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They don’t actually have dinner together that evening and even though the initial disappointment Martin feels, once he actually gets home that day he realises that was a good thing. His flat is a mess. And he doesn’t have any food. At least nothing that would make for a nice meal. And he’d also like to have at least one bottle of wine ready.
So when Jon tells him the next day, rolling the corner of a yellowed statement page between his fingers, looking sheepish and like he’s truly sorry, that he won’t be able to make it that evening either, Martin doesn’t feel too bad about it. At least now he’ll be able to properly go grocery shopping instead of dashing to the shops in his break.
“But tomorrow would work!” Jon says after he fumbled his way through his apology and Martin has to bite down on a smile. Jon looks truly desperate to make him understand that he’s not trying to get out of their date. Their date. Martin still can’t quite believe it.
“Tomorrow sounds great,” Martin tells him softly.
Jon looks up at him, actively seeking eye contact, which is still something that makes Martin feel strangely exposed. The light catches the frame of his glasses briefly.
“I’m really sorry, I—” Jon lifts his free hand and reaches out, grabs the cuff of Martin’s jumper, like he needs to make absolutely sure that Martin understands but doesn’t really know what to do with himself. It makes Martin’s heart clench.
“I know, Jon, don’t worry about it. It’s alright.” Martin gently wraps his fingers around Jon’s slim wrist, making him release his death grip on the wool.
Jon’s eyes drop to their now-clasped hands. Martin’s large pale one enveloping Jon’s slender, darker-skinned palm and fingers. It feels incredibly intimate.
Martin gives Jon’s hand a small squeeze before dropping it gently. His fingers are cold. He should bring him another mug of tea. “Tomorrow works just fine,” he reassures Jon again.
“I—thank you, Martin.” Jon’s mouth ticks up in a little smile.
Martin spends the rest of the day with butterflies in his stomach.
After work he makes the trip to Waitrose, gets ingredients for one of the handful of dishes he knows how to make well and picks up a decent bottle of light red wine along with it. Nothing too fancy but still a little more expensive than he’d usually get.
Despite or maybe even because of the extra time Martin got to prepare he’s more nervous than ever when he and Jon clock out the next day. He knows he’s being a bit ridiculous, it’s not like he’s never been alone with Jon. Though, of course the circumstances are a lot different this time.
What manages to calm Martin’s nerves a little, is that Jon seems to be even more anxious than him. He carries a twitchy, apprehensive energy about him, like he’s getting ready to bolt any second.
They don’t really talk much during the commute to Martin’s place but that’s also not very unusual as Martin’s used to Jon’s silence. When they get off the train though, Jon following close behind Martin, and someone abruptly stops to change direction in front of Martin, causing Jon to walk into him, he starts apologising so profusely that Martin has to stop and drag Jon off to a quieter corner of the station for a second.
“Jon,” he says calmly, grabbing him by the upper arm, firm but not too hard. “Jon, please calm down. You’re freaking out.”
Jon stares at him wide-eyed, his breathing laboured, but shuts up.
“Everything is fine. Take a deep breath. We’re just having dinner. I don’t expect anything from you. You don’t have to explain anything to me either if you don’t want to.” Martin rubs his hand up and down Jon’s arm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture and it appears to be working. A few minutes later, Jon shakes his head and chuckles self-deprecatingly.
“I’m sorry, it’s—well, it’s been a while since I’ve done anything like that.”
“I understand,” Martin says and then, without really letting himself think about it, he offers his arm to Jon.
Jon hesitates for the briefest of moments but then he hooks his arm under Martin’s. Martin has to bite his lip to contain his stupidly wide smile.
They walk arm in arm until they reach Martin’s flat, where Martin unlocks the door and lets Jon in before he closes the door behind them, locking it again.
“It’s become a habit,” Martin explains and Jon nods in understanding before taking off his shoes and hanging up his coat.
“I hope you like fish. And pasta. I’m not the greatest cook, but I know how to make a decent salmon tagliatelle. I heard some of the uh, meatier statements and though, maybe not.” Martin rubs the back of his neck.
“Yeah, they’re… a lot,” Jon agrees. “Salmon sounds great, though. Can I help somehow?”
“You, uhm, well I—,” Martin huffs, cringes at himself but soldiers on, “thing is, you make me a bit nervous.” He feels the heat rise in his cheeks. “So uh, don’t know how well that would go. But you’re welcome to join me in the kitchen. If you want. We can open the wine already.”
So that’s how they end up in Martin’s small kitchen, Jon slowly sipping away on his first glass of wine while Martin putters around with pots and pans. They get an easy flow of conversation going and soon Jon starts complaining about some of the less reliable statement givers, awkwards filing systems and how Tim and Sasha have apparently made it their goal to always use the mugs Jon likes most. Martin giggles at that, he’s long started to hide his own favourite mug and another one he knows Jon prefers in another cupboard.
Once the food is done, Jon tops up their wine glasses while Martin plates up, hangs up his apron and joins him. They clink glasses, Martin blushing something furious, and then dig in. Jon makes a small noise of appreciation after tasting the fish and Martin feels like his heart grows two sizes from that alone.
After they’re done eating Martin suggests they finish the wine on the couch in the living room and Jon agrees, picking up the bottle and following Martin.
Jon curls up on one end of the couch, one leg pulled up under him and Martin sits down in the middle, turned towards Jon but with a good few inches of space between them.
They don’t say anything for a little while but it isn’t uncomfortable, tense or awkward. Jon slowly twirls the stem of his glass between his long fingers, seemingly lost in thought, while Martin tries to come up with a way to now maybe actually broach the topic that got them here in the first place.
In the end it is Jon who speaks up first.
“Thank you, Martin, it was delicious.”
Of course, Martin blushes again, but this time, when he looks at Jon, he thinks he can even make out a bit of colour on his cheeks. It might just be the light though.
“I think I, ah, I owe you an explanation. And an apology.”
“Jon, you really don’t have t—”
But Jon stops him with a shake of his head. “Please, let me do this, Martin. It’s important.” He takes a deep breath. “I am sorry. I really treated you awfully in the past, I know that. And well, there isn’t even—there’s no real excuse for it. I can only try to explain myself and hope you can maybe understand where this misplaced ill-treatment came from. Even though you didn’t deserve any of it.” Jon scrubs a hand over his face with a sigh. “It didn’t take me very long, after you started working for me, to figure out you… like me,” he pulls a face at that, like he can’t understand how anyone could see something lovable in him. Martin kicks him in the shin for it. Gently. Jon shoots him a bashful little smile.
“You really weren’t very subtle about it and, and,” Jon stops, stares off into space for a second, “well, I liked it. It felt really good, getting all this attention from you. And eventually I realised that—,” Jon stops again, rubs a thumb over the side of his glass. Martin can tell it’s taking him considerable effort to talk about his feelings.
“I realised I was starting to like you, too. A lot. And it terrified me,” Jon says eventually, voice quiet. “Because the last time this happened I—it didn’t end very well, is the point, and I was so scared of that happening again. I didn’t want to go through that again and most importantly I didn’t want to potentially put you through it. Because you don’t deserve that, Martin. You don’t.”
Martin only realises he’s been holding his breath when he hears Jon breathe out audibly. Their eyes meet again and Jon smiles sadly, then he takes a sip of his wine and keeps talking.
“Her name was Georgie. Georgie Barker. We went to uni together.”
“Jon, you don’t—” Martin starts again but Jon stops him once more.
“It’s okay. I actually think it’s easier to tell you like this. I want you to understand.” There’s an edge of desperation in his voice, something Martin’s never heard like that from him before. It’s very effective in making him shut up instantly, heart beating fast, hands itching to comfort.
“Georgie and I dated for about half a year. At first it went fine, we got along great. I really think I loved her. She got my—she got me. But as things progressed, well… It was the first time I actually found myself in a position where I had to both actually come to terms with and also explain my asexuality to someone. It didn’t go great. Not because Georgie didn’t understand or accept it, no, she was actually very lovely about it, but because I did a very bad job of explaining myself.” Jon sighs heavily. “It led to Georgie thinking I never wanted to be intimate in any capacity and me being too self-conscious and afraid to make it even worse to correct her. It put such a strain on our relationship that in the end we drifted apart and eventually split up. The breakup wasn’t horrible but I think we both ended up confused and hurt and it took a while to work through it.” Jon goes quiet for a moment, lost in thought, before he continues. “I contacted her a few years later, once I’d learned a bit more about myself, apologised and explained myself and we’re on alright terms now. Maybe you’ll meet her one day. I think you’d like Georgie.”
Jon drinks the last of his wine and sets the glass aside on the coffee table. He wrings his hands nervously, not meeting Martin’s eyes.
“So, just to make sure I’m getting this right,” Martin says slowly, giving Jon time to interrupt him should he need to keep talking. When he doesn’t, Martin pushes on. “You acted… the way you did, because you were afraid that if you let us get too close you’d end up in the same situation as you did with Georgie?” Martin is careful to keep his voice as neutral as possible, even though in his mind he’s screaming at Jon to not be ridiculous! It’s been years, he’s had time to work through his feelings and they can do this! He doesn’t have to be afraid. Together they can do this! Though, at the same time he realises he’s acting unfairly towards Jon. He has a very valid reason to be so careful and Martin’s just being selfish.
“You can just say that I treated you like shit, Martin. It’s only the truth.”
Jon’s bluntness startles a laugh out of Martin.
“But, yes, essentially you’re right. Though, that’s not all there is to it.” Jon picks his empty glass back up from the table, starts fiddling with it. Martin offers him the bottle and when Jon motions for him to go ahead he portions the last of the wine between the two of them.
Jon takes another sip, then he keeps talking. “Back then, with Georgie, as I said, I was only just figuring out I was asexual,” he looks up at Martin who nods, encouraging him to keep going, “I’ve… more or less figured out what I like. But it’s not very,” he waves his hand around helplessly, “It’s not very consistent. One day anything beyond kissing just seems,” Jon pulls a face, seemingly unable to find the right words. “I don’t want to say unappealing. I wouldn’t want you to think it has anything to do with you, Martin.” Jon huffs in frustration, drags a hand through his hair and suddenly Martin can’t watch him even a second longer without offering some sort of physical reassurance. He scoots closer to Jon and puts a warm hand on his knee, squeezing gently. Jon meets his eyes, gives him a tiny, shaky smile.
“Sometimes, anything beyond kissing just isn’t on the menu. Got it.” Martin returns the smile. The corner of Jon’s mouth twitches, amused.
“Yeah. And then sometimes,” Jon tilts his head back, looks up at the ceiling, “sometimes I just,” he glances at Martin, rubs a spot just behind his right ear, knocking his glasses slightly askew. He clears his throat.
Martin can’t help it, he starts giggling. “Jon, you’re almost thirty, you can say that you get horny sometimes.”
Jon groans and rolls his eyes but Martin can tell that he’s trying to hide a sheepish grin.
“Anyway,” Jon continues, but some of the more serious tension has ebbed away now. Martin can tell from the way Jon’s shoulders are more relaxed. “It’s inconsistent and fickle and most of the time I don’t even understand it myself. It’s very headache inducing.”
“Might just be the tannins,” Martin chuckles, clinking his own glass with Jon’s. “But uhm, jokes aside, you know I don’t mind that you’re ace, Jon, right? I’d be perfectly content if we never had sex at all. I mean, if we—you know,” Martin ducks his head, blushing. “Sorry, I guess I skipped a few steps there. Thing is, your feelings are absolutely valid and I’d be happy to be there for you in any capacity you’re comfortable with.”
Jon takes a deep breath, blows it back out. He adjusts his glasses, his eyes are fixed on Martin’s hand still on his knee. He drinks some more wine, puts the glass aside again. Then he finally looks up at Martin.
“Thank you, it really means a lot. I’ve never—since Georgie, I mean, I haven’t really been with anyone since then. Never got the chance to try and do this right from the beginning.”
Martin nods in understanding. He’s not exactly a relationship expert himself but he’s willing to do whatever he can to make this work.
“Though, I sure cocked up the very start already.” Jon grimaces.
“Jon…”
“Can I kiss you, Martin?”
Martin’s heart drops all the way to the bottom of his stomach before jumping back up into his throat, beating double-time. Heat floods his face and his hand on Jon’s knee twitches violently. He quickly puts his glass down before he spills the last of his wine all over himself and the couch.
Jon is watching him, patiently waiting for Martin to stop freaking out. It’s not helping.
“Yes,” Martin chokes out eventually. “Yes, I’d like that a lot.”
“I got that feeling.” Jon chuckles. He gets up on his knees on the couch and Martin shuffles a bit closer to him.
Jon puts one hand on Martin’s cheek, his fingers are cool. He really must have terrible circulation. He leans close and Martin realises he’s never noticed the flecks of lighter brown in Jon’s eyes. Not that he’s ever gotten this close to him before. Oh god, this is really happening.
Jon tilts his head and, with a small smile clinging to one corner of his mouth, kisses Martin. His fingertips slip under the temple of Martin’s glasses, making both their pairs click together softly.
Jon nips on Martin’s bottom lip, then pulls away just barely.
“Can I…?” he whispers, tugging gently on Martin’s glasses, who nods.
Martin is shortsighted, so when Jon leans back in, he can still tell that his pupils are blown a bit wider than usual, even without his glasses. But then Jon’s lips meet his again and Martin’s eyes slip shut. Jon’s hand is back on his cheek, the other resting feather-light against his side.
Martin parts his lips lightly, sighing against Jon who takes the opportunity to lick across Martin’s bottom lip before delving into his mouth. Always courteous, always asking permission with his gestures and ready to pull back any moment. Martin shivers, tingles shooting up and down his spine when Jon deepens the kiss and his hold on Martin’s side tightens a little. The hand on his cheek slips into Martin’s hair and Martin has to grab a handful of Jon’s shirt to not lose his head.
Whatever Martin expected kissing Jon to be like, it definitely wasn’t this. Maybe he expected him to be hesitant, a bit guarded even, but after he gauged Martin’s (very enthusiastic) responses, his actions turn almost frantic.
Jon kisses him like he’s dreamt about doing it for years, like he’s simultaneously done it a million times and is doing it for the first time ever. It’s overwhelming and exhilarating and leaves Martin in a state of absolute wonder, paired with a healthy dose of arousal.
They part and just breathe each other’s air for a moment, foreheads pressed together. Jon lifts his hand and trails a fingertip across Martin’s lips. His other hand is still in Martin’s hair, lightly scratching his scalp. If Martin were a cat he’d be purring.
“So, I take it you like snogging?” Martin mumbles, eyes slipping shut again.
“Hm,” Jon hums, “been thinking about this.”
“Tim said something similar.”
Martin can feel Jon tense slightly. He smooths his hands out over his sides, chuckles. “You really were jealous.”
Jon makes a noncommittal sound, his breath tickling Martin’s skin. “He got what I wanted.”
“Don’t worry about Tim. I’ll tell him to stop ambushing me in random Institute corners.”
“Do you want him to stop?”
Martin’s hands halt their movement along Jon’s sides. He leans back a fraction to properly look at him. “What do you mean?”
“You looked like you enjoyed yourself.” Jon shrugs. His voice is pointedly neutral.
“Jon, I love you! Of course, I’ll tell Tim to stop! Yes, I liked snogging him but it’s not—if it bothers you—I’ll tell him to stop.”
“You love me?” Jon sounds so surprised that it makes Martin laugh.
“Of course I do, you utter turnip!”
“Oi!” Jon shoves him lightly, but he’s grinning as well. There’s a smudge on his glasses, probably from when they got squished against Martin’s face.
“You know, Tim actually said I could bring you along. If I wanted to… You know.” Martin blushes faintly. “I don’t think he was joking.”
Jon’s eyebrows rise up towards his hairline, his glasses slip down his nose a little. He rubs that spot behind his right ear again.
“Jon…?” Martin tilts his head, nudges Jon’s shin with his big toe. “Something you want to tell me?” He can’t quite keep the grin off his face.
“Oh come on, Martin! It’s fucking Tim! Who doesn’t want to snog Tim?” Jon takes off his glasses and rubs the bridge of his nose like he has a headache.
Martin sniggers. “Please don't ever let him hear that. His ego is big enough as it is.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll be careful,” Jon says dryly.
“So, uhm, this thing with Tim, is it like a passing fancy or…?”
“Are you asking me if I just need to get Tim out of my system?”
Martin squirms in place. “I don’t know? Maybe?”
Jon huffs an amused little laugh. “Well, contrary to you, I haven’t actually kissed Tim.”
“Yet,” Martin mumbles under his breath.
Jon presses one heel against Martin’s thigh, making it unmistakable that he heard him.
“I just mean,” Martin shrugs, “I’m pretty sure you could, if you wanted to? I think Tim’s down. And Sasha’s okay with it apparently.”
“And what about you?” Jon asks.
Martin takes a moment to actually really think about it. Imagines watching Tim kiss Jon. He wonders who’d take the lead. Before tonight he’d have said Tim, definitely. But now he’s not so sure about it anymore. Jon kisses with a determined urgency and while Tim surely wouldn’t hold back, Martin doesn’t know if he’d try to overpower Jon or let him take over.
Martin realises that he really wouldn’t mind finding out. Up close.
“Are you blushing?”
Jon’s words startle Martin out of his little fantasy and if, contrary to Jon’s insinuation, he wasn’t blushing before, he definitely is now.
“I wouldn’t mind,” Martin all but squeaks.
“Is that so?” Jon asks, looking smug.
“Oh, shut up and kiss me.”
And so Jon does.