Chapter Text
So they plan. It’s pretty simple, but something that works for both of them. Martin had said that there was no need to get overly complicated from the get-go. Better to test the waters and get a feel for things first.
Jon practices making tea under Martin’s watchful eye for a few days first. It isn’t that Jon doesn’t know how to make tea. Of course he knows how , he had simply never been very particular about it the way Martin is. Now that he lives with Martin he can see the extent of the care that Martin puts into every cup he makes.
When he thinks back on all of the tea Martin brought him at the Archive, and how he had taken it for granted, Jon wants to grab his past self by the shoulders and shakes some sense into him. He hadn’t known at the time that he was getting a Martin Blackwood special.
Martin is a bit of a tea connoisseur. He’s been making tea for a long time and by now has a very well-established palette for what he likes and dislikes. He prefers loose-leaf tea over sachets because he likes to make his own blends. He also owned a wide array of authentic antique tea strainers before fleeing London. “Used to collect them,” he had said when Jon asked. He had only been able to bring the few he kept in the Archive break room with him. The one Jon is practicing with today is silver plated, with a delicate chain, and a pumpkin-shaped ball. It makes him smile, because it’s just so Martin .
Jon doesn’t know whether or not he’s relieved that Martin wasn’t able to snag all of his fancy loose-leaf jars before leaving. He wants to please Martin and do his best, but the learning process no doubt would have been much more frustrating if Jon had to sift through Martin’s full stock. Not to mention that the idea keeping all of the steeping temperatures and times straight in his head gives him a bit of a headache.
As it is, they make do with the sachets from the break room and whatever additional tins they’ve acquired in town. It’s simple enough, but Jon wants to get it right .
“Let’s start with a simple black tea. Get the English Breakfast out of the cupboard,” Martin says, voice calm but expectant. He is leaning against the countertop with his arms folded in front of him, only offering help in the form of gentle instruction.
It’s effective. Jon’s stomach flips not-unpleasantly with each new order (well they’re not orders , this isn’t their scene yet). His body buzzes, everything in him wanting to get things right for Martin and also feeling put on the spot but...not in a bad way. It’s a little strange.
Then Martin tastes the tea he’s made and smiles and says Well done, and Jon’s chest swells and he has to duck his head because he finds he’s feeling very shy suddenly. That’s good. Really good.
When Martin decides Jon is ready, he initiates the scene. He checks in with Jon an hour or so prior to make sure that he feels up for it that evening. After receiving the go-ahead, he gives Jon some time to stew in anticipation, hoping that it will help him get into the right headspace.
He’s right. Jon gets quieter as the night wears on, and he’s taken to trailing behind Martin wherever he goes. Like a puppy, Martin thinks.
Right now, Martin is sitting on the couch, reading. Jon is sitting on the opposite end, and is making a good show of trying to read. His eyes keep wandering over to Martin, who is keenly aware that Jon hasn’t flipped a page in the last ten minutes.
Martin sets his book down on his lap. “Jon,” he says, and with a jolt Jon sits up ramrod straight. Martin suppresses a chuckle. “Would you bring me some tea? Earl Grey, decaf. It’s late.”
Jon bites his lip and nods emphatically. He doesn’t know what to say in response, whether Martin expects him to say yes sir or some variant or not. They haven’t discussed it, so he holds off. He doesn’t trust his voice to stay steady right now anyway. He leaps off the couch and scampers to the kitchen.
“Don’t run in the house, please.” Martin chastises lightly, like Jon is a child. There’s no heat behind it, but its effect on Jon is immediate and dizzying. He feels like a rug has been pulled from underneath him. His thoughts scatter pleasantly in a way that has become familiar over the past few days.
Feigning nonchalance, Martin turns back to his book, even as he trains his ears on Jon’s slowed footsteps. He hears the cabinet door where they store their tea swing open--he knows which one it is by its characteristic creak. The continuous splash of running water hitting metal filters into the living room as Jon fills the kettle.
He tries to busy himself with his book instead of listening to Jon work, but it’s hard. His entire body is thrumming with anticipation. Jon is doing so well and Martin wants to hold his face and tell him so over and over again, but he has to be patient. Instead of reading he takes a few deep breaths and mentally surveys his posture, making sure he looks appropriately relaxed and self-assured. It’s been a while since he’s had the time to indulge in this sort of play, but he can feel himself settling into his Dom space. The eagerness with which Jon is following orders so far helps, too.
Before long Jon returns, though for Martin it feels like the minutes have been crawling by. He sets Martin’s mug down carefully on the coffee table, then stands, hands at his sides twisting at his sleeves while he waits for Martin to tell him what to do next.
Very deliberately, Martin closes his book and sets it to the side. He doesn’t acknowledge Jon yet. He raises the mug to his lips and tastes, mindful of the heat.
He closes his eyes, letting the flavor linger on his tongue. He feels an intense surge of pride. The tea tastes perfect, of course it does. Jon’s learned so well, listened to Martin perfectly.
He opens his eyes and finally regards Jon, who is watching him with his lips parted slightly. His chest rises and falls in a slow and steady staccato.
“ Very well done, Jon.” He says, letting the pride he feels fill his voice. He passes his mug to his non-dominant hand and taps his knee with the other. “Come here.”
Jon kneels at Martin’s feet like they discussed. It’s a bit tight, bracketed by Martin’s knees before him and the coffee table behind him. Martin hands him a pillow to kneel on and Jon accepts gratefully. He places it beneath his knees and adjusts his position until he is comfortable between Martin’s legs.
Before Jon can start feeling self-conscious, Martin catches his chin between his thumb and index finger. Martin holds him there gently. Jon could turn his head if he wanted to, but he finds he is content to be held in place. His face prickles with heat as Martin examines him, feeling terribly exposed. Involuntarily, his eyes dart down and away, the scrutiny too much.
Martin tsks . “Look at me, Jon.” With effort he does, his face burning. “Good boy,” Martin cooes. Jon gasps, a soft sound like the breath has been punched out of him, his shoulders slumping and body leaning more heavily into Martin.
Martin curls his hand to brush his knuckles up Jon’s jaw, then his cheek. He hooks careful fingers under Jon’s glasses and removes them. He folds them up and places them on the table behind Jon.
“There you are,” Martin says, smiling. Without the added angularity of his glasses Jon’s face looks younger and softer. He runs his thumb along Jon’s jawline again, taking his time to feel each small, cratered scar in his path. His fingers trace over them reverently. He then reaches around to cup the back of Jon’s neck. Jon sighs and his eyes slip closed.
“That’s it,” Martin encourages. “You don’t have to do or say anything right now. Just be here with me.”
Jon moans and isn’t that a lovely sound . Martin is seized with the ardent need to learn all of Jon’s little weaknesses, all the ways Martin can coax those sounds out of him. Which did it, his words or his touch on Jon’s neck? Experimentally he scritches along Jon’s nape, which elicits another shiver. Duly noted, then.
Martin’s skin heats as he watches Jon nuzzle into his thigh. He feels something fierce and possessive well up within him--he wants so badly to keep Jon here, safe with him. He knows it isn’t possible, and doubts it would be appropriate to voice such feelings outside of their scene. He instead rakes his fingers up into his hair. He pets him softly, watching his body relax below him. Every once in a while he tugs on the hair at the base of Jon’s skull, and Jon melts further, going practically boneless.
They stay like that for a while. Martin continues petting Jon’s head and offering occasional praise. Gradually, Jon sinks further into subspace.
Martin can tell when he’s down deep--he relaxes fully against Martin’s legs and lets his eyes slip closed. His head is resting in Martin’s lap now. Martin isn’t petting him anymore, instead he rests his hand atop Jon’s head. It’s an anchoring point of contact meant to keep Jon down.
It’s only at this point that Martin resumes sipping on his tea. It’s cooled considerably, but it still retains the flavor and hint of sweetness Martin adores.
He finishes his tea and sets the mug down on the coffee table gently.
The movement rouses Jon, who hums, “Hmm..?”
“Hush,” Martin whispers, patting Jon’s head. He rubs his other hand over Jon’s back in soothing circles and feels Jon’s body unwind again beneath him. “How are we feeling?”
“Mmm-good,” Jon mumbles sleepily, his voice muffled against Martin’s thigh.
Martin nods. “Alright. Stay down there, then. There’s a good boy.”
Jon sighs and tucks his body closer to Martin.
Finally, it’s late enough that Martin feels his eyelids growing heavy, so he decides to call it a night. He sets down his book and pats Jon on the back. “Jon? How are you feeling?”
Jon opens his eyes blearily and tilts his head up to look at Martin. “Mm...good, Martin…”
“Can you stand up for me? Or do you need help?” Martin realizes he could probably carry Jon to bed if he needed to.
Jon nods. “I can stand.” He uncurls himself from Martin’s lap slowly.
Martin stands with him, keeping a steadying hand tucked under his arm, just in case. He doesn’t miss the way Jon’s joints pop one by one, and he is silently very glad that he thought to give Jon a pillow to sit on earlier.
“Let’s brush our teeth and get changed, then we can head to bed. Okay?” Martin nudges Jon in the direction of the bathroom.
Jon nods. “Mmkay.” He allows himself to be guided.
Once their teeth are brushed and they are both in their pajamas Jon is feeling a little more coherent. His head still feels a little fuzzy, but he finds he’s not too eager to push through into full clarity yet. For now, he doesn’t have to Know. That's what Martin is there for.
It's nicer than he imagined.
Martin peels back their bed covers, lays down and pulls Jon into bed on top of him. He fixes their assorted blankets and quilts around them and wraps an arm around Jon’s midsection. “This okay?” Jon nods.
“Good,” Martin sighs and his breath tickles Jon’s neck.. “We’ll talk about this more in the morning. But for now, I want to just hold you. Make sure you come out alright.”
“Mm-hmm,” Jon hums into Martin’s chest. He can feel sleep tugging at the edges of his mind.
“You did really well for me,” Martin whispers into Jon’s hair. “Get some rest now.” He cranes his neck and kisses the top of Jon’s head.
Jon closes his eyes and feels Martin stroking up and down his flank. He slips into unconsciousness first, and Martin follows soon after. It’s the easiest either of them have fallen asleep in months.