Chapter Text
Jon noticed it, but didn’t know how to voice it. They weren’t sure when they had. Perhaps during the silver worms, when Jon and Martin had been basically living together at the institute. Familiarity is kissing cousins with normalcy so a lot of ire for their equally stranded company fizzled out. Jon had offered the space because Martin had needed a safe place to hide, but also secretly, Jon was just incredibly impressed with Martin about what he had endured, the lengths he had gone to bring back proof and warn them all about the incoming danger in time.
That, and it turned out that Martin was nowhere near as incompetent as Jon had initially allowed themselves to believe. It was more of a case of the man simply didn’t know any better about the ins and outs of the job, but Martin was an ample learner so while they were down there, Jon helped out and taught Martin when they noticed the other was struggling. It was understandable. One could go to college for years for the knowledge, but one had to learn hands-on experience for themselves living the job for it to make any real sense.
The Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute was well aware that there were very real horrors that went bump in the night, but early in their career, they had written off such things as rare. Ignorance truly was bliss sometimes.
“You don’t have to make sense of the statements rhyme or reason, or getting them in order. Unfortunately for me, that’s my lot in life.” Jon sighed, startling Martin who had been staring at the mess which was the Archives. Gertrude had really done a number on filing, or lack there of, down here. “Are you all right?”
“Me? Yeah, just, you know,” Martin still seemed nervous around them. He was getting better about it, but still was a bundle of tension talking to the Archivist.
“I do not. That’s why I’m asking.” Jon pressed anyway, but not unkindly as per usual. He was genuinely curious to see what would happen.
“I just don’t want to read the wrong one, and you know, make you upset.”Martin finally explained when it was obvious that Jon wasn’t going to leave him alone without a proper answer.
“And you think staring at a pile of tapes will aid in that?” Jon tried to tease, but groaned inwardly at themself. They could sound like a real prick sometimes without even trying, especially if Martin’s hurt expression was anything to go by. “That-that came out wrong. I’m sorry. I realize that this is not an ideal working condition.”
“If you keep more regular hours, I can work on making myself more scarce.” Martin said tightly, making Jon’s heart sink a little more. When did they become so rubbish at this?
“No!” Which only served to scare Martin, making the poor man jump at the abrupt change in volume. “No, I mean, well, I mean I’m just so grateful that someone else is down here doing this with me.” Jon managed to pry out of themself. “Thank you. I truly do mean that.”
Risking a look over at Martin confirmed that the man looked like he had been hit over the head with a brick, stunned into silence.
“Well done you, you arse. You’re such a beast that you make others shut down over the most dismal compliment uttered.” Jon thought poorly at himself.
“Don’t mind my schedule. Just go about as you like. I’ll be in my office if you need me.” Was directed at a still silent Martin. Courage failing them, Jon turned to make a hasty retreat.
“As long as I remember to keep some trousers on?” Made Jon pause. Martin was smiling at them, and he was joking back. It caused weird little flutterings inside Jon, making his mouth turn dry.
“If you feel so inclined.” Jon heard themself say, resisting the sudden urge to slam their head into any hard available surface. What the fuck was their brain doing? What in hell was that all about? They could have literally said anything else, something professional or profound. Nope, their brain went with...that, whatever the hell that was.
To the Archivist’s equal parts relief and horror, Martin chuckled while a light blush graced their cheeks before turning his attention back to the statements. Jon didn’t so much as run back to their office, but they definitely power walked their way to some place private to have a Moment.
All the while, Martin was extraordinarily careful not to touch Jon, whether it was be in passing one another in the hallways, or handing anything over to and from. To Martin’s credit, he was attempting to be subtle about it. It didn’t seem like he was reacting out of fear or disgust, or as the Archivist told themself, they hoped not. If Jon didn’t having an ever evolving fantasy about the man, they doubt they would have noticed Martin’s odd avoidant behavior.
Not that Jon could fault him. The first time they touched ended up being hardly pleasant, what with Martin pulling worms out their face and body with a corkscrew of all things, apologizing the entire time while he was doing so. It had worked though. Jon’s face had been plenty of character now from all the scars. The whole situation though had made Jon aware of Martin’s orbit around them though, and their avoidance of any kind of collision, no matter how casual.
It wasn’t like Martin was adverse to touch or being touched. Jon had observed that the man was actually quite the hugger, and a natural born one at that with his great height and soft heft. The good solid warm kind of comfort that radiating out from his body, feeling strong and entirely all around you, or so Jon wagered with himself. Hell, even Melanie got to enjoy a “welcome to the gang” hug. Jon chided themself about feeling resentful about that.
“You’re being ridiculous.” Jon repeated back to their own lonesome. Hugs were being passed out all around now that the worms were dead. Martin welcomed Tim and Sasha back with his usual friendly gusto, hugs, and of course, freshly brewed tea.
Not Jon though. They figured they had earned that much. Jon had treated Martin something awful in the beginning so they couldn’t really fault the man for not wanting to touch them, and it wasn’t like Jon was going to inflict something unwanted onto others, whether it be their presence or touch.
Odd thing was that Martin kept seeking out their company all on his own, comfortable to spend his effort and time with Jon. There would always be new steaming cups of tea, refreshed glasses of water, and little plates of food near the Archivist at any given time as well. Jon could have written it all off because Martin got tea for everyone, but the Archivist was the only person he fed and watered on a constant basis day in and day out. Martin’s attention was probably the only reason Jon survived his time of severe paranoia and his becoming. They had been too busy spying and making a mess of things to pay any real attention to the mundane sensations of hunger and thirst their body needed.
“Am I reading them wrong again?” Broke Jon out of their revelry one evening. Sasha and Tim had already left so it was just the two of them. Their face started to grow hot from being found out. Martin was expectantly looking over at the Archivist, a freshly read statement still in hand.
“No. Why?” Jon said more calmly than they felt. “I’m sorry. What’s going on?”
“You’ve been staring a hole in the side of my head for the duration of the statement, so like for almost 20 or more minutes while I was reading.” Martin said, sounding more amused than concerned. Jon decided they could work with that.
“It’s nothing. I just happen to like y-“ Jon snapped their treacherous mouth shut in time.
“My what?” Martin hardly looked offended by such a notion, about Jon liking something about him, much to the Archivist’s relief.
“Your hair?” Jon asked more than answered as they inwardly groaned at themself. They weren’t about to admit, even under the pain of death, that they enjoyed Martin’s voice, that they were soothed by it.
“Um, thanks? I just washed it?” Martin answered back in the same sort of tone. He looked puzzled as he reached up to touch his own hair as if to confirm.
It wasn’t fair bad things happened all the time to them, but never when they needed a legit distraction. Jon did notice the tag on Martin’s jumper dog earring itself out of the man’s collar though, reaching over to fix it.
“What are you doing?” Martin asked, moving back while looking suddenly uneasy.
“Your tag.” Jon drew away, their suspicions confirmed. They told themself off for what seemed like the hundredth time. They had made their bed so they were to lie in it without complaint. It was to keep everyone else safe, or so Jon thought, and if they had to keep everyone at arm’s length to do so, then so be it. Martin found him undesirable.
“Oh, right. Thank you.” Martin mumbled, making a retreat from the other, but trying to not be blatant about it. Which was fine. Jon told themself that it was fine and dandy, and exactly how it should be. Terrible things were about to happen, and if they could keep Martin safe, it would all be worth it in the end.
And then, Jon died.
Sorta, kinda, that part was still a bit of a messy blank, but by the time Jon was mostly back to himself, Martin was away, spending his time with the Avatar of the Lonely, Peter Lukas. During that event, Jon realized that they discovered the difference between being alone and being lonely due to Martin’s absence.
They didn’t like it. No, not at all. The quiet calm they had experienced while being alone was replaced with a tight yet dull sadness that ached now that they were by themself. Jon, of course, had felt the latter at times in their life, but nothing this constant or instantly renewed after they caught the merest glimpse of Martin, or had some random awkward exchange with the man.
They missed Martin’s voice, the cadence of it. They missed Martin’s cologne, the soft scents of sandalwood and cedar that lingered. They missed bright eyes, small shy smiles just for them, and renewed steaming cups of tea almost always at their elbow when it was needed most. The world was better with Martin in it, or so Jon began to realize and dream. Their dreams were becoming so very strange of late, full of too many watchful eyes, but they tended to center around Martin.
Jon told themself that they could deal with Martin being always away from them, but once he was taken by the Lonely, Jon couldn’t live with that so they risked the impossible for Martin. They risked everything for a love that might arrive stillborn, but if Martin remained in the land of the living, it would all be worth it.
Against all odds, it worked. Jon would never admit it aloud, even to themself, but they had enjoyed killing Peter, oh yes. They had enjoyed it immensely, making that lesser avatar pay for trying to take what was theirs. The Powers were covetous things, and Jon found that he was no exception to this.
The second time they ever touched was Jon taking one of Martin’s hands to help lead him out of the Lonely’s pea-soup thick fog. Martin’s hand was soft and chilly at first, growing warmer the closer they got to leaving that terrible place. The second time was also the last time, much to Jon’s chagrin.
Here and now, they were hiding out in Scotland of all places, in one of Daisy’s safe houses. For all the good that did them, but better here to regain their bearings than out there in the ever growing murk and chaos of the Apocalypse.
And still, Martin did not touch him, or at least, he did his best not to, something that was hard do while sharing a bed and living together in close quarters. Jon had no idea how to bring it up without sounding like an ass, or coming off as needy, or both. They were together, and that was lovely, and it should be more than enough.
“What’s wrong?” Startled Jon out of staring into the nothingness outside. This terrible new world still had its own versions of day and night. One did not want to stare into either for too long. “Is something out there again?”
“Mmm? No, sorry, sorry. Just lost in thought.” Jon muttered, suddenly feeling the bad sort of self conscious.
“You have the most peculiar expression. Must have been quite the peculiar thought to cause that. Would you like to share?” Martin asked kindly, placing a cup of tea beside them, but taking a seat across from them.
“No.” Jon said before blowing on their tea, hoping that would be the end of it. Martin’s demeanor made it clear that this was still much on the forefront.
“Something is bothering you, and I believe it’s something I’m doing so I’d like you to tell me what it is so I can stop.”
“What are you talking about? You’re being ridiculous.”
“Jon, you watch me for like an hour or so at a time when you think I won’t notice. You sigh, deeply I might add, when you’ve had your fill, and then proceed to stare out the window in an obvious state of melancholy for an equally long period of time.”
“I’m not some forlorn Jane Austen character, wilting away because a suitor has not been by to woo her.”
“Actually, now that you mention it, that’s exactly how you’re acting, like you’re waiting for Mr. Darcy to turn up and ask for your hand in marriage.” Martin grinned, looking delighted that he could tease them now so that Jon didn’t think Martin was upset with them. “I’m just going to keep bugging you about to until you tell me, and seeing how we’re both each other’s captive audience, I don’t see it going well for you. Perhaps you could-”
“Why don’t you touch me?” Jon decided to just rip off this plaster. The sudden outburst of clarity definitely made Martin shut up so Jon rushed the rest of their words forward before they failed them. “I mean you don’t have to if you don’t want to, of course, and I realize I might not be the most attractive person, especially now.” As they vaguely waved their scarred hand at the rest of their equally scarred body.
Jon trailed off, almost running out to steam. Embarrassed by the answering silence, Jon finally risked looking over at Martin. They found the man studying them with a soft yet complex indeterminate expression. “I’ve noticed you hug other people, that you seem to enjoy it. I guess after you deworm someone’s face and flesh, it loses its appeal so I get it, I really do. It’s fine. Forget I brought it up. I was just having a moment or something. Stress and all.”
“Do you want a hug?” Was what Martin asked, instead of instantly and conveniently forgetting everything recently spoken like Jon wanted.
“No! No, I’m not asking for a hug.” Jon said quickly, wishing the ground would swallow them up, and then immediately feeling sick from that thought, having already been there and done that. Jon decided that they were going to drink their tea, and go straight to bed, and hopefully, at some point in time during the night, they would both get very selective amnesia. Weirder things had happened before.
“That’s not what I asked you.”
“I don’t want something you don’t want to give.” Jon stated flatly.
“How do you know what I want? Have you asked me?” Was plaintively voiced by Martin who moved to sit beside Jon on the couch. It hit its mark.
“I don’t suppose I have. I’m sorry. This is new for me.” Jon said, given reason enough to pause. They didn’t like seeing Martin upset, and he had a valid point. The paths created by assumption usually ended in folly and upset.
“It’s okay. It’s new for me too. I owe you the same sort of questions. I just didn’t know when you’d be ready to talk about it, and considering everything that’s been going on, I didn’t think it was the right time for it. I didn’t want you to feel like I was pressuring you into anything while you’re recovering.” Martin said, “You asked first though so I’ll answer first. I honestly thought you didn’t like being touched, or wanted to be touched. There, simple as that.”
“I’ll answer yours back. Yes, I like hugs.” Jon said, “Why would you think I don’t want to be touched?”
“I dunno. Your warm friendly attitude, sparkling conversation, that come hither glare.” Martin rolled his eyes. “All of which screams ‘cuddle bug’.”
“Alright, yes, fine. Fuck off. Forget I said anything.” Jon grumped, trying to disengage so they could go back to looking at nothing with some remaining dignity. Gentle fingers trialing down the back of their neck wouldn’t allow this to happen. Jon full attention was entirely back on Martin now, their spine pleasantly tingling.
“Also, because you’re asexual, and I was trying to show you that I respect that.” Martin continued on unbothered, leaving Jon a little stunned. He started to take his hand away to have to caught and replaced back where it had been. Jon was past caring if they came off as needy.
“What does that have to do with anything?” Jon said as they tried not to shudder as fingers played with the hair at the base of their neck. They didn’t want to put Martin off for any reason under the sun.
“Ummm...a lot?”
“Not all touch is sexual.”
“That is true, but it can be perceived that way or easily misinterpreted without communication. Something you’re that considerably good at.”
“Do you want to sleep with me?” Because they always had to put their foot into it.
“I already sleep with you.” Martin remained unbothered, Jon reasoning that by now, he was probably used to it.
“Now you’re just being deliberately obtuse. You know what I mean.” Jon was intent on glaring, but then Martin ran his fingers through their hair, and Jon’s brain quit processing information correctly enough to keep talking.
“Hard as it might be for you to believe, I actually do find you quite attractive.”
“That’s not an answer.” Brain back online. Progress.
“It’s the same quality of answer you gave me when I asked you if you wanted a hug or not. Saying you like hugs isn’t much of an answer, is it?” Martin replied easily. He seemed content to just keep petting their hair and neck.
There were times that Jon was quite stunned with themselves about how they had managed to overlook Martin’s cleverness for so long. “Yes, I would like a hug.” Jon said tightly as they turned to look back out the window.
They didn’t get to glare at the view for long, Jon physically reminded about just how big and strong Martin actually was. It ended up being more of a full body snuggle than a hug, like Martin have been saving up all his hugs for now to cash them in at once. There was an unfamiliar pleasant soft warmth, the center of which Jon found that they fit in together rather neatly, surprisingly so, first in Martin’s lap, and then fully on top of Martin, the pair laying down across the length of the couch so their legs slotted together. Martin was slightly propped up by the couch’s corner, keeping Jon nestled to his chest, his arms around the Archivist to hold Jon close while Martin rested his chin on their head.
It was better than anything Jon had allowed themself to imagine. The feeling of safe was about as rare as hope, having an immediate unexpected effect.
“Jon?” Martin whispered after his own wave of euphoria had died down a wee bit, making him realize that Jon had fallen fast asleep in his arms. You never really knew someone until you lived with them, and in this moment, Martin realized he was in love with a person who strove to emulate an octopus in their sleep. After it became quite obvious that Jon was not going to wake up or let go of him, it was surprisingly easy to carry them to bed, both getting more comfortable, which was impressive in Jon’s case. Martin hadn’t realized that they could look so blissed out from touch alone.
As tempting as it might be to fall asleep, Martin resisted the urge, instead enjoying himself by gently stroking Jon’s back and neck, and smelling their hair and the crook of their neck, that spot behind the ears. They used the same products, but for some reason, they all smelled better on Jon, even the awful pink old lady hand soap that Daisy had bought in bulk.
That, and Jon always had the scent of cinnamon about them. Martin would have blamed it on the supernatural, but it was like that when he had met Jon all that time ago at the Institute, when the Head Archivist had still been fully human. Martin had no idea how Jon managed to accomplish that. He wondering if Jon would allow him to brush their hair now, if he could ask about it. They had the loveliest dark hair shot through with silver, fine to the touch but thick. The way it caught the light, it reminded Martin of a meteor shower.
“You never answered my question.” Came from somewhere almost underneath Martin a few hours later, Jon seeming intent on burrowing a space for themself between him and the mattress like they were a rabbit. Martin wasn’t about to let them hide so he made the both them sit up for this, but kept his arms around Jon while the person remained in his lap.
“Do you like this?”
“Yes.” Jon admitted, his eyes still closed. They looked about ready to fall asleep again.
“I do as well.”
“Yeah, but will it be enough?” Jon asked in all seriousness, opening their eyes to stare up at Martin with a sadness that tore into him. They were going all tense again. Martin was having none of that though.
“Yes.”
“Why?” If Jon was a candy, Martin decided that he’d be a Warhead. Painfully sour and eye watering in the beginning, but if one kept at it, becoming sweet and refreshing by the end of it.
“Because it’s you.”
“That’s a terrible answer.” Was all Jon could think to say, cursing himself. They decided to take a different route instead. “I would very much like to kiss you.”
“You would?” Martin bit back a smile. Jon had declared the last part so primly, like they weren’t securely situated in Martin’s lap, or having drooled on him.
“Hugging and kissing aren’t mutually exclusive with sex.” Jon didn’t know what they were trying to say or offer.
“No, they’re not.” In that maddeningly calm manner of his, Jon having no idea where Martin got his patience from. “Jon, we’re together, whether we have sex or not. You know that, right?”
“It’s important.”
“It is to some people, but not everyone. Why don’t you ask me what I want? I know you could look in my head and find out, but why don’t you try asking me first, and not in the bad way?”
“All right. Pretend I asked that exact question so you can give me the answer you want to give.” Jon said.
“You’re getting better about that.” Martin grinned, “I want someone to notice me, to love me, to appreciate me, and respect me. I value that over all else, especially anything sexual.”
“Oh,” Jon tried to move forward, at a loss. Conversations like this rarely went so well.
“Is it safe to say that you’re fine with touching?” Martin asked, tentatively relocated his hands to rest on narrow hips.
“Yes.” Jon reciprocated, placing their hands on Martin’s shoulders to steady themselves.
“And you’ll tell me when and where it’s not, yeah.” Martin stated firmly, not about to leave it up for question.
“Yes.” Jon said theatrically dutiful, a smile trying to flit across their lips. Martin hoped that Basira survived so that he could thank her. He knew where to look for humor in the Archivist’s face and voice because of her, that it could exist there.
“Hugging is fine?” Martin asked as he jostled Jon in closer to him, pulling up his legs so Jon was the meat held safe in this love taco.
“Oh, yes.”
“And kissing?” Because faint hearts never won fair...people, or something like that by Shakespeare. Thinking was starting to get quite difficult with Jon so willingly near to him. The Archivist ran hotter than one would have expected from their much slighter form and their pension for stealing Martin’s jumpers. He had thought at one point that Jon would be cool to the touch, but nothing could be further from the truth. Their skin was nice, the normal parts of it silky soft while the scarred bits were more satiny. It was lovely, but it was obvious that there was something more than just blood flowing beneath their skin.
Martin was caught off guard when Jon answered him by pressing their lips together. It was softer than he had ever expected or imagined, slight and sweet as rose petals brushing against your lips when you leaned in to scent the blooms.
It was over too quick, Jon drawing away with a hot face. Martin leaned in before he could keep himself in check, but it turned out well for once, Jon quickly picking up where they left off, but this time with more confidence, the Archivist cupping his face gently with their hands to keep it in place. As the kiss deepened, their fingers found their way into Martin’s hair, gripping his curls to anchor him there, like he was planning on leaving any time soon. In that moment, Martin was just fine with the current state of the world if it meant that Jon kept kissing him in their bed.
“Noted.” Was all Martin could say when he could when they finally parted. Jon looked adorable so well kissed, rare color welling up in their cheeks and lips, their eyes bright with something other than fear for once.
“Is this,” Jon was already stammering, “Is this fine? Because if it’s not-“
Their nonsense was interrupted by Martin leaning in to sample their lips again until they were both breathless.
“I kiss thee with a most constant heart.” Martin told them, a sweet teasing joy on his face and in his voice, making Jon smile back, despite the nerves and doubts. They would always be there, but for right now, it was just them, together.
“Stick to Keats.”