Work Text:
“I brought tea,” Jon heard amid the silence. He shivered. Made a mental note that he had become way too nervous and smiled softly. Martin had appeared seemingly from nowhere, like a ghost.
A simple brown cup landed on the island of free space on the desk. A cheap and practical cup. Jon didn’t spend much time choosing it.
“Don’t work too late, please.”
He'd think that even ten minutes would be “too long”.
“I’ll… I’ll try,” he knew all too well what Martin means. His frequent, long, regular overtime annoyed and bothered him. Jon himself started to think that it was too much. Work ethic and all. But now he finally has a grasp of the whole picture. Now every extra hour in the office was worth it.
A worried glance and a smile. At least some kind of relief for Jon.
Martin should have brought yet another document to sign, an empty formality, nothing else. Instead, he brought tea. Jon didn’t know if he was supposed to be grateful or angry.
Martin leaned in slightly and caressed Jon's hair with his hand, as if fixing it, but in reality just making it worse. No one uttered a word.
Jon carefully took Martin's hand out of his hair and started scrutinising his fingers. Like a child examining the mechanism of some disassembled toy. He was stroking the warm hands slowly and steadily with his own cold fingers, holding the hand carefully, as if holding a fragile nestling. He raised Martin's hand to his lips and pressed them against it.
Martin suddenly felt very hot in an already stuffy office. His plump fingers were burning in Jon’s ever-cold hands. And Jon seemed to be failing to notice anything happening. He leaned down quickly, trying to kiss Jon, but instead met his forehead with his own.
“Take off your glasses,” Jon smirked, carefully putting his own into the case. The world, his office to be exact, turned into a bunch of brownish and grey spots with a bright stain of Martin and his stupid striped sweater. Jon couldn’t quite remember where he’s seen that blue-and-green colour scheme already.
Martin took this opportunity to go around the desk and the chair and kiss Jon’s hair from behind. He ran his hands through the hair and began to twist long overgrown strands around his fingers. One of the reasons he was talking Jon out of cutting his hair back to its usual short length.
Jon turned his chair.
“Flirting with your own boss right in the office?”
He looked ridiculous at the best and pitiful at worst. Unfocused stare, messed up hair, and he started fiddling with his fingers again, putting his black ring on and off. Did he really hope to be taken seriously?
Martin bent down trying to kiss him again. This time they bumped their noses. They both stifled a giggle.
Jon got up from the chair and their height difference became too obvious.
Martin grabbed him by the waist and a second later Jon found himself sitting at the edge of his desk. One of the statement files fell on the floor with a thud and Jon made a frustrated face. His office once again proved unsuitable for work.
He kissed Martin’s cheek and started picking up the scattered documents. Martin curiously looked at Jon putting statements back into files and putting the files back on the table, closing his laptop and taking his coat from the coat hook. He smiled at the scene.
“You’re going home after all?”
“It’s already past six and not a single one of my assistants brought me the document I needed.”
***
The noisy city, the surrounding chatter, everyone rushing everywhere. Some girl in heels with a cup of coffee in one hand running past. The terribly loud cars. Martin is holding Jon’s hand and is looking around. Jon is holding Martin’s hand and is looking at him. It may be possible they are the only people in this city who aren’t in a hurry. Everything around them whirls, honks, rumbles, flies, runs somewhere and yet is never on time. At some point Martin stopped understanding where to run. Jon stopped seeing any point in it.
“Do you… er… do you like London?” The moment Jon asked the question he knew what kind of an answer he would get. Too large and loud and dirty and hectic and pricey and just trite. He never liked London, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise.
Martin shifted his absent gaze at Jon. He paused to think for a second and sighed deeply, letting out a puff of vapour.
“No? I don’t think so. It’s always seemed too large and…” he went on repeating everything Jon had already known. “You?”
“I- I don’t know,” and that’s somehow true. He’s used to London. To its fuss and bustle, noise and dirt. And he’s not used to thinking about what he likes. It’s easier to say what pisses him off or what he hates or what he simply cannot stand. He knows what he doesn’t like. But What Does He Like is a difficult question. He likes Martin. London, not so much.
“I wish I could move away from here. My job’s here, though. And…” Martin stumbles, debating whether he should say it, “And mum,” he didn’t really want to say that.
“To live in a village or a small town closer to the sea,” Jon murmured.
“Stop it,” he doesn’t sound offended at all. “I won’t have anything to tell you!”
“Then you might start listening to me,” Jon smirked.
Martin squeezed his hand. He didn’t even notice they'd already reached the Tube station. The talking stopped for a minute. The crowd absorbed them and took them down, to the station.
The Tube, surprisingly, had empty seats. They never let go of each other's hands. Martin put his head down on Jon’s shoulder. He was observing the people around them, yet mentally he was already back home.
“Love you,” he murmured and buried his face into his shoulder.
Silence.
Too long.
Second after second, Jesus, when have they become this long? The knot in Martin’s stomach’s getting tighter, so does the lump in his throat that doesn’t let him breathe. He’s listening to the rhythm of the train.
“I love you, Martin.”
He unclenched his jaw. Fights the urge to say sorry. God, he’s so stupid. Jon squeezes his hand and he feels like he's suffocating.
Jon doesn’t know what to say. The ability to Know everything didn’t stop him from being a complete idiot.
He heard the name of the station. Their station! He practically jumped from the seat, along with a colourful crowd of other passengers, letting go of Martin’s hand. He stood up next to him, waking up from the daze of his own thoughts.
As soon as they get off the train, he tries to reach for Jon’s hand again. He can’t let go of it, not now.
Jon didn’t take his hand, hugging him instead. Pressed his head to his chest, grabbing him with his hands, fidgeting with his coat. Martin’s fingers run through his hair.
“I- I love you so much,” Jon speaks quietly, with pauses giving more meaning to his words. The words do sound more serious.
He stood on his tiptoes to kiss Martin. Slowly, with a taste of something he cannot quite put into words. Not when talking about his feelings.
The noise around them doesn’t exist anymore. Maybe it was never there in the first place. Do many things in life actually matter? Not when Jonathan Sims is kissing you in the middle of the Tube station.
Jon broke the kiss and sighed deeply. Martin looked down at him, a bit disappointed. He took his hand, and Martin is smiling again. Jon keeps himself from making some lame joke.
“Let’s get us home.”