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Since that first, life-changing night in a way-too-fancy hotel room, Martin has learned two very important things about Jon.
The first thing: Jon, despite his pretensions of aloofness, is the most furiously tactile person Martin has ever been involved with. The man spoons like it’s his last night on Earth and reacts to backrubs like they’re a religious experience. Martin is halfway convinced that the reason Jon is normally so standoffish is because an excess of physical contact might literally cause him to explode.
(Martin is fully aware that he is living in a glass house when it comes to this subject. The point still stands.)
(Once, when Martin had lingered a bit too long in a hug, Jon had actually dozed off on him, his head pillowed on Martin’s shoulder. While standing up. This had led to a brief episode of panic as Martin had jumped to the reasonable conclusion that Jon had once again fainted, as a consequence of his persistent belief that meals are optional and sleep is for the weak. Jon had been mortified after Martin had shaken him awake, and Martin, once he had figured out exactly what had happened, had been extremely pleased to gain a new tool in his getting-Jon-to-take-a-goddamn-break-every-now-and-then toolbox.)
The second thing: for a man who has no compunctions about throwing himself into mortal danger at the drop of a hat, Jon is an absolute coward when it comes to anything remotely resembling romance, to a degree that is so far past frustrating it wraps all the way back around to funny.
Martin ruminates over these facts as he places a cup of tea on Jon's desk, and then stands by and silently questions his own life choices while Jon valiantly attempts to communicate through eyebrows alone that he would like a hug.
After making sure the office door is locked - because the idea of letting any of the others see Jon in a moment of vulnerability kind of makes him want to shout and throw things - Martin walks around to the other side of Jon’s desk and holds his arms open in invitation. Jon gives him an almost affronted look, like he's silently accusing Martin of reading his mind, and then stands up and proceeds to melt into Martin’s arms like a piece of candy floss dropped into water.
As it turns out, there is one major benefit of Jon’s antics: all the positive reinforcement is doing wonders for Martin's confidence. Every time he works up the courage to lay his hands on Jon, Jon all but collapses into him, like he wants to crawl into Martin’s pocket and never leave. Martin is completely, foaming-at-the-mouth, howling-at-the-moon mad for this man.
After a few minutes of silently holding Jon, swaying slightly back and forth, Martin murmurs into Jon’s hair, "You really need to get better at using your words, Jon."
"I have no idea what you mean,” Jon mumbles back at him, and, yeah, he already sounds sleepy. In the back of his mind, Martin begins plotting how he’s going to get Jon to the document storage cot without needing to carry him.
(Martin has no objection to the idea of carrying Jon, of course, but he had passed Tim in the hall on his way in here, and he already hears enough snide remarks these days about his office romance. He just- he just can’t, okay? He can’t.)
“And all those gymnastics you were doing with your face were, what? Exercise? Training for the eyebrow olympics?”
“There were no gymnastics.”
“Oh, sorry. I guess I must have magically determined that you needed a hug, just now.”
Jon grumbles half-heartedly at him. “I take no responsibility for you developing psychic boyfriend powers.”
There’s a momentary lull, and then they simultaneously freeze.
So far, this strange, soft thing between them has been...nebulously undefined. Martin hasn’t wanted to push, what with the whole...everything that they’re dealing with at the moment. Without even meaning to, he’s already sort of resigned himself, in the back of his mind, to thinking of this as a what-happens-in-the-institute-stays-in-the-institute sort of situation. It’s fine. Really, it is. Martin will take what he can get. (Ugh, wait, no, phrasing it that way sounds so bitter-)
And then Jon, in typical Jon fashion, had to go and blow the whole thing wide open with one offhand remark. Martin never used to use the phrase good lord, but now he hears it in his head, in the exact tone of voice that Jon always says it.
“That...that was definitely some communication, Jon. Good job," he says, his voice sounding strangled to his own ears.
When it becomes clear that Jon has nothing more to say on the subject, Martin loosens his grip slightly and leans back, gently extricating Jon’s face from his neck in the process. Jon is giving him a look of trepidation that borders on defiance, because Jon is a ridiculous, ridiculous man.
Jon’s expression slowly starts to transition to one of alarm, for no reason that Martin can understand. And then Martin realizes that his own eyes are starting to well up with tears.
Martin tries to formulate a sentence, only to discover that his throat has decided to close up on him. Funny how that happens, sometimes.
After a few seconds of struggling, Martin decides that communication can wait until he’s done kissing Jon silly.