably be down to Jon’s knees.)
Jon disappears to the little laundry room. Martin would help, but putting on the laundry is kind of a one-man job because they don’t really fit in front of the machine at the same time. At least there is a washing machine up here and they don’t have to scrub their clothes clean in the stream at the bottom of the valley.
And anyway, the next program up is Pride and Prejudice. The 1995 version, that is. When he saw it in the T.V. schedule, he was… well, ecstatic might not be strong enough a word.
The thing is, he’s sort of obsessed with it? Someone got him the box set when he was a kid and it just clicked. The old VCR no longer works, but Martin still has the tapes back home. He’s seen each episode enough times to pretty much recite the script word for word. But watching them over and over never gets boring.
Jon’s back just before it starts, his cheeks flushed from the chill. At least he had his socks to wear. The floor in the laundry is like a block of ice.
“Bloody cold in there,” he says.
The little utility room does end up freezing. It isn’t as well insulated as the rest of the little cottage (which means none, as opposed to minimal). The flagstone floor in there is murder now and Martin has just decided he’ll avoid going in there at all if they’re still here come the dead of winter. Jon can do the laundry and Martin will take on all the kitchen chores, where he can stay nice and warm (and Jon cannot complain, because he’s gone on at length about how much he hates cooking for himself).
“Come share the blanket, then.” Martin says. It’s a silky texture on top, but the underside is soft faux wool, and Martin lifts the corner of it in invitation.
It isn’t the blanket, as in the only one in the cottage. There’s another one on the bed, but that’s the sleeping blanket and it doesn’t belong on the sofa. (There’s also the one stuffed into the back of the airing cupboard, but Martin tries not to remember it’s there because it’s all bobbled and Martin just can’t with that texture.)
He meant that as an invitation to the other seat of the sofa, but Jon slides into Martin’s lap instead. That’s okay though. Jon isn’t tall enough to block Martin’s view of the telly, and he’s a pleasant weight on Martin’s legs.
Jon shifts in his lap slightly and Martin wraps his arms around the other man as they both get settled. Or rather, once Jon’s leant forward and picked his book up off the coffee table, they both get settled.
Martin isn’t upset that Jon isn’t going to watch alongside him. Television just doesn’t really capture Jon’s interest in the same way that radio does nothing for Martin. He knows Jon has read the book. He can follow along well enough when Martin starts to talk about his favourite scenes.
It’s also pretty easy for Martin to be happy with the situation because Jon’s shoulder is at just the right height to rest his chin on. And Jon probably likes that too, because he lifts one of Martin’s hands to his lips and kisses it before placing it around his waist.
And then the show begins.
The slight noise of Jon turning pages does not distract Martin.
The fact that Jon is right there in a nice soft jumper with a very strokable tummy? Well, that doesn’t distract Martin per se, because his attention is very much not divided from Mr. William Collins visiting his cousins.
But it’s easy to let his hand slide back and forth. Comforting, even. Martin keeps his touch firm enough not to tickle, because he doesn’t want Jon’s laughter interrupting right now. The fabric of the jumper is soft on the back of his hand, and Jon’s skin is interesting, texturally. Martin likes to think he can pick out where the scars are by touch alone.
His navel is easy to find and trace around. And the texture change as Martin finds the little trail of hair that leads south is fascinating. He follows that little pathway downwards.
And, well, here’s the thing: there’s lots of interesting things down there to play with. Curly hair that’s interesting to pet. Little soft things that are a nice half-a-handful. Delicate things he can stroke over and feel how thin the skin is.
And here’s the other thing: you don’t come and sit in the lap of your highly tactile boyfriend with no bottoms on and expect not to be fondled, at least a little bit. Martin knows this. Martin knows that Jon knows this, okay?
They’ve had sex. The ‘roses on the bedspread, I’ve lit candles’ sort of sex. It sounds odd, two aces deciding to bump uglies. But they were both curious. And a little bored.
Martin found it a little meh. Like, it was fun. He’d happily try it again - touching Jon’s penis didn’t (doesn’t) upset him at all. But he’s not going to take the initiative unless there’s shit-all else to do.
Jon didn’t like it as much. It’s not so much the act - he’s happy to be touched, even to do the touching if Martin so desires - but he didn’t like the pressure of it. The planning. The ‘sex is going to happen now and you will enjoy it’ side of things.
But Jon likes this sort of thing. The sort of thing that just sort of happens, and it doesn’t matter where it ends, because no target was ever discussed. No pressure to perform - Martin might not even get him off, that’s certainly not his goal here, because he’s just idly exploring different textures - and no disappointment on either end if things don’t go as planned.
And this isn’t planned. It isn’t even necessarily sex. Jon is busy reading. Martin is engrossed by what’s on the telly.
Besides, Jon is both capable of saying ‘no’ if he wants to stop, or of taking that spare seat at Martin’s side instead of staying on his lap. He didn’t have to climb into Martin’s lap in the first place. But he doesn’t move or say anything, just spreads his legs a little so there’s room for Martin’s hand.
So Martin feels no guilt in holding that little soft handful. He feels around for where the head is hidden in a nice furrow of foreskin - so fun to play with, Martin wishes he had one himself. It slides nicely around, over what it’s covering, when Martin drags his fingertips against it. Martin didn’t lube up his fingers, so there must be something under there that helping it drag so smoothly.
Well, there’s definitely something under there. That’s the thing with nice, soft penises. They don’t stay soft for long with this kind of treatment.
Martin leaves Jon’s penis alone before it can plump up too much. There are pastures greener to explore, like the soft skin of his inner thighs. There’s not as much give to them as there is on Martin’s own, but there’s still enough to give a nice squeeze to.
He’d like to touch Jon all over, but in this position it’s not like he could reach. But if Jon ever uttered the words ‘Martin, I want you to give me a massage’ Martin just might die on the spot. It’s not even necessarily a sexual thing. He wants to find all the fun bits of Jon’s body to play with.
So far his belly has been fun to stroke, and his cock fun to play with, small as it is. But there are other parts to Jon too.
And between Jon’s thighs Martin finds another one. Martin keeps his touch light, curls his fingers beneath Jon’s scrotum so that his balls rest in his palm.
Jon must have reached a good bit in his book, because the page hasn’t turned in a couple of minutes. He’s got a knuckle in his mouth, Martin notices, which is sometimes something Jon does when he’s concentrating.
Martin’s concentrating too, on the screen. His hand just sort of moves of its own accord, little repetitive movements stroking up Jon’s raphe. The short length of Jon’s penis brushes against his wrist, leaving a little wet trail over Martin’s pulse point. Luckily it isn’t the bad gummy type of sticky.
Jon hasn’t gone back to soft. Quite the opposite, grown from half a handful to most of one. It doesn’t matter. Martin lets his finger run all the way up this time. It’s interesting to feel the texture of the skin and what’s beneath it change.
What’s also interesting is what Martin finds at the tip. Despite the fact that Jon is now - oh yeah, that’s all of the way hard - the head of him is only barely peeking out of his foreskin, or it is as far as Martin can tell with the little feel around he did. He gently stretches the loose skin forward, and pinches it lightly so that it closes around the tip. Not that it has to stretch far. There isn’t much shaft to Jon’s cock before it swells out to the head. Soft, it’s barely there at all.
It takes a couple of fingers to tug Jon’s foreskin down and over the crown. It slides back up nicely too, and then he can do it all over again. Barely takes any pressure at all. Looks like Martin has found his new favourite stim toy.
Or that’s what he thought, anyways, until Jon’s cock twitches beneath his fingers. Then it does it again, and this time it doesn’t stop. Jon makes a low groan and the next time Martin tugs Jon’s foreskin up, his fingers are met with wet.
“Oh,” Martin says. It’s not like he was properly trying to get Jon off. He was just playing.
“Sorry, um…” Jon says. Martin still has his cock cradled in his hand. Feeling it go back down to soft is pretty cool.
‘It’s okay,” Martin says.
He tugs Jon’s foreskin down again - so fun - and his palm skates over the head beneath, now slick with come.
Jon inhales sharply through his nose. “A little sensitive there, sweetheart,” he says.
Martin snatches his hand away. Sensitivity. Yes. That thing.
(Fuck, he needs to remember that Jon’s cock isn’t just a toy for him to play with. Even if Jon does like it when he plays with it. Most of the time.)
“Sorry,” Martin says.
Maybe he should focus on Jon’s belly again. Or his thighs. Or maybe he should find himself a tissue because his hand is covered in come and Martin’s hardly going to sacrifice the nice blanket or his jumper to wiping it off.
“...I didn’t say stop.”
The ten O’clock news that’s on afterwards isn’t nearly as interesting as Pride and Prejudice, and Martin normally wouldn’t bother with watching it. But Martin is perfectly content to sit through it, this time paying a little more attention to what he’s doing with his hand.
It takes a light touch to keep Jon whining, but not actually close enough to come. Now that he’s deliberately doing what he’s doing, Martin’s going to do it right. The weather section tends to be near the end of the broadcast. Martin might let Jon come then, but only if the forecast is rain.