Work Text:
It's cold, sitting up on the walls of the Southlands, as the sun sets, taking what little warmth it sheds this late in the year with it.
It's beautiful, at least. The horizon is tinged orange and pink, the clouds are all wispy, framing it so perfectly. Mumbo wishes he had his camera, but it's all the way down in his bunker and he wouldn't want to leave this moment.
Especially not when Martyn's here. Mumbo squeeze's Martyn's hand in his, and when he looks over at his husband, he tries to pretend he wasn't staring. Martyn takes in a breath through his teeth, looks out at the view, and taps his foot. Like he's embarrassed Mumbo caught him. Adorable.
Mumbo draws his legs up to his chest, trying to keep himself warm. “What're you thinking about?” Mumbo, probably.
“I— Well—” Martyn gestures vaguely to the sunset with his free hand. “It's a romantic sight, innit?”
Mumbo giggles. He knows what Martyn's getting at, he isn't that much of a spoon.
“Is that kiss offer still on the table?” Martyn ventures, poor thing trying to sound less nervous than he is. He'd never have expected Martyn of all people to be shy about kissing him— he always seemed so... nonchalant. It's endearing, if anything.
Of course Mumbo says yes, they're married after all (Well— only for a few hours, really. But that's enough, isn't it?)
Martyn moves closer (they were already quite close), and cups Mumbo's face. His skin is so warm on his cheek, and Mumbo leans into it on instinct.
“You're so pretty.” Martyn mumbles, staring into Mumbo's eyes— he's never particularly liked eye contact, but maybe this is tolerable. Martyn's different.
Mumbo scoffs. “I'm really not.”
“Nah,” Martyn argues. “Wouldn't've married you if you weren't pretty. I have standards.”
“Do you?”
Martyn rolls his eyes. “Right, I've had enough out of you. C'mere.” He pulls Mumbo towards him with the hand on his face, and he follows the guidance easily.
What is Mumbo supposed to do with his hands—? Well, hand. One is still holding Martyn's.
Their lips meet, and Martyn's are rough on his, covered in little scars from him chewing on them. It's pleasant, actually, especially when paired with Martyn's stubble scratching his face. It's exactly what Mumbo would've expected from a man like his husband.
It's tender, though. Martyn's hand moves to the back of Mumbo's head slow, fingers gripping his hair as gently as they can. It's sweet, and it's all Mumbo could ever want.
Martyn snickers, and Mumbo pulls back. “What? Did I do something wrong?”
“No— Just— You were smiling.”
“Oh.” Mumbo hadn't even realized.
“That's not a bad thing!” Martyn rushes to correct. “It's cute! I thought it was cute.”
“Oh.” Mumbo's face feels hot. It's stupid, Martyn's his husband, but the idea he actually finds any part of Mumbo cute, or pretty, or handsome, or any word Martyn feels like calling him makes Mumbo so flustered his tummy hurts.
Martyn kisses him on the cheek. “Come on, love, let's get you back inside, you're freezing.” Martyn prompts, rubbing his hand up and down Mumbo's arm. The sun has fully set, now, and all that remains is splatterings of pink fading into black sky and sprawling stars.
Mumbo's skin still feels hot with embarrassment as he stands up, but he shivers in the cold regardless (or it could be nerves, who knows). Martyn wraps an arm around Mumbo's back as they walk to his bunker.
“I can think of a few ways to get you warmed up.” Martyn suggests, grinning.
“What—?”
“Cuddling. Why, what were you thinking of?”