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    Summary

    Ren does what feels natural and brings a hand up to cover one of Martyn's own on his cheek. Then he leans in closer, resting his forehead against Martyn's own, breathing shared air and pointedly trying to ignore the gasp Martyn inhales at the gesture.

    "I'm okay, Martyn. I'm here, see? Green and everything. I've got lives to spare yet, dude." he murmurs, rubbing his thumb over the back of Martyn's knuckles.

    Martyn nods, silently, before tilting his head up to look Ren in the eyes properly. "I could've lost you. Don't you dare do that to me, Ren, not this early on. Not ever. Promise me."

    "I promise," Ren utters, quiet as anything. All of a sudden, he notices how Martyn's eyes keep flicking between Ren's own eyes and his lips, fleeting and darting and somewhere between frantic and longing, and Ren swallows thickly.
    _
    or; the inherent homoeroticism of firefighting.

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