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Martin is nervous.
And it’s fine, it’s perfectly rational to be nervous, considering the circumstances. Sure, he can handle silver worms staking out his apartment, and running from a worm-infested woman through the maze underground the Institute, but it’s this that puts butterflies in his stomach.
He has a date , after all. And it’s - well, it’s been a while, alright? His last relationship hadn’t ended on the best of notes, although he mostly blames his job for that. David had been very sweet, as well, but the Magnus Insititute requires one to keep weird hours, and Martin had had enough strange stories to share that he thinks may have pushed him away.
Ironic, then, that his job is the thing that is helping him go on this date.
He checks himself over in the mirror one last time (although this is, what, the fourth ‘one last time’? Maybe the fifth. It’s fine. Martin is nervous.) and then the buzzer to his flat rings, and Martin jumps.
“Get it together, Blackwood,” he mutters, heading over to the door to buzz Jon in, running his hands down the front of his shirt in a last-ditch effort to get rid of any stray wrinkles. “Come on up, Jon,” he says, and manfully stops himself from pacing in the few minutes it takes for Jon to get up to his door.
The knock comes sooner than he was expecting, and Martin needs to remind himself to breathe as he pulls the door open.
“Hi,” he says, putting on his best smile.
“Martin,” Jon greets, and Martin steps back to let him into the flat.
He looks incredible, even with the dark undereye circles, Martin thinks fondly. He’s in a lovely muted green jumper that complements his eyes perfectly, and dark pants. His hair looks almost fluffy as well, and Martin has to resist the urge to reach out and touch it.
“You, uh -“ he stammers, hands fluttering at his side. “You look. Nice.” Jon gives him a Look, capital L, at this, and Martin feels himself blush again. It’s not fair that a simple look can make him feel warm.
“I mean, really, Martin. Close your mouth, or you’ll be catching flies,” Jon says, fidgeting awkwardly with the collar of his jumper. Martin reaches up - how could he not - and pulls Jon’s hands away, unable to keep the smile off of his face.
“No, no - it’s, well, god , Jon, you look amazing,” he says.
“Ah, thank you, Martin. Georgie forced me to let her do my hair,” he confesses, playing with a few of the curls over his forehead.
“She did great,” Martin says, and Jon lets out a surprised laugh.
“Well, ah, don’t tell her that, she’ll never let me live it down,” he says, and Martin makes an ‘x’ over his heart.
“Promise. Ready to be off?” Martin asks, and Jon nods. Martin gets the crazy idea to offer him his arm but decides against it, instead holding the door open for Jon and locking up behind him as they head out toward the restaurant.
The tube is crowded, even for a Thursday evening, and Martin resolutely doesn’t think about how nice Jon smells as he presses up against him.
Dinner is wonderful. Martin convinces Jon to splurge on some of the fancier wine - the damage pay they’d gotten from the Institute is more than enough to cover some indulgences, and Martin wants this to go perfectly. The wine is delicious, too, as is the dinner. The conversation flows as naturally as it always does between them. There’s a strict moratorium on work topics, so Jon asks Martin about the poetry and Martin asks Jon about a few shows that he knows they both enjoy. It’s awkward at times, but they both soldier on, and by the end of the night, Martin thinks he might be even more in love.
He learns that Jon was in a band in college and tries to convince him to show him some videos, but is staunchly turned down as Jon flushes a deep scarlet. Martin figures he can search for them later, and lets the subject drop as Jon tries to stammer out an explanation.
It’s… peaceful, nearly. A moment that they both deserve, among all the other craziness going on in their lives.
And if there’s a moment where Jon is animatedly explaining some concept about narrative structure he learned at university while Martin stares at him and tries to convince himself to just. Reach out and grab Jon’s hand, it’s fine. He’s the only one who has to know.
At the end of the meal, Jon takes the bill (under protest from Martin, of course, who insists that they share it) with a promise that Martin can pay next time, and Martin can feel warmth starting to creep along his neck as the blushing starts all over again at the idea of a next time.
They leave the restaurant well after the sun has set,
It’s a lovely night; they’d taken the tube down to the restaurant out of a mix of convenience and lateness, but they both decide to enjoy a stroll along the Thames on the way back. It’s still London, so there aren’t any stars visible in the sky, but there’s a nice breeze brushing against them as they walk.
Jon’s knuckles brush against his and Martin stills, and then slowly, giving him time to reject it, tangles their fingers together. Neither of them pull away, and Martin can’t hide the smile that blooms on his face. He chances a glance in Jon’s direction, who’s staring straight ahead with a slight smile on his face, and feels his heart skip a beat. Their hands remain like that even as they get closer and closer to Martin’s flat, an unspoken agreement to return there at the end of the date since Jon lives quite a ways away.
“This is me,” Martin says, as they both come to a meandering stop outside his flat. “I, er - I had a wonderful time, tonight.”
Jon’s hand slips out of his while he takes a small step back, giving Martin a small smile. “I did as well. Thank you for, well. Thank you.”
Martin should lean in. It’s what people do, isn't it, kiss after the first date? But then, of course, what if Jon didn’t have fun and is just saying it to be pitying, or maybe he’s just not a kisser, or maybe it’s too forward, and not to even mention the fact that -
It throws Martin off-kilter when Jon is the one to lean up and kiss him, one hand in Martin’s collar and the other resting on his cheek, and Martin’s thoughts come to a screeching halt.
Kissing him back feels as natural as breathing, though, and his hands move up into Jon’s hair to tangle in his curls, pressing in closer as their lips brush against one another. Jon’s hands slip down to Martin’s waist and just rest there, while Martin lets one of his hands wrap around Jon’s back, pulling him in closer.
It’s nice, this. Martin still can’t really think beyond the press of Jon’s lips against his, the spicy-sweet smell of Jon’s cologne filtering in the air between them, and the heat of Jon’s hands settled on his waist.
Jon’s eyes are unfocused when he pulls back, and Martin’s sure that his own cheeks are a bright fiery red.
“ Oh,” he breathes, blinking rapidly as his hands curl into the front of Jon’s coat.
They both stand there for a moment, and Jon’s hands still don’t fall away from Martin’s waist as he holds them in place, breath intermingling in the space between them.
“D’you want to - come up?” Martin says, head still swimming a bit, before he can think better of it. “Oh, gosh, Jon, I didn’t - I mean -“
“Martin, it’s - it’s fine -“
“That was - I wasn’t thinking, I -“
“Martin, don’t -“
“Sorry, I -“
“ Martin,” Jon finally says, reaching out and resting both of his hands on Martin’s shoulders shutting him right up, “it’s fine. I understand.”
Martin gives him a rueful smile. “I didn’t mean anything by it, honest, it’s just late and dark outside, so…” he trails off, lamely, chewing on the inside of his lip as Jon stares at him, fondly.
“I know.” He lets his hands slip off of Martin’s shoulders, and Martin immediately misses the warmth. “Really, it’s fine, I don’t - go in for that sort of thing anyway,” Jon says, rubbing at the back of his neck self-consciously.
Martin smiles weakly over at him. “I promise it was a completely innocent offer.”
“I’m sure,” he says. “But I really must be getting back, it’s late.”
Martin lets him go, dropping his hands back to his sides as he steps back. “Yes, right, er - sorry.”
“You don’t have to keep apologizing, Martin,” Jon says, and Martin runs a hand through his hair.
“I know, I know, still.” He laughs, and then takes a few steps up to the entrance of his flat, leaning over the bannister at Jon standing below. “Next time, then?” Martin asks, and Jon smiles up at him, teasing glint in his eyes.
“Well, I hope you won’t be skiving off work tomorrow.”
“You know what I meant,” Martin says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly, and the soft laugh that Jon gives him in return makes his heart start speeding up again.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Martin, and…” Jon trails off, reaching up to pull Martin down to his level. “I had a lovely time.”
He presses a kiss to Martin’s cheek, and Martin pulls him in closer, hands framing Jon’s face as their lips meet. It’s over too soon, Jon pulling back with a slightly regretful smile on his face, letting Martin stand up straight instead of being half-bent over a railing to reach Jon standing below.
“I really have to get home,” Jon says, and Martin lets him go reluctantly, lips still tingling.
“Text me when you get back?” he asks, and Jon nods, stepping back with a smile on his face.
“Goodbye, Martin.”
“Bye, Jon,” he says back, and then Jon heads off. Martin watches him go from the steps to his flat, waiting until he’s disappeared into the darkness before heading inside.
Martin absolutely doesn’t sink against his door the moment it’s closed, arms wrapping around himself like he’s the love interest in some cliché film about romance, but if he does collapse into his bed and hug the pillow, faint scent of Jon’s cologne wafting around him, waiting up until he gets the text that Jon made it home safe, well.
No one has to know but him.