Work Text:
Martin was working away the evening at his desk, peacefully filing away information he had found about the latest statements. It was late, and by now his working hours should’ve ended, but he didn’t care that much.
Not like he had anything worthwhile to return to. After the whole Prentiss thing, he had found himself to be rather hesitant to return home on most days, but now after the yellow door, the tunnels and the monsters that showed up? Being alone in a dingy apartment was starting to get to him. Even though he knew now that even the archives weren’t completely safe, it still felt safer than the rest of London. Maybe because there was always someone nearby, so even if he did get killed, people would know. A meagre and macabre consolation, but a consolation nonetheless. And here, in the Archives, there was still Tim.
For the most part, he was silent, reserved and irritated with mostly anyone. Absent while being present. However, there was a side to him only Martin saw.
It wasn’t rare that Tim would show up at Martin’s desk and just...start talking. Not always amicably, sometimes he came to rant about Jon or Elias. Sometimes he shared the latest research he was doing. Sometimes he was scared in a way Martin, and Martin only, could understand.
The encounter with that...thing...left them both very shaken. It drew them closer to each other. So close, in fact, that the lines had blurred a while ago. They sought refuge in one another, in a way that on some nights manifested as sick, frenzied gestures, and desperate closeness. The more time went on, the more Martin just couldn’t say no to Tim as he asked for a quick trip down at the pub, even if he knew they’d just end up drinking too much. By midnight, it was Tim who couldn’t resist Martin, as he suggested going back to one of their flats.
Maybe it was wrong. Harmful to both of them. But each of them was everything the other was left with. Sasha was gone. Elias was an asshole. And Jon...
Distantly, they both knew Jon had been their friend, and in some twisted way they were still tethered to him. His absence, his retreat from their lives loomed as much as his presence on most days. But he wasn’t the same person they had known once. He was changing, in a way that fundamentally clashed with them.
Besides, even if they had wanted to reconnect (Martin sometimes dreamt of it, Tim didn’t entertain the idea in the slightest), he was nowhere to be seen, and no one had heard from him (nor, in all honesty, sought him out: nobody wanted that kind of trouble).
So, really, Tim was all that was left for Martin to cling to.
And accustomed to their routine, Martin barely startled when a thump resounded on his desk. A case file was dropped on top of it, and he raised his eyes to see Tim’s sly expression looking down on him, though his lopsided smile did not reach his eyes.
“How about we go for a drink tonight?” he finished his sentence with a wink, “just you and me?”
Martin, despite himself, chuckled bitterly as he immediately started to pack away his things.
“Who else?”
And so they went.
They kept mostly in silence as they left the office, by then they had been the last two people to exit the archives. Occasionally, they exchanged questions about their work day, how it went, what statements they came across...though they knew by now it was all just a show. A ritual, held only for the sake of normalcy, for the semblance of something ordinary amongst the madness that their life had become.
At the pub, the conversation flowed a bit less clunkily. They chose a far away boot, one illuminated by warm light, with a round table.
As they downed their drinks, their words started to trail off more often, but it was followed by giggles, shy and tentative smiles, amused by their momentary placid reality. They could almost fool themselves, lose their worries in superficial flirting, useless banter.
By the time Martin was almost finished with his second pint of cider and Tim was working his way through his third cocktail (a fruity and sweet concoction), they had gotten dangerously close to one another, scooting closer and closer. Tim’s hand found a place on Martin’s knee, occasionally starting to wander up his thigh, while Martin’s blue eyes had barely managed to move away from his lips in the last half hour.
He wondered if he’d be able to taste the drink on his tongue. He wondered if Tim was opposed to a kiss, right then and there, in the false privacy of the shared table. Maybe he would push him away, blushing, not wanting people to see. Maybe he’d fall prey to his desires, kiss him deeply and beg him to go home.
“Martin? Are you even listening to me?” came Tim’s voice after a while, which luckily managed to snap him out of his own thoughts.
Martin hummed lazily, leaning his head on his hand, looking at Tim properly.
He was smiling, despite the fact that Martin clearly hadn’t been paying attention at all. He had the two top buttons of his shirt open, revealing a necklace he always wore: a leather string, with a silver ring as a charm, in the middle. His sleeves were rolled up too, revealing his forearms and some evident scarring (circles, of course). On his face and neckline he could see a bit of a stubble starting to show up, and his hair was just a bit too long, too. It was starting to fall in front of his eyes, and his blonde highlights were losing themselves amongst the mess of his hair, appearing only occasionally.
All of these things gave him a deliciously rugged appearance, and the smile he was giving Martin...it was a rare sight, these days.
“I- sorry, I wasn’t, I...” Martin stammered, embarrassed. “Honestly, I was too busy looking at your lips to concentrate”
Now that was enough to turn Tim’s drunken blush to a completely red face, and he looked away, flustered. Martin felt Tim’s hand tighten the grip on his knee, which made his head spin and his gut feel hot with want.
“W-well, uhm-” now it was Tim’s turn to stutter, and Martin couldn’t help but find it adorable. “F-fuck, let’s- let’s just go home, yeah?”
Not trusting his words, Martin nodded furiously.
So the two of them stumbled out of the bar and into the street, holding onto one another for balance. The cold night air did sober up Martin a little, which he was grateful for, but it didn’t seem to have the same effect on Tim, who continued to stumble and trip over his feet. Occasionally he laughed at something they said, and more than once he forgot which way they were going (“wait, my place or yours-?” “Yours, Tim, since last time it was mine”).
After a 3 minute effort to get his door open, the two colleagues (friends? Lovers?) were finally inside, chuckling and giggling. With calculated movements, which by this point they had practiced time and time again, Martin closed the door behind them and Tim pressed him to it immediately, kissing him finally. Tim’s arms circled Martin’s neck, and Martin dragged him close by the hips. The kiss soon deepened, but Tim peeled himself away all too soon according to .
“Hold on, I-” he sighed as Martin pressed his lips to his jaw, “I gotta go to the bathroom, let’s-” he almost let a whine escape past his lips as Martin moved down to his neck and became more insistent. “Martin! You- you dickhead! Let me go!” Despite the inconvenience, he was amused. Martin finally relented, but still held a somewhat firm grip on his hips.
“I’ll go to the bedroom, then?” he asked him, with half-lidded eyes and a confidence almost completely given by the alcohol.
“Y- yes please” answered Tim eagerly, with a quick kiss to his cheek, before finally departing down the hall.
As decided, Martin found himself on Tim’s bed, laying down, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, by far, and he had acquired a certain familiarity with the place, feeling comfortable enough to sprawl momentarily as he waited.
Not long passed when he heard the bathroom door unlock. He decided to prop himself up with his elbow, wanting to have at least a bit of composure for Tim (besides, he was still lucid enough to know that sprawling himself starfish style wasn’t the sexiest thing ever).
But as Tim returned to the bedroom and turned on his bedside lamp, he wasn’t quick to crawl on top of Martin as usual. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, and hung his head down between his hands. Martin observed for a second, then decided to sit up fully, as there was clearly something wrong, and he didn’t know what.
“Tim? Everything alright?” he murmured, reaching with a hand to gently caress his back.
Tim simply shook his head, taking in a breath, but did not reply.
Martin got closer, starting to hug him from behind, circling his arms against Tim’s waist. At this, Tim lowered one of his hands to hold Martin’s, squeezing it lightly. Martin now pressed his chest to Tim’s back, his head coming to rest on his shoulder, and as gently as possible he spoke up again.
“Wanna tell me?”
A dry chuckle left Tim’s mouth, and tears silently fell marking his cheeks with silver trails.
“I just-” he interrupted himself with something much too similar to a sob, then breathed out, regaining his composure enough to go on. “What are we doing, Martin?” he turned his head to the side, meeting his eye.
Martin froze. How could he even answer to that?
Tim rose up from the bed, briefly stepping away from Martin’s hold, but then knelt right in front of him on the mattress, once again snaking his arms around his neck. He looked down at him, and his brown eyes were...dim. Lacking the sparkle he once had.
Martin’s heart cracked at the sight.
“What do we gain from this?” Tim persisted, starting to put his hand in between Martin’s curls, slightly pulling his head back, making it tilt upwards. “Why do we do it?” he asked, leaning down, his lips inching closer to Martin’s, but neither closed the gap, not yet.
After swallowing down his saliva, Martin tried to reply.
“We can- we can stop if you want-”
“No” he tugged a bit harder at Martin’s hair, “that’s not what I want” Martin saw another tear fall from his eyes.
“What do you want, then?”
Tim, of all things, shrugged in response. “You. But I know I shouldn’t”
“Why shouldn’t you- we- do this?” Martin retorted, squeezing Tim’s hips.
“Because it’s just a game, and it’s going to hurt us” Tim was so close, Martin could feel his breath on his lips, and not closing the distance was starting to drive him a bit insane. But he also knew how to wait, if he had to.
“It’s not a game for me” admitted Martin, not having anything else to say. For once, he was honest. Not shy, not a liar or anything else he could be. Just, honest.
Tim’s hand came up to caress his cheek, and Martin leaned into the touch, quickly kissing his palm. “It’s not”, he repeated, in a voice barely above a whisper, “never has been”.
More tears trailed down Tim’s chin, and Martin cupped his cheek too, reciprocating the gesture, wiping away the wetness.
Before he could say anything else, Tim leaned into him. He kissed Martin, not as passionately as before. This time it was tender.
He pushed his weight against Martin, forcing him to lay down. He moved to straddle him, one knee on either side of him, and pushed him further into the mattress.
Martin’s hands moved to the hem of Tim’s button up shirt, then went under it, starting to wander along his hips. Tim, on his part, was busy messing up Martin’s hair with one hand, while his other one started to move down his chest.
A gasp escaped Martin’s lips as he felt Tim squeeze his chest, and they broke contact for a second, catching their breath.
Upon further inspection, Martin realized Tim was still crying. He cupped his face with both hands now, tugging a stray lock of hair behind his ear.
“Are you sure you want to go on?” he asked.
Tim nodded. “I do, really”
Martin hesitated for a moment, wanting both to take the wonderful invite to go on, and to verify that was the case, that he wasn’t crossing any boundaries.
“...sure?”
“Yes, yes- I just-” Tim passed a hand on his face, “nevermind what I was saying, let’s- let’s continue” he leaned down to kiss him, but Martin prevented him from doing so by moving his head to the side.
“Tim” he began, sternly, “I mean it” his voice, for once, spared no room for doubts.
Tim’s face fell slightly, he looked to the side and sighed.
“I’m sure I want to have this,” he stated. “Just- I don’t know why”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean-” he huffed, irritated, “it’s- this is simply to not feel alone, right? It’s-” his voice cracked, “it’s because we have no one else, right? We- you wouldn’t have chosen to do...this...otherwise, would you?”
Martin thought on it for a moment, keeping his face and tone as level as possible as he spoke again.
“Would’ve you?”
Tim stayed silent for one, two seconds. He didn’t meet Martin’s eyes.
Martin was now the one to push Tim back, sitting up. Still, he didn’t remove him from his lap, nor did he ask for him to do so.
“So, here you go,” he said flatly, “here’s your answer.”
This time, Tim could not hide the sob that escaped him. He flopped against Martin, burying his face in the crook of his neck. Martin held him for a while, rubbing soothing circles on his back.
It was undeniable: what brought them together was desperation. What deepened their bond was the necessity of companionship. In the past they had made jokes, flirted from time to time, but they had never- never chased after the other. Never crossed lines. But now, to cross lines was all they could do.
Despite himself, sometimes Martin dared to think that maybe...maybe there was a spark of something else.
In between cries, Tim started to kiss his neck.
Or maybe not. Maybe there was nothing more to this? Just lust. Not unkindly, no, never that. Because Martin had known how it was to be wanted unkindly, in his life. To be wanted just for a night of relief, of fun, and that wasn't the case with Tim.
Tim, straddling his lap, started to grind his hips against Martin’s crotch while unbuttoning his shirt.
However, it also wasn’t that far off from the case. It left Martin dizzy with the possibilities. On one hand, he sometimes wanted more. So much more, he felt sick for it, unwell. He wanted Tim to look at him always, to be beside him, to hold him and fuck him and do everything else in between, and he wanted it all for himself. On the other hand, he was fine as things were, and if anything he wanted to flee from Tim’s ravenous gaze.
Like the gaze he was giving him now. With tear-stained cheeks, sultry eyes, messy hair and his shirt now discarded.
He looked so beautiful, the vision squeezed Martin’s heart in a cruel and unrelenting grip.
One of Tim’s hands came up to caress his face. With a bit of surprise Martin realized he, too, was crying.
“We can stop,” said Tim.
Martin chuckled bitterly. “No, we can’t” he retorted.
Tim shrugged, with an equally bitter smile, then leaned in.
He kissed, and kissed, and kept kissing while their clothes came off, while the sobs from either of them did not stop.
Soon enough, Martin found himself on top of Tim, looking down at him.
His hand ran down Tim’’s chest, tracing his pectorals, then over his stomach, stopping just above the waist. He was covered with moles and the occasional scar. Some looked like scratches.
“Beautiful...” he murmured, low and deep.
Tim blushed, looking to the side.
“You always say that”
Martin leaned down, starting to kiss him, moving down from his chest.
“Mh,well, you’re always beautiful” he rested his mouth just below Tim’s navel, kissing his happy trail. Tim squirmed under the ministrations.
“Wait,” he said, gripping with one hand Martin’s ginger curls, “I was serious, before- we can stop”
“Do you want to?”
“...no”
“Then why do you keep saying it?” Martin looked up at him expectantly.
Tim opened his mouth, once, then twice. It took a while for him to gather his words.
“I love you, Martin”
That stopped any and all possible train of thoughts Martin had.
“What?”
“I love you. I don’t know how- or why- but I do, and I-” Martin now was kneeling, looming over the other man, with Tim’s legs around his torso, “I just...do?”
He thought about it for a moment.
“You love me how?” he passed a hand along his waist, then gripped his hip, lifting him up just enough so that he was lined up. “Like a friend? Like a colleague? Like the last choice there was?” he leaned down, putting one hand on the side of Tim’s head, the other still holding him in place as he pressed in.
After a gasp, Tim answered in earnest. “I’m not sure,” he said, then wrapped his arms around Martin’s neck, caressing his upper back. “I just do”
With a slow, sluggish pace, Martin began moving. He buried his face in the crook of Tim’s neck, and pressed down on him with almost all his weight. He groaned into the embrace, not totally satisfied with the answer. He felt Tim’s fingernails dig into his skin.
“Sorry, should’ve gone slower with it,” Martin said into his neck, a bit sheepishly.
“It’s fine, I-” a moan cut Tim off, but he regained himself quickly, “I uhm- I don’t mind, I like this”
Martin pressed an open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone, right under where it would be visible when wearing clothes. He bit into him, not too much, just enough to leave a small bruise.
“Still, I’m sorry-” his slow pace faltered a bit when Tim decided to meet him halfway, sending pleasure waves down his spine.
“Really Martin, it’s fine” somehow, Tim found the energy to wink at him, playful and smiley for a second. “I like it rough,” his voice cracked as Martin went deeper, harder, “-I like you being rough”
Martin picked up the pace considerably.
He had come to like that part of their thing- that Tim saw his angry, annoyed side, and liked it. Sometimes that manifested in talking shit about Jon for hours on end, sometimes it meant Martin could be aggressive, dominant, in charge of things in the bedroom, and Tim was fine with it. More than fine, positively elated.
Like he was now, beneath Martin, basically crushed by him, and loving every second of it.
“You’re always so good for me, Tim” he whispered to his ear.
“And gorgeous, and- and you-” he was stuttering, getting quickly lost in the heat of the moment, in the sweat he could taste on his skin, the dim light he could see, Tim’s lovely cologne, mixed with his alcohol-ridden breath...
His body felt on fire, like it often did on those late nights.
He pressed impossibly closer, wanting more, more more-
A sob wrecked him when he came.
Then another, and another, and he laid on top of Tim, completely defeated and spent.
Tim simply held him. He caressed his back, tracing idle patterns on his skin, grazing it just enough with his fingertips to leave a faint impression, but not quite a scratch yet.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered sweetly.
When Martin calmed down he moved to lay beside Tim, looking at the ceiling, with a startling loss of physical contact. They went from touching all over to the only point of contact being their arms beside one another.
“Sorry about that” said Martin, with no real emotion in his voice.
“It’s alright,” replied Tim, “I get it”
“Do you?”
Tim turned to him. “Yeah” he grabbed Martin’s hand. “I don’t think anyone else can”
“That’s fine by me” said Martin, as one stray tear rolled down his face and onto the pillow, “I don’t want anyone else”
Tim smiled, moving to be on his side, inching closer. “You’re not a good liar, you know?”
Martin imitated the gesture, pressing closer to him. “What makes you think I’m lying?”
“I’ve seen how you act with him,” Tim answered, and the tone was too...normal. No hint of jealousy. No resentment. He just...stated it. As if it was an unchangeable truth, that Martin had it bad for Jon, and that Jon was the one he actually wanted.
Martin squeezed his hand. “Do you think he could have me in his- or my- bed every other day?”
“He wouldn’t, but it’d be fine for you, wouldn’t it? You’d be fine with anything he did. You’d compromise...” he gestured vaguely with his free hand, “...this.”
Martin shook his head. “I wouldn’t”
Tim did not reply. He simply stared at him for a long while. His eyes studied Martin’s face as best as they could before speaking again.
“Why did you cry?”
Martin shrugged. “It was a lot”
“In a bad way?”
“Yes. But not that bad enough for me to want to stop. I just- well, I was just thinking”
Tim inched closer, touching their foreheads together. He kept looking at his lips, again. “About what?”
Martin gulped, trying to gather all the courage he had.
“About the fact that I love you, too. And I don’t know how. And that’s...scary”
Tim kissed him on the lips. Chaste, not deepening it yet, but passionate all the same.
“It is,” he said as he pulled away, “but I like it still”
Martin chuckled. “We really are messed up, aren’t we?”
With a swift motion, Tim shifts to be now on top of Martin. He straddles him, splaying a hand out on his chest.
“Who wouldn’t be?” he starts to rub their parts together again, and that earns a deep groan from Martin.
Sometimes Tim moves like an actor, like a porn star that millions would like to watch. Precise, elegant even, in his movements on the bed. Following a script, giving a 5-star performance, following a script.
But those are never Martin’s favorite moments. No, he prefers it like this.
With their groins pressed together, with rough movements, with the desperate closeness of someone who’s clinging to someone else in a storm.
Soon enough moans fill the room again, as Martin starts to match the strokes and grind upwards. Tears pool in his eyes, and he’s not even sure why now, not anymore. Fear? Sadness? Relief? Probably all of those emotions, he figures, and lets himself get lost in the moment. He arches his back, his head falling back on the pillow, his mouth open and moaning- Tim’s name, praises, whatever else comes to mind- and the moment feels strangely sweet. It shouldn’t, but it does. Maybe it’s something about Tim, what he’s saying- good good good, just for me, I love you- or the way he’s giving him a look so attentive and pervasive he could feel his stare in his bones, or the way he’s touching him, making him unravel with relentless yet soft attention.
With a touch of disappointment, it doesn’t take Martin a lot to reach an orgasm again, and Tim follows right behind, coming on top of him.
A few seconds later, still out of breath, he reaches out, takes a tissue from the box on the nightstand and cleans them up. It’s by no means a proper clean-up job, but they’re so spent they hardly care about it anyway.
Tim crumbles on top of Martin, snaking a hand around his side, and deciding to pepper him with soft kisses. Later in the night, they lazily get under the covers, cuddling as close together as they can, Martin pressed to Tim’s back.
It doesn’t take much for either to fall asleep. The closeness feels comforting, if dangerous.
And if the next morning they shut off the alarm and stay in bed, if the next morning they simply lay close together, taking turns giving and taking, well, that’s hardly anyone’s business but theirs, is it?