Work Text:
Jonas remains a few steps behind her, his eyes never leaving her moving form under the pouring rain. The air is heavy with the scent of wet soil and the woods surround them in their autumn colours. She crouches down at the base of a tree, her purple skirt splayed around her.
She almost looks like an iris from where I'm standing, the thought comes to him unbidden. If only irises could be venomous.
She quickly moves some fallen branches out of the way and unearths a bundle of worn grey cloth. His eyes widen involuntarily once this layer reveals the object hidden underneath: a round-shaped golden artefact. Its surface is covered in elaborate lines and locks and Jonas’ eyebrows furrow in confusion. The woman standing in front of him is definitely from another world, but he didn’t need more proof of that.
Within a few strides, he’s closed the distance between them. He nods towards the object, his expression betraying the slightest hint of incredulity. “You travelled with that?” She merely nods, deep lines of concern never leaving her face. He finds himself wondering what lies behind that unshakable sadness. Is it merely his proximity to her? The thought of how he dashed at her in anger the other day at the factory burns him with shame and surely that made her afraid of him? Or is it the notion of what he might well become one day? Or guilt? As always, his head starts spinning just by considering the possibilities.
When she turns one of the screws on the instrument, a cylindrical cavity opens up. She picks the single object inside it and outstretches her hand towards him. “This is the last one I have. It’s the only way I have to go back again.” His eyes are still shadowed by suspicion, but they slowly leave her face to focus on the object in her hand: a transparent sphere containing a strange black substance. Ever so carefully, as though approaching a wild animal, he reaches out to take it.
The spark of electricity that courses through him when their fingers brush against each other is nothing unexpected but his reaction still mortifies him. You creep, you absolute fool. This isn’t your Martha, having certain reactions to her is grotesque. But an insistent voice in his head keeps insinuating that this is Martha, nonetheless. Her and I both know this, neither of us is free from the things we desire.
The substance he examines briefly doesn’t seem dangerous at first sight, but he won’t feel safe using it just yet. He can’t trust her just yet. Not quite. His mind -his heart- still recoils in fear and awe at the effect this stranger can have on him. Her eyes have never once moved from his face, she stands there seemingly unconcerned about the drops of rain ricocheting down her cheeks. They could almost pass off as tears. They measure each other up a moment too long, neither of them flinching but seeking something akin to recognition.
Everything about her is familiar and foreign, she enthrals and makes him want to run for the hills at the very same time. The implication of what this is, a delicate exercise in trust, hangs heavy between them.
“We should get back to the house, it’s already getting dark and we don’t have a lamp with us.“ He glances at the sky as a form of explanation. She doesn’t object, lightly lifting the hem of her skirt from the ground and turning towards the direction they came. As they follow the path out the woods, they find themselves walking side by side. Neither utters a word and Jonas keeps his eyes resolutely on the ground and fights the urge to raise them whenever he feels her gaze on him. Is it because you don’t trust her and could reach her in half a stride if she ever tried to run or are you concerned for her safety on the slippery ground? He knows that unexplainable as it is, the answer is both.
When they finally reach the outskirts of the town, the lanterns framing the big wooden doors of the house are the only visible thing in the dark and cascading rain and they follow them blindly. They only sound in the darkened foyer when they enter is the sound of their boots and the rain dripping from their clothes onto the worn carpet. Jonas immediately lights a match and soon the room is illuminated by lamplight. That is when he notices the wall clock in front of them marking eight-thirty. The late hour explains the quiet around the house, normally filled by the chatter of its three younger residents. Jonas suspects that Franziska and Magnus have already retired to their room considering their early turn at the factory the next morning and Bartosz - he fights the urge to grit his teeth at the thought of his aggravating former friend- will likely be shutting down the machines.
Neither of them utters a word until they reach the base of the wooden staircase leading up to their rooms. The stairs are too steep for two people to climb them at the same time and Jonas gestures for her to go first. She’s only made her way up to two steps when he clears his throat to get her attention again. “I will get you some dry towels, you look completely drenched.” His observation is met with genuine surprise on her face. Her right hand instinctively brushes her bangs on her forehead. The small gesture sends a pang of fondness through his chest. “Thank you. I guess I’ll see you upstairs.” She’s already turned back and hurried up the stairs before he can take a better look at the blush spreading down her cheeks. She can’t be blushing because of me? He’d noticed her gaze lingering on him more than a few times and the way she’d held onto his hands that night she arrived, as if she never wanted to let him go… he shakes his head and opens the trunk in the living room. He takes out three towels and takes care to close it as delicately as possible, eager not to alert the rest of the house to his movements. He grabs the lamp, careful to keep it out of reach of the towels, and makes his way upstairs climbing two steps at once.
He stops in front of her door to take a few breaths before knocking once. “Come in”. As soon as he’s stepped into the darkened room, he almost immediately walks out again. Martha is standing in front of the small mirror in front of her bed in nothing but her nightshirt and corset, her arms wrapped around her torso in an attempt to untie the garment. She huffs out a breath of frustration and drops her hands back on her hips. “I can’t untie this thing myself, Franziska usually gives me a hand to help me but I don’t want to walk into her and Magnus’ room at this hour…” the comical roll of her eyes makes his lips curl up in an involuntary smile. She takes a deep breath and looks at him pleadingly, “Would you mind?” He’d rather climb to the roof at this very moment and get struck by lightning. “Not at all”.
He does his best to look composed while he crosses the room towards where she’s standing. He takes his time in positioning the lamp on the table and motions for her to come closer to the light. Untying a lady’s corset isn’t among his specialities. In truth, the only time he ever touched such a garment was on the morning after her fateful arrival, when he’d laid out her new clothes for her. The bow holding the strings firmly together is located at the top of the corset and he gingerly starts undoing it. His calloused fingers brush against the unblemished skin of her lower neck and the temptation to give up there and then is strong. You haven’t survived twenty years in a barren contaminated forest to give up on a corset. His eyebrows shoot up as he hears her draw in a sharp intake of breath. At least I’m not the only one suffering here.
As delicately as his hands allow him, he unties every knot in the corset. Standing in such proximity, the closest they’ve ever been, he picks up the scent of flowers in her wet hair. Irises? For a moment he’s almost overcome by the irrational desire to rest his head against the back of her head to breathe her in. Jonas shakes himself out his trance, and when he looks down again, mercifully only a single knot is left to be undone. As soon as it’s finally loose, her corset slides down her frame and pools at her feet. Not bothering to pick it up, she turns to face him before he can put any distance between them again. The distance they always ought to keep.
Her blue eyes are locked on his and he the quiet determination he’s come to recognise in the past few weeks. The afternoon’s tension has dissipated and has left room for something impossibly soft, something he only saw on the night she first materialised into his life. Her right hand reaches up to touch a strand of hair that’s come to rest on his forehead and move it to the side. His eyes instinctively flutter close at the touch, the feeling of deja-vu making his heart ache.
Her exploration of his face doesn’t stop there, her hand tracing the outline of his jaw and his coarse beard. “Your hair is wet, I could feel it dripping down the back of my head as you unlaced me.” “I’m sorry about that.” His voice is much hoarser than usual and his mind barely registers that they’re both standing a lot closer to each other. “You don’t need to be sorry for anything, Jonas. Truly.” His shock at hearing his name come from her lips is second only to the realisation is cut short by her hands cupping his face. And then she’s propping herself up on her tiptoes to close the remaining distance between them.
The first brush of her lips against his is soft as snowfall and for a moment he thinks he’s imagined it. But then she kisses him a second time with deliberation and he reciprocates in kind, his chapped lips pressing enthusiastically against her mouth. For a while, their kisses are the only sound in the room but they both lose any pretence of chastity once her tongue sweeps over his lower lips and he eagerly grants her access.
She moans loudly into his mouth as her hands leave his cheeks to tangle in his hair, pulling him firmly to her. He mirrors her movement by sneaking his arms around her hips to bring their bodies flush against each other. They both gasp at the sudden contact, their shapes seemingly a perfect fit for each other. Jonas lets go of her lips only to lower his head to her neck, sucking and nibbling at her hot skin down to her collarbones. Her appreciative gasps and the way her small hands pulling at his hair only spur him in his ministrations.
Her skin is the most heavenly thing he’s ever tasted and he is desperate to worship every inch of her. Her lithe body is writhing at every touch of his tongue, and he feels a primal sort of pride at every strangled gasp he coaxes out of her. Once he reaches the expense of skin between her breasts left exposed by her chemise, he hesitates. Lifting himself, he recaptures her lips in a sealing kiss. “Martha. Martha, we need to stop.” They both draw apart to catch their breath and examine each other’s faces. Her blue eyes are twinkling and a light smile is playing at the corner of her lips. Their expressions are mirror images of each other, ecstatic and admiring. For once the silence stretching between them is borne out of understanding instead of resentment.
“How did you call me?” “Hmm?” His head feels uncharacteristically dizzy but he hasn’t felt so alive in weeks…or years. Her voice grounds him again.
“You called me Martha” Oh. “You are Martha. It’s really obvious, once you know.” Jonas isn’t certain whether he’s saying it more for her benefit or his, but she must recognise the earnestness on his face and nods slowly. Her right hand reaches down to grasp his and their fingers intertwine of their own volition. He watches in wonder as she lifts their hands to her face and presses a kiss on his palm, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest.
“I know you don’t trust me yet.” He begins to contradict her but she lifts a finger to his lips. “Don’t deny it. Trust is earned. But give me the chance to do just that. And I will do the same with you. It won’t be easy, considering what we know about each other.” The bold reference to Adam momentarily freezes the blood in his veins. “But perhaps it could be a way out.”
He lets her words wash over him, contemplating the expression on her face for a moment. “It’s only right. There haven’t been many people I’ve been able to trust in my life so far. Sometimes… sometimes I think that could change everything.” Martha’s smile is empathetic but it doesn't reach her eyes before disappearing. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” The dejected tone of her voice sends a wave of helplessness through him and he beckons her back into his arms, his mouth resting at the crown of her hair. Martha seems to do her best to try to melt into his chest, her arms encircling his torso like vines. And to think that we could’ve had this for weeks if only I hadn’t been so blind.
Lightening suddenly illuminates the room and they hear a loud bolt of thunder from outside, the storm outside clearly still raging. A shiver courses through Martha’s body and Jonas curses himself for not thinking of her standing in just her nightshirt all this time. Jonas decides, rather than force her to walk the few steps to the bed, to carry her in his arms. She gives a little yelp of surprise as she feels him bend down to lift her legs but quickly relaxes back into his arms. “I didn’t know you were this strong, you’re full of surprises” her observation is playful and it’s his turn to blush under her mischievous gaze.
Once she’s reclining on the bed, he grabs the red duvet folded in a corner and wraps it around her shoulders. “There, red riding hood. Safe and sound”, his lame comparison is rewarded with a genuine laugh from Martha. She suddenly tries to stifle a yawn and Jonas decides that it’s time to let her rest. Placing a goodbye kiss on her forehead, he makes to step away from the bed. There will be a better time to discuss it.
“Jonas, wait”. Her warm hand catches his wrist for the second time that day and once again he’s impressed by the firmness of her grip. “Would you stay with me? Until it stops raining?”. Martha’s eyes shine with uncertainty and he can’t bring himself to deny her, propriety and his desire be damned. “Alright. But we’re sleeping.” “What else could we be doing?” Her tone carries the barest challenge and her gaze refuses to leave his as he lifts a single inquisitive eyebrow. The air between them is charged once again, but he chooses to let the moment pass. He averts his eyes as he strips down to his shirt and trousers, not before laying his clothes next to hers on the chair.
He’s barely climbed onto the bed when Martha nestles herself into his arms. They soon find themselves entangled once again, this time in a genuinely innocent way. His arms encircle her lean frame and her hands resting on his chest feel like an anchor. “Comfortable?” She murmurs her assent while brushing her nose against his beard. He simply holds her, her weight comfortable and reassuring in his arms, until her breathing slows down to a steady rhythm. Jonas keeps vigil for a long time afterwards, even though the doubts regularly plaguing his mind have gone significantly quieter. He falls asleep to the first rays of daylight already coming through the window and the faint smell of irises pervading his senses.