Chapter Text
After Scotland, London feels very loud. Martin wasn’t sure he ever wanted to go back until Jon pointed out that being so far from civilization as the cabin was could easily make someone feel intensely lonely. It didn’t feel so safe after that.
So they move back to London and Jon never actually asked Martin to live with him, they just ended up looking at flats together and picked out one that they felt they could make feel like home. There are two bedrooms, but only one regularly has people sleeping in it and the kitchen is always warm.
Jon emerges from the bathroom with his hair damp and curling on his neck. The steam from the shower snakes out in tendrils until he shuts the door behind him. Martin is sitting on the sofa and the television is on, not that he’s paying any attention to it. He’s got his notebook out and while the pace he’s writing at isn’t frantic, it doesn’t look like tonight will be one of the evenings where he sits tapping out a blob of dots where the next line will be once he can figure out what it’s going to say.
Martin leaves that notebook on the coffee table most nights, an open invitation for Jon to read his work if he wants to. Jon tried, once. It isn’t that he doesn’t get on with poetry, or with Martin’s style of writing, but the one time Jon tried, the poem was so clearly about him. It’s nice to know his boyfriend’s a sap, but there’s only so much he can take.
He curls up next to Martin on the sofa and Martin lets him worm in under his arm. Martin is still able to write, but Jon focuses on the late night television instead. It’s a terrible show, but sometimes it’s satisfying to watch trash. To know there are people more terrible than him out there.
Eventually, Martin stops writing. The notebook goes back on the table and he chooses instead to stroke through Jon’s hair. The show on the TV has switched to something that isn’t holding either of their attention. There’s been something playing on Jon’s mind for days, something he keeps putting off asking Martin. Now is as good a time as any.
“Martin,” he says, “I’ve got some, uh, kink stuff I want to talk about.”
“Oh,” he says, and his hand stops carding through Jon’s hair for a moment before continuing. His hair will dry frizzier than sheep’s wool if Martin keeps this up, but Jon can’t bring himself to care. “Do you have a scene you want to plan?”
“I do, but it’s a kink we haven’t talked about. It’s been a hard limit for all of my previous partners that I brought it up with and it’s alright if you don’t want to do it.”
“My limits aren’t the same as your exes, Jon,” Martin says.
“Where do you stand on bathroom stuff?” Jon asks. He peers up at Martin’s face to read his expression.
It isn’t immediately disgusted, which is a positive sign. A range of expressions cross Martin’s face as he considers it.
“I don’t want you to shit in my mouth,” Martin says and all Jon can do is laugh.
“Oh God no, I want you to tickle me until I piss myself,” Jon explains.
“Ah, that, uh-” Martin licks his lips, “that’s doable. Maybe elaborate a little?”
“It would be similar to the tickling stuff we do already,” Jon says. “But we start when I’m desperate to pee and keep going until I wet myself.”
Martin’s nodding along. He really got into Jon’s fantasy of being tied up and tickled and they’ve tried it several times more since the first time. Not every time they fuck, but often enough. And Martin’s acquired more playthings than just the rope they started with - there’s a nice set of padded cuffs for Jon and a small collection of vibrating objects Martin enjoys using on him. Jon saw a little of Martin’s search history by accident last week too, and he suspects a spreader bar will be turning up soon.
“Have you done this before?” Martin asks.
“Not in combination with being tickled, or with a partner,” Jon confesses. “I’ve done it by myself though, normally at the weekend. I’d drink a lot of water over the course of a few hours and hold it as long as I could. When it got too much, I’d stand in the shower and wait until I wet myself.”
He doesn’t tell Martin why he likes it. That the sensation of a full bladder is a half-step to the left of having fingers pressed into his clit. That it hurts, but in exactly the right way. The relief in letting it all go that’s almost exactly like an orgasm.
“I’m not sure we could safely do it in the shower,” Martin says. “ You struggle a lot when you’re tickled and you could easily get hurt in a confined space. But we could buy one of those waterproof sheets for the bed and put down some old towels…”
“Is that a yes, then?”
Martin’s hands slide down Jon’s neck in a way that makes him shiver. He takes Jon lightly by the upper arms and his fingertips stroke just shy of Jon’s collarbones. “It’s a yes. I think we’ve got a scene to plan.”
“Same sort of base as with the tickling thing,” Jon says.
“So in broad terms, I tie you to the headboard, tickle you, get you off a couple of times, and then fuck you. With the added bonus of you pissing yourself somewhere in there.”
Jon licks his very dry lips. The feeling of Martin stroking his hands over him is starting to feel distractingly good. Asshole probably knows exactly what it’s doing for Jon as well.
“It takes time to build up the levels of, uh, liquid I need,” Jon says.
“Is this an elaborate way for you to ask me to make you more tea?” Martin asks, but he’s smiling. Jon swats at him, but there’s nothing viscous behind it.
“You don’t tie me down until I’m already bursting to go. And you tell me to hold it, because you won’t let me go until you’re satisfied and have had your way with me.”
It’s borderline to some of Jon’s darker fantasies. The ones he knows Martin knows he has, but they haven’t talked about yet. The ones where Martin holds him down and breaches him even as Jon begs to be let go.
“What happens if we make it to the end of the scene and you haven’t wet yourself yet?” Martin asks.
“Well, the intention is you don’t actually fuck me until I already have. I think you might be overestimating the control I’ll have on my bladder when you’re tickling me. Anything you want to add?”
Martin keeps rubbing these little circles over Jon’s upper arms. It’s infuriating and it’s making both Jon’s arms break out into tingles. He thinks he’d kill Martin if he tried to stop.
“If I go down on you, can you please not piss on my face? I don’t think golden showers are exactly my scene.”
“I can give you a yellow if it looks likely,” Jon says, then barks out at his accidental pun. “For the record, I’m okay with you peeing on me. In general, that is, I don’t think that would really mesh with the scene.”
Martin makes a face at the thought. It isn’t particularly positive or neutral. Not something he’s particularly into the idea of or intensely turned off by then. It happens. Not every set of kinks line up, although he’s done wonderfully with Martin so far.
“If the scene is that I won’t let you up to use the bathroom until I’m done and then you can’t hold on, should I punish you for peeing in the bed?” Martin asks.
Jon’s mouth is suddenly very dry, but for all the right reasons. It’s not something he’d thought of himself (and he’s so so very glad that Martin is invested enough to make suggestions like this for the scene), but it’s a logical leap and oh so indulgently appealing. Jon bites his lower lip.
“I - yes,” he says, not trusting more words than that.
Martin pulls him bodily onto his lap and Jon goes with ease. One of Martin’s arms wraps around his shoulder tightly and the other comes around his waist and strokes the little strip of skin between his T-shirt and sleeping shorts. Martin tucks Jon’s head under his chin.
“How to punish you,” Martin muses into Jon’s hair. “I could rub your nose in it like a bad puppy.”
Jon’s nose wrinkles at the thought. His expression must be one of disgust, because Martin catches on quick and gives a different suggestion.
“No? I could edge you. Maybe not even let you come at all.”
“No,” Jon says. “While I feel like that would be a punishment because I wouldn’t enjoy it, the whole point of the scene is that I do piss myself. Therefore, the punishment must be symbolic and still something I’d enjoy. Something we’d both enjoy.”
“What about spanking?” Martin asks. “Just my hand and your arse.”
Martin’s fingers worm their way under Jon’s shirt and he squirms. “That,” Jon says, “is a frankly wonderful idea. I do like being spanked. Nothing too harsh though.”
“I’m not planning on whipping you or anything. I’m not trained to use a proper whip. I’m used to doling out some impact play though. I’ve used paddles, crops and switches before, but they tend to be more painful than just a hand.”
Martin drops a little kiss behind Jon’s ear and Jon shuts his eyes and wishes Martin would touch him more. It’s an important talk to get through, but he wants his boyfriend so much right now.
“You’ve done this before then?” Jon asks.
“I think I’ve forayed into BDSM a bit deeper than you have. There’s no pressure to try any of those things, but I’ll use them on you if you want me to.”
“Maybe another time,” Jon says, not entirely sure if he wants that or not.
Martin smiles, and he leans down to kiss Jon. His hand slides along the bare skin of Jon’s waist. Jon lets his eyelids flutter closed and tries to deepen the kiss, but Martin pulls back. God, Martin surely knows what this constant touching and stroking is doing to Jon. And in the middle of kink negotiation when they’re talking sex. He’s told Martin that while he might not feel sexual attraction, physical stimulation is a surefire way to turn him on and that his body is extremely sensitive.
“One more thing,” Martin asks. “Would you mind wearing some bottoms to start with for the scene? Something that will really show a wet spot if you catch my drift?”
Oh. So that Martin can catalogue the exact moment that Jon loses it. Somewhere lower than his guts gives an awful wonderful cramp at the idea. Martin will be able to see his shame from the moment it happens. Isn’t that a toe-curling thought?
“Of course,” Jon says with a tongue that feels heavy in his mouth. “All good.”
They sit for a moment in stillness and silence. Then Jon twists up to take Martin’s mouth with almost bruising force. Jon plasters one hand against Martin’s chest and the other curls into Martin’s hair. His thighs shake and tense as he groans into Martin’s mouth.
“Ah, Jon, what are you-”
“You have been stroking me for half a bloody hour. Are you going to tell me that you turned me on by accident?” God Jon hopes Martin is in the mood right now, because he is in the mood to fuck. He usually isn’t, so best make the most of it.
“Oh, I…” Martin can’t seem to find the words to finish his sentence, so he leans in to kiss Jon again.
Martin let’s Jon’s tongue into his mouth, plays with it with his own. It’s an awkward crane of the neck to get the angle and Jon knows his neck will be sore tomorrow. It will be worth it. Martin’s hands stroke down the bare skin of his sides with enough pressure that it doesn’t tickle, but Jon still squirms. The touch feels good against the harsh lines where his binder digs in during the day.
“Can I touch your chest?” Martin asks, and Jon can only nod and whisper affirmations.
Both of Martin’s hands push up and under Jon’s shirt. Jon closes his eyes, because it’s okay to feel this when he can’t see it. Martin pinches hard at both of Jon’s nipples at the same time and he can’t stop his hips from jerking. The reaction just makes Martin do it again until Jon is writhing against the cock he can feel hardening in the front of Martin’s trousers.
Then Martin slides a hand down the length of Jon’s body and under his sleeping shorts. There’s nothing beneath save the curls of Jon’s pubic hair, which the fingers skate through until they’re gliding over Jon’s clit. He presses down and Jon’s toes curl.
Martin’s hips grind in little circles, pressing his cock into Jon’s hip. He might have bruises there tomorrow (well, he won’t, supernatural healing an all, but a normal person might). Jon takes Martin’s fingers easily. The squelching sound his fingers make moving in and out of Jon is obscene, but then again, so are the sounds coming out of Jon’s mouth. The heel of Martin’s hand is angled just right for him to grind his clit into and at this rate he’s going to come embarrassingly quickly.
“God, you’re eager,” Martin whispers harshly into his ear, and Jon clenches down greedily on the offering of Martin’s fingers. He is very, very close. “You’re such a slut for it,” Martin says, and Jon is shuddering through an orgasm.
Martin’s fingers still, still inside him. He presses a hot wet kiss to the side of Jon’s neck, but Jon can’t manage much more than panting right now.
“So is that a thing?” Martin asks.
“What’s a thing?”
“Calling you names,” Martin says. “Like slut.”
“Apparently,” Jon remarks, because it did just make him come.
“Are you okay with me saying those things to you? Calling you a slut, my little whore.”
The words make heat coil between Jon’s legs. He groans, nods, and hopes Martin will take that as enough of a yes.
“Do you want to keep going?” Martin asks, as Jon has already come.
It’s nice that Martin appreciates Jon’s interest in sex might be fleeting, although they both know he normally goes for multiple orgasms when he’s up to having one at all. But even if Jon were done for the night - which he by no means is - he can still take satisfaction from pleasing Martin, even if Jon himself gains nothing sexual from it. It is apparently a concept he still needs to bring across to Martin, that getting his boyfriend off can make Jon happy without necessarily arousing him.
Jon answers Martin’s question by rocking down onto his fingers until Martin picks up the idea and starts to move them again. He closes his eyes and just lets the feeling build.
“God, I could pull down these shorts and just drop you on my cock and you’d just take it,” Martin says.
“Do it.”
“The condoms are in the bedroom though.” Martin points out.
Jon weighs it up in his mind. He Knows there’s no risk of disease or pregnancy (today at least) if he lets Martin have him bare. And to be that close with nothing between them - just the slide of skin on skin. But afterwards will be a sticky murky mess with Martin’s seed sliding out of him. Or worse, festering inside.
He hasn’t talked to Martin about how he hates clawing come out of his cunt or why the thought of it can send the wrong sort of shudders through him.
“Go get on the bed,” Martin whispers to him. His hands withdraw from beneath Jon’s clothing and urge Jon off his lap.
Jon goes, glad that the choice didn’t end up with him. He walks over to the bed while he listens to Martin stripping behind him. Since Martin is a little preoccupied, he takes a moment to fish a couple of condoms out of the top drawer of the nightstand. Then he gets on the bed and waits for Martin on his hands and knees.
Martin’s footsteps walk into the bedroom and there’s a little intake of breath when his boyfriend spots him. Jon doesn’t turn around, but he feels the bed dip as Martin climbs on behind him, feels Martin’s knees nudge his feet and thighs. Then his hands curl into the waistband of Jon’s comfortable shorts and roughly tug them down to bunch around his thighs.
The first slap catches him by surprise, the sharp crack of it registering before the pain. Jon gasps just as the second one lands on his other cheek. He waits, but a third one doesn’t come.
“Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. You love it though, you little whore,” Jon groans at Martin’s words.
Martin’s hands come down on his arse again, but this time it’s a grope rather than a smack. His fingers dig in just enough to give that sweet ache. Martin spreads his cheeks, presses them back together, then spreads them again.
“Have you ever been rimmed, Jon?” Martin asks.
“No,” he answers honestly, “but I do like bottoming for anal sex.”
Martin hums, a little contemplative surprised noise. Jon supposes that is news for him. Martin rubs gently over his arsehole and Jon’s cunt clenches around nothing, feeling very empty.
“I do too, just for the record,” Martin says. “Can I rim you?” He asks.
“Yes, I just showered, but I want you to fuck me in the front,” Jon says.
Martin doesn’t wait. His stubble scrapes a little over Jon’s arse, which Martin’s hands spread out, then his tongue is lapping hot and wet over his hole. It’s different to when Martin eats him out - not quite as sensitive, but the same sort of sensation as Martin licking at his clit, but also into him, opening him up.
Jon needs fingers on his clit and inside himself more than he needs his face held above the pillow. His shoulders drop down as he cradles his head in the crook of his left arm. Martin’s grip on his hips keep him from collapsing entirely even as that sinful tongue licks into him. Jon’s own fingers brush like fire over his clit.
His fingers aren’t as thick as Martin’s and he can’t angle them to get nice and deep while still keeping up the pressure on his clit. He adds a third finger to make up for it, pistons them hard and wails as Martin’s tongue pushes inside him. There’s no one thing in particular that pushes him over the edge this time, just a steady climb to the inevitable crest, which he reaches garbling something that might be Martin’s name.
“Nice going,” Martin says as he pulls away. “Do you think you’ve got one more still in you?”
“Might have. But I want you to come either way. Are you still hard?”
“How could I not be? Do you not know how sexy you are, Jon?”
Luckily the question appears to be rhetorical, because the answer would be ‘no.’ If their positions were reversed, Jon would doubt he’d still be aroused after eating Martin’s arse. No because of the act itself, but simply from the lack of stimulation to himself. As aesthetically pleasing as Martin is, and as deeply in love as Jon has fallen, looking at, tasting, and hearing Martin doesn’t tend to arouse Jon unless he is the one being directly stimulation. Being touched.
“What are you waiting for? Grab a condom.” Jon says, and he cants his hips and spreads his fingers within himself in a frankly vulgar display.
It works though, because Martin sucks in a breath and calls him a whore before diving for a condom. He gets in on in record time and then he’s nudging at Jon’s entrance.
“Alright?” He asks, and he’s in as soon as Jon nods.
Martin pushes in slowly, like Jon would complain if the stretch came with a bit of a sting. Not that he would, but it’s not going to happen after he’s been fingered so thoroughly. The pace he sets is slow too, but each thrust in is so deep Jon can’t complain.
Jon grinds slow and steady into his clit, because if Martin isn’t going to be a two-minute man on this, he may as well see if he can reach that third orgasm before Martin comes. There’s no guarantee of it, but Martin would probably get Jon off with his hands after if he does come first (a pity that it would be unhygienic to use his mouth now.)
Martin’s hands slide up Jon’s sides, stop high on his ribs. He never took off his t-shirt and Martin never asked him to. Probably for the best. Martin is proving now he can get to all the bare skin he wants to even with it on.
“You can touch, you know,” Jon says.
“I am touching you,” Martin says, and he pairs a particularly sharp thrust with a gentle squeeze of Jon’s ribs.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, what did you mean?” Martin asks. “Where do you want me to touch you?”
Oh God, he’s actually going to make Jon ask for it. Shame should curl up in him at the thought, but it just adds fuel to the fire feeding his lust. He shouldn’t want this, but he can’t help it when it feels so good.
“My tits,” Jon says, desperate, “please touch my tits.”
Martin’s hands come down harsh, grope at Jon’s breasts and pinch his nipples until he’s mewling. He’s lost his grip on Jon, but it doesn’t matter because the new sensations get Jon thrusting back onto Martin’s cock. It doesn’t match the steady rhythm Martin has been building, but Martin speeds up his thrusts to try and match Jon.
God it’s so much better than before! His thighs are shaking, Jon realises. Not from physical exertion, but from how close he is. It’s always so much easier to come when he’s got more than just his own hand to achieve it. Martin’s breath is raggard in his ear and it’s a race to see which one of them will finish first.
“I’m not going to last,” Martin says.
“Neither am I,” Martin gives a particularly harsh little twist to Jon’s nipple just as Jon presses down on his clit and that’s it. He’s gone.
Martin follows not far behind, probably set off by the fluttering Jon can feel inside himself. Martin’s hips stutter, then he holds still a moment as deep into Jon as he can get. Afterwards, he sighs and drapes himself over Jon’s back, all heavy and grounding. His cock slips out of Jon as it softens.
They lay there for a couple of minutes. Jon can feel Martin tracing obscure little patterns between his shoulder blades. He runs his hand through the hair at the nape of Jon’s neck, where the baby-soft hairs are drying into gentle waves.
“Are you using the bathroom first or am I?” Jon asks.
The noise Martin makes can’t quite be called words, but he does roll off of Jon’s back. It suddenly becomes quite a bit easier to breathe, like that first rush of air after wearing his binder long past the recommended eight hours. Martin’s still got a doped up expression and he seems reluctant to actually stop touching Jon. His arm still lies over Jon’s back and Jon can feel Martin’s feet grazing his shins.
“I’ve got to pee so that I don’t get a UTI, and I’m not letting you kiss me goodnight until you’ve washed your mouth out,” Jon tells Martin.
Martin doesn’t seem inclined to move anytime soon, so Jon takes the first bathroom slot. Once he’s done, he leaves to find Martin waiting by the door.
“I regret getting out of bed,” he says.
“Clean your mouth and I’ll make it worth it.” Jon replies.
Jon’s never found the sounds of oral hygiene - gargling mouthwash and spitting toothpaste foam - to be particularly pleasant. If anything, he’d say they’re downright repulsive, so he doesn’t wait and listen at the door. He settles back into bed and Martin is back soon enough.
And the sweet kiss goodnight he bestows to Martin? Well, it’s worth it.