Jon sighs quietly as their mouths meet and he slides his hand to hold the back of Martin's neck. The other gently clutches Martin's shirt and Jon tries very hard to keep it together. He absolutely will not go to pieces in public. He's managed not to do it even privately more than a few times, which, all things considered, is a sound track record.

But this is Martin.

The fingers in his hair, the way Martin holds him, all of it is achingly familiar and has been absent from his life for a year. When they finally part, Jon doesn't pull too far away.

"I-I have a flat."

Please don't ask how he managed that. But it seems pertinent to mention, as he would much rather have privacy.

"And tea," he adds.