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It was 5:30pm on a Friday evening. Sasha and Tim had already left for the pub, leaving Martin and Jon alone in the archives. Which wasn’t all that bad, really. Half a year ago, the prospect may have been terrifying, but… things changed. People changed. Jon changed. Gone were the days of angry scowls (well, okay, he still scowled) and rude reprimands without apology. The new year had started with honest apologies to do better and Martin was never a person to believe that sort of bullcrap. But then he saw Jon doing better. Instead of berating Martin for misplaced citations and improperly formatted reports, he sat down with Martin and worked through their difficulties. Mistakes were met with ‘were you ever properly taught this? Come here, I’ll show you’ instead of a rude sneer at his intelligence and a frank dismissal.
Martin’s 11am offerings of tea went from polite pettiness to something he looked forward to doing. He looked forward to seeing Jon, hunched over in his office over paperwork with a furrowed eyebrow and narrowed eyes. He looked forward to watching Jon relax as he took a sip of tea and said, ‘thank you, Martin’ in a weary voice. He looked forward to maybe getting to chat a bit. And Martin developed a crush. And so he invited Jon out to lunches, expecting to be turned down — he never once dreamed that the man would say yes. And they ate lunches together at the canteen, in the break room, at the coffee shop across the street; sometimes Tim and Sasha would join, most times they wouldn’t. Jon would rant endlessly about some bureaucratic nonsense that was driving him up the wall or he would patiently listen as Martin chatted animatedly about Institute gossip, full with voice imitations. Martin would try hopelessly to explain the merits of poetry while Jon’s opinion stood strong like a brick wall, and Martin found himself trying to not lose himself in Jon’s addicting voice as he explained how wolf packs actually worked in nature.
And maybe Jon developed a crush too. Because Jon had asked him out to dinner. And then to another. And then to an art museum. And then the zoo.
And then they were dating.
And so it was 5:30pm on a Friday evening. Sasha and Tim had already left for the pub, and it was Martin’s job to get Jon there. So Martin Blackwood found himself standing in the doorway, watching fondly as his boyfriend combed through the file boxes in search of something-or-another. Jon-watching was probably one of Martin’s guilty pleasures, identifying and cataloging the differences in Jon’s demeanor and attitude over the months. The man still attempted to maintain a stiff air of professionalism on most days, wearing his hair back in a strict ponytail on most days — however, today, something tiny had cracked, and he allowed Sasha to french braid his hair while she was on break and he was sending emails to the heads of other departments. Martin hadn’t gotten a chance to appreciate her handiwork yet, and so he let himself take the time to admire the handiwork of her skilled fingers. She had braided Jon’s wiry hair in such a way that the silver strands were evident throughout the braid, creating a nice contrasting accent to the rest of his black hair.
It was nice.
Another Jon-change was the fact that he seemed to dress… more comfortably. His tweed jackets and starchy button-ups had been slowly replaced with a cast of softer and softer jumpers, sometimes an argyle sweater vest or two making an appearance atop a plain white collared shirt. These changes weren’t drastic, but Jon no longer looked as stiff in his appearance. Sometimes, in the earlier days, he almost looked ready to fight his own damn clothes, which Martin was now realizing was due to texture issues.
It was 5:30pm on a Friday evening. Martin Blackwood was watching his boyfriend (his boyfriend!). He could honestly do this forever. But he had a job to do.
He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jon’s middle, feeling his boyfriend stiffen and then utterly melt at his touch. The files Jon were folding dropped onto the floor rather unceremoniously. Suddenly, Martin found himself supporting a non-zero amount of Jon’s weight, and he didn’t exactly mind that. Instead, he nuzzled his forehead into the crook of Jon’s neck and embraced the warmth and the light smell of tea tree oil. “Hey,” he said simply.
“Martin,” Jon’s voice soft and a bit breathy with surprise. “I got carried away again, didn’t I?” Martin replied by tightening the hug. Jon’s hands came up to cover his own. “M’sorry,” he said. “I just could have sworn we had a box dedicated to Arthur Nolan statements and I wanted to see if I could create a timeli—”
Martin kissed the stubble along Jon’s jaw, feeling the man impossibly melt even further. “No need to apologize. It’s not too late — I think Sasha and Tim are betting on how late we’ll be, though.” He made no attempts to untangle Jon from his grasp, instead closing his eyes and embracing the moments. It’s not often that they allowed themselves workplace PDA, so he would savor every moment like sweetness on his tongue.
Jon grunted at the comment in regards to Tim and Sasha, but also made no efforts to detangle himself. “Mmm, who would win if we didn’t show up at all?”
Martin chuckled. “I think we’d both lose in the group chat,” he paused for a beat. “Unless you’ve changed your mind about going, in which case winning and losing isn’t really a factor anymore.”
Jon hmmed and hawed for a moment, tracing his fingers on the backs of Martin’s hands. “Mmm, I’d like to show up,” he finally acknowledged, “but my boyfriend is a very comfortable man and his actions posit an interesting argument.”
“Such as?”
“Stand here forever and be warm.”
Martin pressed another kiss to Jon’s stubbled jaw, then down to his neck, then onto a bit of exposed collarbone. He relishes Jon’s little hums of contentment. “I think your boyfriend’s argument has merit.”
“Indeed it does.”
They didn’t arrive at the pub until 6:15pm that Friday evening.