This is proving a hard one to solve. Some cyberspace exploration has confirmed my suspicion that I'm not alone and that many men and women the world over face similar issues, but have an inkling I might be at more of an impasse than many. This may end up being a bit of a ramble and am not expecting any directive advice that will magically solve the issue if deployed, but I'd be very grateful for any input or prior experiences!
Partner and I do not live together as yet, but plans are in motion to find a place within the next few months. No children - had to have a termination that went disastrously wrong in January and may be contributing in some indirect sense to some of my more negative feelings, but probably only slightly.
Long and short of it is: I hate sharing a bedroom. More so, I hate sharing a bed. Not just with the incumbent bloke, with anyone - friends, lovers, siblings, parents. Doesn't matter how much I love them, I don't want to sleep beside them.
Was house sharing until we were unceremoniously turfed out in January when the place was sold (on top of which, termination reffed above and death in the family, wasn't a chart-topping Christmas!), have been back home with family since, some way out of town (work two jobs and attend university so has been less than ideal in some ways). Only having sex twice a week or so is also probably contributing to my current levels of grouchiness. And am holed up in my elderly childhood single in a room the size of the Dursleys' understairs cupboard. But I have my own space again. It has been BLISS.
Until coming back to the homestead, did nominally have my own (much larger) room, but partner stayed over 60% of the time and was going out of my tree, doing a sterling, all-day impression of Victor Meldrew ever bloody day that followed a night that he'd stayed. I stay over in his double once or twice a week now, and presumably because the bed is smaller than my old King, it's worse.
Various tactics have been unsuccessfully deployed. It doesn't help that despite him being three times my size, he's constantly frozen and I'm always roasting. And the hip does make things extra uncomfortable. But this has been an issue long before I screwed up the hip (which hopefully will no longer be an issue soon as have major surgery planned imminently).
I just need my own cave. I don't want someone else's outfits and face potions and general regalia in my cupboards. I am indiscriminate in my dislike of cuddling after sex, before/during sleep etc. Have forked out the last vital dregs of more than one pay packet on enforced taxi fares for men who wanted to stay overnight post-shag in the past 
The obvious answer of course is separate rooms. I love this idea. Trouble being firstly that his budget will definitely not stretch anywhere near that and mine would only at a push (cost of living is near London levels of extortionate here) and secondly that he was devastated, literally to the point of near tears, at the mere mention of the idea. As he puts it, "cuddle time" is even more important to him than sex, whereas for me, not only is sex more important, but cuddle time is of very little significance at all. The less the better, up to a point! I worry that he is struggling to come to terms with this reality - am pretty extroverted and fine with tactility in a less intimate scenario and mercifully none of this has presented an issue with our sex life, but I don't think he quite realised and though I do care for him very much, I'm foreseeing trouble. He has paid lip service to the fact that he will ultimately go along with what I want funds permitting, but I don't want to be captain of a ship that sails him into permanent misery.
Anybody else been in a similar boat? Clinging to the vain possibility that there may be some off the wall compromise we've failed to consider!