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Martin doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of kissing Jon.
It’s been a couple days since they started, and the absolute euphoria it brings every time has not diminished at all. He still can’t get over the idea that he’s allowed to do this, that Jon actually wants him, too.
He’s already written quite a lot of poetry likening the feeling of Jon’s lips on his and his hands in his hair to the sun coming out after a long storm or a breath of air when you’ve been drowning. He may have written more poems in the past couple days than he did in the previous six months, even, and he knows they’re all sappy and probably not very good but he really couldn’t care less. He is in love and they are finally free from the clutches of the monsters and fear gods, and he is happier than he’s ever been.
As they step inside his flat, Martin’s lips are on Jon’s, again, desperate like it’s been ages instead of about 30 seconds since they last kissed in the lift. Martin’s right hand fumbles with the doorknob behind him while his left finds the small of Jon’s back, pulling him closer; Jon’s hands wrap around the back of his neck before one moves up to thread his fingers into his hair. Martin sighs contentedly and abandons the doorknob in his renewed need to get both of his hands on Jon, but ends up smacking his elbow against the door in the process. He can feel Jon laughing a little against his mouth at his antics, and they pull apart for just a moment.
“Are you alright?” asks Jon in a voice that betrays more amusement than concern.
“Great!” says Martin, because he really is, Jon’s voice making the butterflies in his stomach intensify in the best kind of way. “Let me just—” and he moves around Jon to properly close and lock the door, before leaning back in to resume the kiss.
It’s actually the first time Jon has been to his place since this started, and the first chance they’ve had to be alone together for more than a couple minutes at a time. It makes Martin excited and a little nervous, to see what they might get up to now that they have the chance to take their time.
Martin starts to walk them backwards into the living room, until they reach the couch and he finds himself sitting on the arm, Jon looming above him. And oh, thinks Martin, because he’s never had to crane is neck up to kiss Jon, and it’s a very nice feeling.
He also notices, as they pull back for a second to breathe, that he’s now got Jon’s neck at eye level, and that’s quite nice as well. He takes a moment to admire it before leaning in to press a kiss to one of the scars there.
Suddenly, Jon is pulling away, the hands that had been playing with Martin’s hair now pushing at his shoulders to put distance between them.
Martin has to blink a couple times to process what is happening, bringing himself out of the happy fog he was in and back into reality, where Jon is making a slightly pained face and taking several steps away from him. Shit.
“I’m sorry!” Martin says, and he can hear his voice going high-pitched like it always does when he’s anxious. He doesn’t really understand what’s happening but obviously he made Jon uncomfortable and he needs to fix it. “Sorry, did I do something—”
“It’s alright,” says Jon, but his voice is quiet and he seems to be avoiding eye contact so Martin definitely doesn’t believe him. He almost says so, but it looks like Jon is preparing to say something else, so he makes himself wait instead. After a few seconds, it comes. “I, ah… I don’t like having my neck touched,” he says.
Martin immediately feels relieved. “Oh!” he says, “Sorry about that, I definitely should have asked first.” There’s a pause where he isn’t sure what to say and he really wants to be kissing Jon again but isn’t sure if he’s allowed. “Is there, um, is there anything else like that, that I should avoid doing?”
Jon laughs at that a little, but it doesn’t really sound humorous. “Well,” he says, “I suppose that’s the best invitation I could possibly get. Yes, Martin, there’s something else I should really tell you about before we continue any of this.”
And now the relief is all gone and Martin’s feeling even more nervous than before, because that sounds very serious, sounds like something bad, perhaps along the lines of “I don’t actually want a relationship with you” or “You’re a really terrible kisser and I can’t do this anymore.”
But then Jon is looking him in the eyes again, and he looks nervous too, and Martin tries to shake off those worries, reminds himself that the Lonely tells you lies, and he knows how much Jon cares about him. He does.
Jon sits down on the couch, and motions for Martin to join him, which he does. “I probably should have told you this sooner, before we started any of this,” says Jon, “but I suppose I was being selfish. I know how often it’s a dealbreaker and I…didn’t want to risk this falling apart before I even got the chance to see it start. But that wasn’t really fair, you deserve to know what you’re getting into.” Jon pauses, seeming to be getting up the nerve to say whatever he’s trying to say.
Martin is getting more and more concerned and is about to jump in—to offer reassurances or ask what the hell was going on, he isn’t sure—when Jon finally speaks again. “I’m asexual, Martin.”
Oh. “Oh!” says Martin, and suddenly some of the teasing comments Melanie made last year make a lot more sense. But Martin’s also feeling a little embarrassed as he realizes that, for all that he was very involved in his school’s LGBTQ organization before he dropped out, he doesn’t really know much of anything about asexuality. So he reaches out to grab Jon’s hand (the poor guy still looks really nervous, and even without knowing the details Martin is pretty sure he doesn’t need to be) before asking. “Um, what—sorry, but can you tell me what that means, exactly? Like, do you still want a relationship, or…?”
Jon smiles a little, though he still doesn’t look entirely at ease. “Yes, Martin, I still very much want a relationship with you. I’m just not interested in sex the way most people are. I don’t like to be naked in front of anyone, including people I’m dating, and being touched in any way that is at all sexual is...upsetting, for me.”
“Oh,” says Martin, and he’s feeling like a bit of a broken record with that word, so he tries to say something more useful. “Wait, Jon, did you say you were worried that would be a dealbreaker for me? Because it’s definitely not. I’m not going to fall out of love with you just because you won’t take your clothes off. That’s—that’s completely ridiculous, come on.”
Jon does look a bit relieved at that, but not as much as Martin would like. “I am...glad to hear that, Martin,” he says, “but ‘ridiculous’ is a bit rich. You can’t pretend you aren’t a little disappointed, everyone is.”
Martin sputters at that, indignant and needing a moment to put his thoughts together before he says, “Alright, maybe a little disappointed. But—” and Jon is looking pleased like he just proved his point, so he repeats himself, “BUT! It’s such a tiny, insignificant disappointment, Jon. It’s like—it’s like, OK, imagine that you’ve been living your whole life in a terrible, run-down little shack, right, and you’ve spent years thinking about what your dream house would be. And you’ve got all the details figured out, it would be a huge mansion with a swimming pool and balconies and soft carpets and all new furniture. You’ve got it all in your head, right, every detail. And then somebody comes and tells you, ‘I’m gonna build you your dream house! It’s gonna be real, exactly how you imagined it.’ You’d be ecstatic, right?” Jon is giving him an amused look, one that says you’re being ridiculous but I am indulging you , so Martin pushes on.
“Right, so then some time goes by and they build it, and the guy comes back to take you to the finished house. And he tells you. ‘Oh, there’s been a bit of a problem. We couldn’t get the type of carpet you wanted,’ um, ‘it’s gonna be blue instead of purple and a little less soft.’” And then Jon is laughing and Martin has to stop to laugh too, because obviously he doesn’t know anything about interior design, but that is not the point, so he gets back to it. “Anyway, so then he takes you to the house—stop laughing and listen, Jon, this is important—and you look at it, and. And it’s not exactly like you dreamed it would be, right? So maybe there’s a little disappointment that you won’t get the carpet you wanted, but you’re still gonna be so damn happy, because the carpet wasn’t the point. The point is that you spent so long dreaming about this house and now you get to live in it, and it’s beautiful and real, so who cares if it’s not exactly as you’d envisioned it? You’re not gonna say, ‘oh, this isn’t right, I’m gonna go back and live in my shack now.’ You’re gonna live in your amazing new house and you’re gonna be grateful every day that you get to be there.” Jon has stopped laughing now, and is looking at him with an unreadable expression. “This is—OK, I’m not a great poet, I know, but the house is, like, a metaphor for you, right? And I’ve been in love with you for so long, dreamed about being with you for so long, and yeah that definitely involved some fantasies about having sex with you, but that’s such a small, insignificant part—” and Martin doesn’t get to finish that sentence because Jon is kissing him, hard, and Martin is more than alright with being interrupted.
Eventually, Jon pulls away, both of them breathing hard, his hands still on Martin’s head, keeping their faces close. “Thank you,” says Jon, quietly.
“Of course,” says Martin, because he figures Jon would just argue if he said “I haven’t done anything you need to thank me for.”
They stay like that for a few minutes, catching their breath and calming down from all the raw emotion. It’s Jon who finally breaks the silence with a surprisingly playful tone. “You had fantasies about me?”
Martin huffs out a laugh, feeling his face go red despite himself. “Um, yeah,” he says, because he’s making a point of being honest and unashamed about this, “A lot of them. Soooo many.” He’s not sure which of them starts laughing first, but soon they’re both giggling, Jon burying his face in Martin’s neck.
“Mmm, that’s quite embarrassing for you,” says Jon, and the combination of the words and the vibrations against his neck have Martin dissolving into laughter again.
“Yes,” says Martin, “but I’m rather used to embarrassing myself in front of you, so I think I’ll be alright.”
It’s another minute or so before the laughter dies down, and another minute of them sitting in pleasant silence before Jon quietly asks, “What were they about?”
“What?” says Martin, not sure he heard right.
“What did you imagine us doing?” asks Jon, less quiet, a little bolder now.
“That’s…” Martin shifts, feeling a little hot suddenly. “You really want to know?”
Jon nods. “You, ah, you don’t have to tell me, of course. But I do get a bit curious, I suppose. Sometimes it’s sort of fun to think about, even if I don’t want to actually do it.”
“Huh,” says Martin, and he thinks, Why not? Then he has to figure out where to even start, because he wasn’t lying when he said there were a lot. “Well,” he says, “now that I think about it, a lot of them involved your desk. At the Institute.”
Jon makes a surprised noise. “What about the desk?”
“Well, it wasn’t the desk itself, obviously,” says Martin. “I mean, I don’t think there’s such a thing as a sexy desk. Although now that I say that, I feel like there probably are some people out there who are into that sort of—” and Jon is laughing again, so Martin tries to get back on track. “Anyway. It was just a good setting, I suppose? I’d imagine you bending me over it to have your way with me, or me sitting under it to suck your cock—”
Jon’s laughter abruptly turns into a cough, and Martin is rather pleased to see that his face is getting a bit flushed now, too. “Ah, I see.” says Jon. “So did the desk represent my power as your employer, or…?”
And now it’s Martin’s turn to laugh. “Don’t try to psychoanalyze my sex fantasies about you, you prick,” he says with faux indignance. Then, after taking a second to think about it, he adds, “I mean, it’s possible it was a little bit that, but. Mostly I think it’s just that, like, that’s where you always were when I saw you? At least in the early days. Like, you’d be sitting at your desk and I’d come in to bring you tea or a report, and you would give me some sort of dressing down about my terrible work and incompetence—”
Jon’s smile disappears in an instant, replaced by a grimace. “Oh, God, sometimes I forget how awful I was to you back then.” he says.
“Oh no, it’s alright, really!” says Martin. “I mean, obviously you respect me more now and that’s great, but, um. I didn’t exactly mind?” Jon gives him an incredulous look and Martin can feel himself flushing as he continues. “I mean, I kind of liked it.”
There is a long pause as Jon seems to be processing what Martin just said. “You liked it...when I was mean to you.” He says, and he doesn’t make it sound like a question, but Martin gets the feeling he means it as one anyway.
“Well, yeah,” says Martin. “I mean, it did make me feel bad, but in a way that I enjoyed, if that makes sense?” The look on Jon’s face says that it does not in fact make sense. Martin sighs. “It’s a sex thing for me, OK?” he says. “It felt degrading, and that’s something I’ve always been into. Being humiliated or insulted or whatever. So it fed into the fantasies and probably made me like you even more, in retrospect.” And now Martin can feel his face reddening even more from the awkwardness of the conversation, and his cock is stiffening in his trousers. He reaches down to try to subtly adjust himself, then immediately regrets it when he sees Jon’s eyes track the movement perfectly.
“This conversation is embarrassing for you,” says Jon, and it isn’t a question because he clearly already knows the answer, but Martin nods anyway. “And that embarrassment is turning you on.” Martin nods again. Then there is a pause as Jon just looks at him with such intensity Martin would be sure he was using his powers for something if he still had them, and Martin wonders if he should apologize. Maybe he should excuse himself to another room to take care of it? He’s about to offer when Jon speaks again. “I could... I could talk to you like that again, if you like.”
Martin has to take a moment to take that offer in. It doesn’t really seem to make sense, but neither has the rest of this conversation, really, and he’s becoming a bit numb to the surprise and confusion. Still, he resists the urge to immediately say Yes, please. “Um,” he says, instead, “what, uh. I appreciate that, but what exactly are you—what would you expect for me to be doing?”
Jon shrugs. “I suppose I thought you might like to get yourself off while I say insulting things to you,” he says, “but I may have misunderstood.”
Martin shakes his head vigorously. “No, no, you understood perfectly, that sounds. That sounds...good.” he says. “You’d really be comfortable with that?”
Jon rolls his eyes. “Would I have offered if I didn’t want to do it?” he says harshly, his voice full of a familiar disdain. “Come on, Martin, use your head.” Then his expression shifts to a warm smile and the scorn is gone as he says, “Is that what you wanted? And to properly answer your question, yes, it doesn’t involve me taking off any clothing or being touched at all, so it doesn’t cross any of my lines. And it’s rather fun seeing you get so worked up.”
Martin just nods, feeling suddenly a bit dizzy and very excited. “Um, yeah, that’s—shit, that’s perfect.” None of his many fantasies ever went quite like this, but fuck if this isn’t just as good—better, even, because it’s real and it’s something Jon actually wants to do.
Jon nods, looking pleased. “Now, before we start, is there anything I should avoid talking about? Anything you wouldn’t actually enjoy?” Anything that would actually upset you? Martin hears the unasked question and appreciates the concern.
“Um,” he says, “I don’t think so?” Martin takes a second to think. “I guess, nothing insulting about our feelings for each other? Like, the romantic stuff.” Jon makes a slightly upset noise and Martin figures he never would have thought to make fun of him for that anyway. “But anything about the sex stuff, like what I’ve been talking about, that’s fair game. And the type of stuff you used to talk about, like my general intelligence and work performance. That’s good, too.” Jon nods before pulling him into a surprisingly gentle kiss.
“Right,” says Jon when he pulls back, “let’s get started.” Then he leans back and sits up straighter, his posture becoming more stiff and his expression colder. Martin just watches, dumbfounded, until Jon speaks in a voice that sounds bored and slightly annoyed. “Well, are you just going to sit there? I’m fairly certain that for this to happen you have to be doing something with your hands.”
Already Martin is biting back a groan, the words washing over him and taking him back to all the times he’d rushed out of Jon’s office with his face flushed, knowing that Tim and Sasha had definitely heard the yelling and desperately hoping they would think he was just upset and not hopelessly turned on (it was a lost cause; Tim had known from the very beginning and clearly thought it was hilarious). Eager to heed Jon’s words, Martin reached down to unbutton his trousers and free his prick, which was already fully hard.
Jon watched him, looking incredibly unimpressed. “Good lord, Martin,” he said, and Martin actually whimpered a little at hearing his name said like that again, “Are you really that desperate? I’ve barely said two words to you and it’s already leaking. ” Martin just nodded because he was right, there was precome gathering at the tip, and when ran his thumb over it before wrapping his hand around himself, it felt amazing.
“Oh, there we go,” said Jon as Martin began to work himself up and down, “I was worried I’d have to give you instructions. You know, considering how often you clearly do this I really wouldn’t think you’d have this much difficulty getting started, but obviously I am still overestimating your ability to do anything with competence.”
Martin felt his breath catch at that, and he couldn’t help but moan, spreading his legs a bit farther and starting to move his hand more quickly.
“Of course you would like that, you ridiculous boy,” continued Jon. “This may be a new level of pathetic, even for you. Tell me, Martin, are you always gagging for it this badly? If someone on the sidewalk tells you that you aren’t walking fast enough, do you get hard right there and immediately need to go take care of yourself? Are you really this desperate for someone to put you in your place?”
Martin throws his head back, squeezing the base of his cock to avoid coming too quickly. “God, Jon…” he whispers, and he realizes that he’s panting, breath labored like he’s been running a marathon.
“Oh, be quiet,” Jon snaps, “I don’t need to hear your voice right now. Looking at you like this is more than enough.” Martin just nods as he brings his unoccupied hand up to his chest to pinch at his nipple. He immediately has to fight the urge to cry out; every sensation feels magnified, he could swear that touching himself has never felt this good, and he knows he’s getting close to the edge.
Martin continues like that for a few moments, feeling Jons judgmental eyes on him the whole time, before he starts speaking again. “Do you even realize what you look like right now?” Jon says, “It’s probably for the best that you don’t; it’s laughable, really. I suppose it’s good that you enjoy touching your own cock so much, because I doubt you’d find many other people who would be enthusiastic about that sad little thing—”
And that’s it for Martin. Jon might still be talking but he can’t hear it over the sudden roaring in his ears as he comes, spilling into his hand and onto his shirt. It feels like it lasts for ages until finally his whole body goes limp, completely spent.
He closes his eyes for a few seconds as he comes down, getting his breathing back under control and feeling suddenly boneless and very tired. When opens them again, he sees Jon looking at him with a soft expression. “Hey,” Martin says with what is surely a dopey smile on his face.
“Hey,” Jon says back with a small smile of his own. Then his expression shifts a bit. “Martin, you know I didn’t actually mean any of what I just said, right? Because—”
Martin smiles even wider. “I know,” he says.
Jon continues on despite the interruption. “Because you are actually one of the most competent and intelligent people I have ever met, and your penis is if anything probably a bit larger than the average person’s, and I—”
Martin can’t help but laugh at that. “Jon, I know, but thank you for the reassurance,” he says, reaching out to cup Jon’s face with his clean hand. “I really enjoyed that, Jon. I hope it was alright for you too.”
Jon leans in to Martin’s hand, clearly a bit flustered but calming down now. “It was,” he says. “I wasn’t sure how much I’d like it, but it was surprisingly fun, actually, knowing that I was making you feel good.”
Martin leans in to kiss him. “I love you,” he murmurs into Jon’s mouth.
“I love you, too.” says Jon with a smile.