Chapter Text
"Jon."
"Mh."
"Jon."
"Mwhat."
Martin squeezed his eyes closed, wishing.
"Careful."
Wishing he didn't have to say.
Jon was probably smiling dastardly. "Why?"
God. He was intolerable.
"You know why", Martin pleaded. He wasn't at all in a state to match Jon in combativeness. He was small and huffy and pressed deep into the cushion. It was so hard to form words when this light-headed. Everything about him was just asking, asking for... Kindness. Please Jon. Very good. Now have some mercy.
"Hm." Jon shifted, loosened the hand he had on Martin's wrist.
He should have never introduced Jon to the concept of being held down while kissing. It was like he'd taught a cat how to open milk bottles. Full-fat regret.
Martin shook his hand free, an awkward giggle stuck in his throat.
"You'll make me have to get up. And it's cold outside." Frankly, it was too late for this discussion by far. But Martin still had to make his point.
It was embarrassing. Every time. Staring at the bathroom tiles - pointedly not at the mirror - while touching himself in the stark ceiling light, trying his best to forget Jon knew what he was doing. Trying his best to remember what it was they had been doing, minutes ago.
Jon breathed the sort of breath that usually accompanied his eye-rolls and leaned in to kiss Martin on the throat. Oh no. He was in it now. What a wonderful fucking problem he was having.
"Johhhnnn", Martin wasn't above whining. Not this late at night. Not with the lights off. He'd made more pitiful noises in the last half hour.
"Just do it here", Jon mumbled.
"Yeah, right." Martin tried to turn, feebly, to get Jon to roll off, have a bit more control of the situation. But Jon was far more awake than him, and in possession of all his blood that was supposed to go in the brain. He soundly interrupted Martin's plan by simply putting both hands in his hair and leaning forward. Jon kissed him methodically, knowing exactly how. Jon was scary when he learned new things. Hopefully he'd never get done learning but - at the moment - Martin knew very well why Jon was sat on his thigh like that, deliberately, just on the one leg, his knee set back. Because Martin was a damn idiot stuck inside teenager's hormone system, apparently. Because Jon had a nonsensical interest in testing out the latter. Because they had talked about this.
"Ugh. OK", finally he managed to scrounge up some annoyance in the place of resolve and began to lift Jon away by the hip so he could scoot out from under him. There was a noise of protest.
"Don't go", Jon said.
This was cruel. He was already reluctant enough to leave this bed, Martin didn't need help. He tried to extract his head from between Jon's elbows.
"It's cold out", Jon said. He wasn't wrong. The nights were getting brutal.
"Well. You made this happen, so", Martin complained while still fighting. Jon was light but he had so many damn limbs.
"Just do it here", Jon said quietly.
Jon had gotten better at it, asking for things, making requests like an adult. That was during the day. But here, in the dark, with his serious voice on, Martin could hear the conscious effort in him.
"...Please."
He kissed him again on the neck, softly, persuasively.
Jon was really warm.
"No, don't be crazy."
Martin lifted an arm off of his sternum but it was very uncooperative.
Jon's mouth was by his ear. "Not so crazy."
Martin did not have the fortitude to deal with this. He was beginning to think Jon was making sense.
"I wouldn't do that to- you."
Jon kissed him just under the lobe, insistently.
"I asked you." There was a sliver of amusement in Jon, which didn't make anything easier in any way.
It was dark. Jon wouldn't be able to see.
The hand Jon had in his hair touched firmer, Martin felt nails.
It would probably not even take that long.
"I said please."
He said please.
He could do it under the covers.
He said please.
Martin put his hand back on Jon's waist. He seemed to melt into the touch. Some of his palm touched skin, where Jon's shirt didn't close flush with his boxers.
He put his other hand back.
This was a dumb idea.
Jon kissed him on the mouth.
Really really dumb. No way he could do this.
He kissed Jon back.
Jon slid off of him easily now, at the barest prompting of Martin's hands, and settled on his side, one arm still across Martin's chest.
"Are you sure?" Martin was whispering.
Jon nodded, his chin against Martin's clavicle.
He was already so lucky he got to kiss Jon, even. He couldn't ask for this, too.
He said please.
He was so short of breath, and ineffectively wrestling a clingy Jon certainly hadn't helped the situation. When Jon put a light hand on his cheek and a thumb on his lip Martin sure was glad the lights were off. He had zero confidence that he would possibly be able to wipe the look of puppy-longing off of his face. Jon nosed at his jaw, tipping Martin's head back. Martin's eyes fell closed. This was it. This had just become something that was happening to Martin. Despite his best efforts. It was happening because he had no power to stop it. Couldn't stop it because he just wanted it so damn much.
"Jon", he whispered. Said his name like a request. Jon knew he didn't need to answer. "Jon." Jon. Jon. Jon. Jon.
Martin reached out his left hand for Jon. Will you kiss me, the hand said. The thumb on Martin's lip brushed along it from side to middle, parted his mouth a fracture. This, Jon had learned this from Martin too. But somehow he was already better at it. Slower. Patient.
Martin allowed himself a needy whine.
For some momentous reason Martin had a hand free. A whole one. And... permission.
He'd said please.
Jon. Please. Don't hate me. Martin dipped his right hand below the waistband of his boxers. He did that. But Jon didn't appear to hate him. Jon kissed him. God, did he kiss him. If Martin got to go back in time and offered to undo all of the nonsensical decisions in his life and the heartbleed, he might let himself run into doom all over again in trade for just one of these.
Martin had always liked wanting things. Wanting, not having, then waiting, until it hurt. He knew it was probably bad but he'd always liked getting worked up long before masturbating. And now, the past days it was almost a game, one made so so easy by circumstance. Wake up with Jon. Kiss Jon. Fool around. Put Jon to bed. Wait. Go shower. Rinse. Repeat.
Tonight it did nearly hurt. He'd left it too long to begin with. Been a fool, a rock hard dumb idiot, trying to get away with it. Then Jon asked if he'd stay. He must be losing his mind.
Martin barely touched the taut skin of his erection and his back muscles tensed. He sucked in the air, which is fine to do when open-mouthed kissing, less fine if you're a fan of your dignity.
Jon's face came away from Martin's face - no no no - and Martin could taste the look, that quizzical look Jon had when he found something new, found it interesting. He really wished he wouldn't (yes he did), really wished he, Martin, was a lot less interesting (he did not).
He really wished Jon would kiss him again, just for a little while. It would only take a little while.
Jon's left hand had a wander across Martin's neck - thankfully staying well away from his right shoulder, because he intended to move that arm. Currently he was freeing his needy penis from his boxers with it. It was already weeping because of course it was, it was Martin's. Always looking to cry.
Martin's hand was shamefully well-practised and it knew what to do. Martin could maybe concentrate on coaxing another kiss out of Jon. He tilted his head forwards, touched his forehead to Jon's. Realised he was sweating. Some of the hair got pushed back and out of his face.
Martin's left arm lay useless on the covers behind Jon's back. He lifted it now, to somewhere between Jon's shoulder blades. Closer, Jon. More, Jon.
Jon had his fingers under Martin's chin now, lifting it slowly. Every muscle below Martin's waist tensed under the weight of Jon's kiss. His right hand was at a strong rhythm now, which was made easy, it was slick with not just sweat. He gripped tighter.
Why. Why. Why did he let this happen.
Their tongues met, softly but not softly. Kissing was best when not thinking, and thinking was something so far away now. He might give it up altogether.
Around this moment Martin lost whatever had held his wilful actions together so far, and the side of his face bumped slowly into Jon's. Their mouths briefly passed each other, as did their noses until they came to a rest. Jon let Martin hold his face to his like that, mouth slightly open against his cheek, and breathe his short blatant breaths. These were all Martin could hear, his own breathing and the rush of blood in his ear.
How could Jon let him do this.
Long fingers combed into the hair behind Martin's ear - here Martin moaned, he sure did - and the thumb followed, brushing along the outside of his ear. Martin's lids fell closed slowly, slower than his eyes rolled upward.
Jon's head moved a little, pressed a lazy open kiss on Martin's cheek. Apparently encouraged by Martin falling apart in his hands Jon aligned their noses, the tips of them touching. Martin instinctively raised his chin to beg for the kiss, wordless but just as dogged. This was the right move because Jon's hand in his hair dug deeper and made a fist. From somewhere there was a whimper.
But Jon still dawdled - God, he for sure was smiling horribly. Despite Jon holding him -quite deftly- by the hair Martin lifted his head to kiss his mouth. Sure enough, he had been smiling. Martin didn't want to guess at why.
It was a hungry, wide kiss, because there was no point any longer in pretending he didn't want it far too much, and far too long and all the time. He'd already admitted that plenty. Was still admitting it, right now, with his frantic moving hand. That he was desperate, that he wanted so much, that he'd do just about anything Jon asked. If he only said please.
Please.
Martin drew a loud, stuttering breath. He'd meant to come quietly, without making a mess. He failed. Failed at both.
He couldn't come into his hand because it wouldn't obey, still ran out the last strokes because it felt - it felt-
Martin was supposed to feel his feelings was he not. They were good for him.
He rode out the last of it with his mouth touched against Jon's, not kissing, just breathing. When it was over he sank back into the cushion it was so deep it sounded to his ears like being underwater.
Jon's hand was no longer holding him, but smoothing down his hair and brushing it out of his face. Some of it was damp. Eugh.
Jon put a calm kiss on the bridge of his nose.
"Was that really alright?", Martin croaked.
"Yes, Martin", Jon said as if he'd had to say it a thousand times already. Yes, Martin. God.
"Did you have fun?", Jon sounded like he was smirking.
Martin still expected the shame to set in any second and hit him over the head like a brick when he heard himself laugh.
"Yes. Fun. Is what that was." He was still hoarse.
"Sounded like it", Jon said smiling.
Martin kissed him briefly, mainly to stop him talking.
"Now I'll have to change the cover on this-", Martin lifted an edge of the blanket. "...So much for not getting up in the cold."
"Should have caught you in the shower... Well. Next time", Jon said, stretching, releasing Martin's arm in the process, acting for all the world like that thing he'd just said wasn't pure madness.
The fresh bed sheets were downstairs, folded by the door with the other laundry. "I'm gonna get a glass of water do you want one?", Martin said on the first steps down.
"Please", Jon said.
When he came back upstairs Jon had his arm behind his head, cheek resting by the elbow. He didn't look very motivated to get up from the bed and maybe do his own things for the night. He drew Martin close, wrapped himself around him from the ground up. They warmed the freshened blanket together.
Downstairs Martin had glimpsed his reflection in the dark windows briefly, his muddled hair, his blank expression that didn't look at all like the expression he felt like he had on. He felt light somehow. So light that he got startled at the sound of the stairs beneath his steps, even though the sound of them was so familiar now.
"Martin", Jon said, his fingers against Martin's forehead, twirling one of the locks there.
With his cheek against Jon's ribcage the sound of his voice was so so good. Martin. He could have stood to hear it for hours. Martin Martin Martin. Until he fell asleep, and then some more. Mar-
"I love you", Jon said.
Martins eyes snapped open. What, now? Now, Jon? Martin wasn't prepared to speak. To say anything. Not in this moment. Not to that.
Jon kissed the crown of his head, lightly, like there was nothing else he had to add. Just settled his head down as if to fall asleep.
________
________
"God. I miss curry."
Jon was looking into the pasta tin like it was a hard-to-persuade toddler that had gotten ahold of his keys. He closed the lid with a sigh.
"I miss fast food", Martin said dreamily. "Some fish and chips. I could eat a fried washcloth as long as it comes with ketchup."
They tried their best with cooking but there were only so many soups and stews you could make with the limited portable grocery options available to them.
Jon hadn't looked up from the staple foods he'd laid out on the counter. "Well we could fry something sometime..."
"I also miss standing in line, weirdly."
Martin, who was really only here to liven up the process, drew up his shoulders.
"And the tube." He tried to picture a packed traincar full of sour faces with to-go coffees clutched tight while one loud person on their phone kept the peaceful thoughts away for everyone.
Jon scoffed. "I don't."
Martin smiled at that. "I don't miss my flat. It got all quiet and empty over the year. Nothing like here. I'd miss all the wood I think."
Jon hummed. "Yes. Not that many trees from my view, either. Or sky, even."
"Well there was that one tree by the Institute. The dead one."
"Uh-huh. It really added to the experience, come to think of it now."
"I also miss the internet."
Jon nodded more enthusiastically. "Proper roads", he offered.
"You can't miss roads."
Jon shrugged and opened a cupboard. "Potatoes?"
"I don't care as long as I don't have to carry anything in my hands. The milk bottles are the worst. I miss plastic."
Jon scribbled onto the shopping list, having crossed out pasta. "I do miss the others. The Admiral."
"So we're back to liking only the one cat now, huh?"
Jon pretended not to hear.
"I miss - no offense to you - wearing clothes that fit me", Jon said after a moment.
"Well I miss my clothes!"
Jon's smile widened.
Martin rested his chin on his hand slyly. "I also miss seeing you in clothes that fit you."
Jon thumbed at a smudge on the paper that was rapidly filling up with his tight, urgent handwriting. Martin could tell he was trying to decide on a response and facial expression, but was coming up short.
The one crinkly work shirt Jon had worn all the way from the Institute to here hadn't been in use since then, though he sometimes saw Jon eye it critically in the wardrobe. Whether he was considering wearing it or throwing it in the fire, that he couldn't say.
"I miss...", Martin searched his heart. "My bathtub."
Turning his eyes up, Jon gave him a look.
Martin tapped his chin. "The record store down the road... What?"
Jon had made a little huff like something was funny. "I don't know. Sometimes you're really predictable you know that?"
Martin wasn't sure whether to be offended. "So? I know what I'm about."
"Hm. You sure do", Jon smiled.
______
Martin found Jon sat up straight on the sofa, reading something in his lap. Walking up behind the backrest, Martin leaned over it, running his hands over Jon's shoulder and clasped them both over his chest. "I thought you didn't like that one", he said into his ear.
Jon shifted a little but didn't look up from the paperback.
"Well we didn't bring anything else, so", he said, factually.
"You want I can pick you up something when I go into town?"
Jon sighed. "That's... That's alright."
"I know I know, you're picky. But it can't hurt can it?" He pressed a kiss on Jon's temple. "Unless you do like this one?"
The book slapped shut pointedly.
Martin giggled. He made sure his pout carried into his voice wile digging his nose into Jon's hair. "You know, if you would only give it a chance you might see that there's merit to Patricia's struggle with her dream to become a news editor while so unlucky in love with her world famous childhood friend--"
Jon snorted derisively and stretched his arms up and put both hands behind Martin's head. "Well, Jason has no manners and can't actually play the guitar so..."
Martin gasped.
"Jon! I hadn't got to that yet!"
"...Oh", he said. "Sorry."
"I can't believe you." - He also couldn't believe Jason. His fortune was built on a lie? - "What's the point in reading if you already know how it ends?"
"I can't help it. With reading it just sort of ...happens." Jon leaned a bit to the side, his nose touched Martin's chin.
"Ugh. Noted. No mystery book for you, then."
They kissed, lazily and thoroughly.
"You're still fine going alone...?"
"Will you quit worrying already. You know, some alone time is normal. For all humans. It's not that long a walk and when I get there Gretel will probably tell me about her entire week in detail. It's all good."
Martin dug his nose into Jon's neck and he sighed. Jon's hand tugging on the jacket he'd already put on made a soft crinkling noise.
He tore himself away from the smell of Jon's sleep shirt.
"Besides. I'm not eating any of those mystery tins Daisy left, not a chance."
And he turned to pick up his backpack and get his shoes.
"Wait", Jon said, hoisting himself upright on the backrest. "I'll come with you." He clambered over the tall side of the sofa and for a split second - when he had both his feet on the top of it, hunched and long-limbed - Martin could sort of see it. The 'Scary-Archivist-Is-Haunting-My-Dreams' thing. But he was still Jon. Even in the dark the most threatening thing he could do was cut off the blood in Martin's arm by mistaking it for a pillow.
"Are you sure?"
Jon shrugged, plucked a jumper from the floor and begun elbowing his way into it.
"Unless that infringes on your 'very human alone time'?"
"No. But you know. The other reason?"
Jon shrugged. "Statistically we're going to be fine, I think. I mean, there was one Highlands statement but that was definitely a Leitner one so -- Anyway. If there is such a thing as a supernatural horror magnet it's me and I've been here more than a week and we've managed not to encounter anything too horrendous."
"Unless you wanna count that cat you let in as an Avatar of the Slaughter." The two long scratches on Jon's forearm were all but healed by now but that was no reason to let him live it down.
____
Martin hung up the phone and stepped out of the phone box. "Basira says she'll get to go back into the Archives Monday."
Jon's eyes went into the distance briefly before realigning. "Okay, good to know."
"Apparently everything's been pretty hectic still all week but they've wound down the investigation now."
Jon nodded.
"Do you think it's too early to try Melanie?", Jon was looking at the mid morning sun, which was dull and distant behind the even cloud cover.
"I dunno. She used to be the most awake of us in the mornings but who knows."
"Can't hurt can it?"
The phone box by the side of the road was dinky and heavily cobwebbed under the roof. Martin watched Jon bemusedly when he squinted upward once he'd stepped inside. He took the receiver in hand gingerly.
Martin wandered slow steps in the grass while Jon dialled and waited out the tone. When he started to speak his voice was purposefully calm.
"Oh, hi. ... I was just calling to ask how you two are doing."
The only thing Martin had gathered was that Jon's last interaction with Melanie and Georgie must have gone quite awkwardly but he seemed to think there wasn't any bad blood.
"...Then may I talk to Melanie?"
Martin's ears perked up and he scolded himself right away.
"... Oh! Oh. Should I call later-"
Jon's frown dissolved as he listened.
"Heh. I'm sure it'll be fine. I gather she's doing better, then. Mh."
He laughed, put one arm round himself, his free hand on his upper arm.
"Definitely."
After some listening Jon glanced to the side and directly at Martin. "Uh-huh", he said, voice slightly raising. The exact sort of noise one might make when on the phone and trying to conceal the contents of that Uh-huh. A I'm not super alone at the moment phone Uh-huh.
Martin raised both eyebrows returning the look. Jon started a sly smile but Georgie must've said something interesting because he lost his face entirely.
"That's not true! I was nice to you plenty. I- Wow." Jon looked deeply offended.
Martin took a hovering step, considered walking away a bit further but extremely unwilling to.
Jon took a placated breath. "Yes, actually. It's... Really calm here."
There was a longer break.
"...He is. Why?"
"No. No! - Because you just called me a -"
Jon sighed. He lowered the phone.
"Martin?"
"Hm?"
"Do you want to talk to Georgie?"
"What about?"
Jon shrugged.
Warily Martin joined Jon, who shuffled to the side and back while they exchanged the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Hi Martin", Georgie had a pointedly cheery voice. A peace-offering sort of voice.
Martin found himself matching her tone exactly. "What's up?"
"I just wanted to make sure Jon's being a gentleman."
"Uhh."
"Just-- We both know how he is. ...So how is he?"
"Good mostly?" Martin cocked his head and turned to Jon, who was clearly aflame with curiosity.
The phone was old and the connection was tinny. "He's not still being, you know, a disaster factory?"
"Ehm." Martin gave Jon a broad grin. "He tries."
"And he's using his words? Like, properly I mean."
"Yes, actually. I'm as surprised as you are."
"Okay, good. It's nice you two are getting to have some time. You know..." She seemed to hesitate, in an unconcerned sort of way. "He talked about you a lot. Like a lot. When he was staying, back when."
Martin felt Jon's eyes on him.
"Really?"
"Yes. Very. Insufferably so."
"That's... Good to know." Martin was now grinning at the see-through plastic dial of the phone.
"Couldn't shut him up if I told him to. At one point- Oh." Georgie's voice moved away from the phone "You're done? One second -- Martin I have to hang up, have a good one!"
And she hung up. Martin looked at the phone feeling cheated.
Jon reached across, took the phone out of Martin's hand and hung it.
"Melanie is starting to do things unassisted and she was waiting by the bathroom just in case", he explained.
"Oh. That's nice. Sounded like it went okay."
"Are you going to tell me what she said?"
"No way."
__
When they started to see the first cottages Martin let go of Jon's hand. Jon looked at him.
"It's really rural here, Jon", Martin said, putting his hand into his pocket.
"So?"
"People are older. They're not used to...", he finished the gesture with a flimsy raise of the arms.
"So we can't hold hands?" Jon was using his 'You're being incorrect again, Martin' voice.
"Yea they- I'd rather not have a whole thing." He drew out the last syllable. A thing.
"Of all the things to worry about you want to worry about conservative Scotsmen?"
Martin gave an irritated huff. He'd have thought Jon would agree with him on this.
Jon calmly hooked his arm into Martin's. "Don't let me forget to pick up some shaving cream", he said, clipped, a transparent attempt at diverting Martin's attention.
Martin tried to think of a compelling point to make about the virtue of laying low but his eyes wandered to Jon's scraggly face. "I think your face looks nice right now. Rugged."
"Psh."
"Oh, before I forget. When she was staying here Daisy used to go by Lynda."
"Whot", Jon said but Martin already opened the door to the shop. A feeble bell rang out.
"Oh hello luv. I'll be right with you", Gretel called out from behind her little counter table, her cell phone nooked between her ear and shoulder because she was still doing her crossword on the side.
Martin waved at her with his left hand because Jon wouldn't let go of his right. Gretel gave him a meaningful, nosey, troublesome raise of the brows as she looked from him to Jon and back. Christ.
The shop was small but the walls were packed with shelves, the produce at hip-height in the middle. It was more of a big room inside a normal cottage except the door had a sign. Technically the only reason the place existed at all was because it was near the bus station and some people preferred the bus to the longer drive to the next town. Still, it was far from busy. Milling about for a moment Martin searched his heart for what kind of apple he was in the mood for today while Jon visibly balked at the book section.
"So you're the famous Jonathan", Gretel said while she put two rubber bands around the egg carton she'd sandwiched between some paper towels for extra sturdy transport. She gave Martin a glinting-eye look.
"The same." Jon managed to look only slightly wary.
"I'm so glad to see you're feeling better."
"Yes, much. Thank you for the biscuits."
"Those always so good when you're not feeling your best aren't they? And you really didn't have to return the favor but the ones you made were wonderful."
"Thank you", Jon said emphatically, side-eyeing Martin, because he just couldn't let it go could he. That Martin had burned his batch and he hadn't.
"Plenty good teas with those."
"I did the icing", Martin interjected, knowing Gretel wouldn't be mad at his petulant tone.
"I know dear, you said." She didn't take her attention off of Jon. "Is it rude if I ask- What's happened to your face?"
"Childhood accident", Jon said easily, making a gesture with his hand as if flicking the side of his face with water. Gretel nodded with uncertain condolence but Jon's unconcerned tone seemed to have successfully staved off further questions.
Martin wondered how many other flimsy explanations for the scarring Jon had tried before arriving at this one, which seemed just far too smooth for him.
"Well", she gave Jon a wide-open-eyed smile. "You're still good-looking enough for this one here to buy you the plain yoghurt even though he hates it."
"Gretel! That was in confidence."
She gave an innocent-old-lady snicker and lifted the onions onto her scale.
Jon looked perturbed. "You do?"
"No I don't hate it. I don't care about yoghurt. It's yoghurt. Gretel why."
"I was just giving him a compliment."
"Sure you were."
Jon looked back and forth between them silently without moving his head.
Gretel gave him a conspiratorial smile. "I'm just joking around, you know that don't you Jonathan."
"M-hm." When Jon nodded he had his mouth so thin, lower lip between his teeth, and somehow looked troubled and amused.
"Will you kids get some lunch at the pub then? It's pumpkin soup time."
"Uh." Martin was shouldering his very full backpack. He looked at Jon.
"Sure." Jon was digging in his coat pocket. Whatever he found, he looked unhappy.
"Do you have any cigarettes?", he said.
"Yes, luv. I've got Luckies and-"
Martin frowned. "Did you smoke all of yours already?"
Jon pulled a face. "I'm just thinking ahead." He was such a poor liar.
"So did Miss Snell sell you the cottage?"
"No, we're friends of ...Lynda's."
"Oh that's nice, she doing alright all the way in the city?" The innkeeper's tone was so geniuinely interested it kind of hurt Martin's teeth.
He nodded.
"It's good that house is getting some living-in I think. Are you two honeymooning?"
Martin damn nearly dropped the half-pint she'd handed him.
Jon laughed through his nose. "Afraid not."
Martin carefully put the glass on its coaster.
"You're not married? Because you can get married now can't you."
The cardboard was frayed at the edges and stained with year-long use.
"That's correct", Jon said, audibly losing some of his confidence in his ability to keep this conversation afloat by himself.
Martin felt solid enough in his expression again to step in. "I think we'd like to order Jon do you know what you're going to order?"
When she walked away Martin felt two long fingers tugging on his red hot ear.
"She seems nice", Jon said meaningfully.
Martin squirmed Jon's hand away. "Nosy, I think is the word."
Jon was grinning with the corners of his mouth turned down like he was trying very hard not to show teeth as well. It looked rather dopey and Martin suddenly felt like he was sitting far too far away, all the way across the corner of the table.
"It's funny." Jon said, putting his hands on the wood. "Honeymoon. Georgie said something similar. 'Eloped', she said."
Martin scoffed a laugh. "Did she?"
Jon cocked his head, his index finger was fiddling with the nail bed of his thumb. "I can see how it could look like that if, you know, you discount the-" He let the sentence peter out with a gesture.
"The mortal danger?"
"Yes, that."
Martin realised he'd had his shoulders pulled up and his feet kicking out under the table for a while now and sat up straight, feeling childish.
"I get the feeling we'll have to manage some commentary from everyone when we get back", Martin said while rolling his eyes.
"Mh." Jon knit his brow.
"What?"
"I sort of... Hadn't thought about it. Going back to London I mean. I hadn't really thought about it yet."
Martin neither. He dipped his head to nip at his lager.
"I know I said I miss the tube but I really don't, at all. It's nice here. ...The two of us."
Jon smiled that smile he had. The one that made Martin feel like he was being gifted something.
Now he just wanted badly for them to leave. Go home, lock the door, pile onto the couch and watch movies for hours. Never think about the real world again.
Martin tapped a nail to his glass. "We're doing it all in the wrong order aren't we? Moving in together... This is kind of like a first date, I suppose. If you squint, sort of."
"I took you to a bench that one time."
They snorted.
Martin made his face magnanimous. "In fairness, it was a really good bench."
"I agree."
They let them take a bottle of the wine Jon liked for the road. Jon had his arm around Martin when they left. There weren't any too awkward questions, at least not any more. They stopped by the cows. It was a pretty boring trip overall. Boring was very welcome. The kind of boring Martin could see himself take for granted one day, happily so.
"Do you think we could find that bench again? The one we sat on that first day", Martin asked. "We took such a roundabout route there."
Jon had his hands on the straps of his backpack. They'd almost made it but every tin of beans they'd bought had gotten about thrice as heavy on the way.
"Probably? We can go look for it tomorrow if you like."
"I mean, it looked old enough to be haunted so. Maybe it'll be gone all mysteriously. Only come back if we need to have another heart-to-heart."
Jon hummed doubtfully. "Gerry said there aren't any good powers. Just the fear ones."
"He did?"
"I thought you heard all the tapes?"
"Jon I hate to tell you this but your filing was dreadful at the time."
He didn't have to look at Jon to know he was aghast. Martin was still in the process of breaking it to him gently, bit by bit. That he'd been a shite archivist even at the best of times.
__
They both took off their bags with a groan before they even got inside - Jon had to dig the keys out of his pants pocket and it was difficult for all the layers of clothing and backpack straps on top of it. Martin set down his bag and watched Jon struggle with the door - it was a fun watch every time. The way he pinched his mouth, the grim look on his face. Martin started grinning. When the door finally gave in, he reached out a hand to stop Jon from going inside, feeling a somewhat manic smile on his face.
"What?", Jon said.
Martin faced Jon and put one arm round his back. He seemed to expect a kiss so why not. Martin kissed him a moment. Martin bent his legs. Martin got one arm by Jon's thigh.
"What ar-Augh!"
Martin lifted from the knees.
Jon fought his balance for a long, awkward second but whatever shrivelled slivers of his self-preservative drive remained did prompt him to put his arms round Martin's neck and hold onto it. And so, Martin lifted Jon off his feet. He wasn't as light as he looked but Martin felt sturdy enough on his legs to give him a little bounce.
Jon blinked at him, not very happy.
"Really?" He raised a brow.
Martin grinned. "Really."
All this honeymoon talk. And, hell, doing things in the wrong order? Might as well make a theme of it.
With somewhat creaking joints Martin stepped onto the threshold and - Jon made an exaggerated show of pulling his head and feet in - through the door.
He stood there a moment, triumphant, feet set wide. Jon laughed, though awkwardly.
"I've always wanted to do that!", Martin proclaimed. He felt Jon wiggle his feet. He turned his head to face him.
"No more lunchtime beers for you", he said with fake sourness. Martin didn't stop smiling at him. Realising he wasn't going anywhere otherwise, Jon lifted his chin and gave Martin his kiss.
__
One. Two. Three four five six. Seven. Eight.
"What are you doing?"
Martin pressed his lips on a spot below Jon's jawline. Nine.
"I'm counting all the scars." Ten. Eleven.
"Uh. That might take- Hey."
Fourteen was below the neckline of Jon's sweater so Martin pulled it up by boldly pushing his hands along Jon's sides, driving it up. After a second of surprise, Jon let his head sink back onto the sofa and let go of Martin's hands, who resumed laying bare his chest. The fabric had to give a little stretch so he could go all the way up the sternum.
Fourteen fifteen sixteen seventeen.
It was lovely here. Jon had variations of dark hair all over his body but on the chest the pattern of the longer hair was all curves and whorls. He held onto Jon's upper arm and felt the tendons there twitch even though Jon was holding still.
"If you really want to do this properly I'll have to get something to read", Jon said attempting to sound dry and failing.
"Don't interrupt."
Twenty-one. Number twenty-two was at the height of the nipple and when Martin grazed it with his lip Jon tensed.
He lifted his head too slow to gage Jon's reaction. He grinned. "Good or bad?"
"Uh", was all Jon had to say, because his nervous laugh betrayed him anyway. Good. Filed. Noted. Stamped.
Jon always did a little stretch when Martin touched his stomach like this, with both hands on each side, thumbs pointing to the navel. Having reached the lower ribcage Martin had to consider his method a moment -- there were more scars all the way around, where he couldn't reach at the moment. On Jon's arm too but he had a damn sleeve on.
He now had his thumbs below the inside of the ribcage - where he knew there should be ribs, even if shorter than the rest. Or at least there should be scars. But these were two Jon had managed to avoid, not necessarily pleasantly though. He gave a kiss for each side.
"You forgot some you know."
"Oh?"
Jon's right hand came into view, palm first, when Jon pushed Martin's hair out of his eyes. The burn scar there was nasty as ever, but Martin barely noticed it any more. Apart from the veiny scarring warping the silhouette of Jon's hand, it was made almost a perfect handshake-shape. Martin took it and pressed a kiss to each knuckle.
When he had his hand back, Jon gave Martin's collar a tug.
"I'm not done", Martin said.
"What number are you at then?"
Martin allowed Jon to pull him back up and made a point of looking caught. "I lost count."
Jon tsked. "Thirty-one", he said slowly. The corner of his mouth was twitching but eyes were set somewhere on Martin's hairline. "That you've found."
Martin's eyes narrowed. "Are you making fun of my finding skills again?"
"No", Jon said, nodding so minutely he wouldn't have spotted it if they didn't have their eyes locked now.
"Enlighten me, then", Martin said.
"Well for a start you missed the big one." Jon tipped his head, revealing the fading slash scar across his neck.
"I was getting to that", Martin said, sticking out his chin.
Jon looked a bit self-conscious now. He turned his head to the side and brushed the stubborn shorter hairs from the nape of his neck. Martin caught a round scar behind his ear, tucked uncomfortably close to the shell, and two more just where the hair started. Damn. There was a downside to kissing so much in the dark. To closing his eyes so much in the light.
Martin apologised with his mouth. Thirty-two, then? Thirty-three, thirty-four...
"Will you stop being mean?"
Jon laughed. "No. You can't count to a hundred, Martin. Do I have to start teaching you sums?"
"I can. I just chose not to."
"You can't choose not to know how to count."
"I didn't come here to do maths."
Jon put a hand to his forehead. "Lord, I let you do all the shopping-"
Martin swatted at Jon, who was still laughing, shaking them a little where they were sat, Martin sat on one of Jon's thighs, the other knee touching his side, the pants leg still rolled up high to show scar-speckled skin. Martin became more and more reluctant about holding onto Jon's shoulders, terrible person that he was.
"Gretel has a calculator and she'd never overcharge me!"
"Martin I love you but that's mad."
"You're mad. I have a little something called basic trust. That's a far more important life skill, I'll have you... know." He slowed. "...For your information."
He drew a breath even though he'd not yet exhaled all of his upset. "...Jon -!"
"What?"
Martin stopped talking. He covered his mouth with his hands. "You said that you love me."
Jon frowned. "Yes?"
"No you said it the other day!"
"I'm aware."
"I just... I." Martin reached for words but there weren't any.
A berating look furrowed Jon's brow. "Your listening comprehension needs work, too."
"I just now. Now... felt it."
Jon laughed in a way that told Martin he must have a really open-book expression on. "Okay", he said, a bit uncertain.
Martin still had his hands over his mouth.
Jon's eyes were so dark and so lovely.
"I said I love you", he repeated with finality.
"I'm so sorry I-" Martin's voice dissolved in his throat.
Jon put a hand on Martin's chest, pulled himself up. Fingers circled Martin's wrist.
"I said what I said. I don't need it back."
Martin parted his hands and let in Jon to kiss his face. Oddly, he felt like he was about to hiccup.
They kissed while he tried to keep his crying soft. Had his hands around Jon's face now. God, Jon's face. Jon.
"Jon I-" He laughed wetly.
He laughed against Jon's mouth but then it broke. Something broke. Broke loose from his chest and ran rampant. Made itself into a sob.
Martin fell forwards but Jon caught him.
The breathing came in heaves. Tears were forced out of his eyes. Oh hell. Oh. Hell.
"This is- You're not sad are you?"
"I'm not sad", he squeezed out. "I think I'm feeling all feelings. All at once."
"Oh." Jon held him tight. "Alright."
"No", Martin laughed. Sobbed?
Jon put a hand on his head.
Martin managed a long frustrated groan. He wanted to go back to smiling.
"Martin. Just. This is probably a good sign, remember?", Jon said with uncertainty.
Martin shook his head. No, this was awful. He wanted to feel happy, and cozy, and go back to being able to laugh and kiss Jon. Or just kiss Jon, he didn't need to laugh even.
He was supposed to feel happy. He didn't need to be crumbled into a fit. Didn't need his chest to hurt like hell. He held in a wail. This wasn't what getting better felt like.
Jon held him tight. This wasn't what Jon had signed up for.
When he finally quieted down Martin felt very heavy. He felt Jon's lips on his forehead.
"Are you trying to kiss me better?" He wasn't able to do anything but mumble.
"I'm just trying to kiss you", Jon said, his voice rumble-low.
"Good. You're not allowed to kiss me unless you mean it."
Jon sounded offended almost. "I always mean it."
Martin's hand had weakened so, threatened to drop from where it had clasped Jon's shirt.
"Can you tell me again?"
Jon kissed him on his closed eyelid.
"I love you, Martin."
Jon had to mean it. It had to be true. He couldn't lie very well.