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When Martin wakes up, he’s alone in a bed bigger than his own. It’s disorienting for a moment, until the night before comes back to him in a rush.
With the memories comes an overwhelming mixture of emotions. The memories of Jon; Jon’s mouth and his skin and his moans and the way he tasted… God, the way he tasted, the way he came apart. It’s all flitting through Martin’s head like a movie and it makes his chest feel tight and his stomach fill with frantic butterflies. When he firmly tells himself this is real, this really happened he feels like he might just pass back out. There are parts of him that are sore when he stretches, marks from two mouths, from Jon’s mouth.
But Jon isn’t here, and he checks, and he feels a bit panicked. What if Jon had second thoughts and left? Where on earth is Tim? God, Martin is sticky.
With that thought, he thinks longingly of a shower, and promptly realizes he can hear one. The sound of the water running in the connected bathroom is so noisy he feels silly for not hearing it immediately.
He sits up so fast he gets a bit lightheaded, but then pauses, heat rising to his face. If it were Tim in the shower, he’d barge in no qualms. But he isn’t exactly sure it is, and he has no idea what to do with himself if it isn’t. He certainly can’t go in there. And what on earth is he going to do if Jon comes out. What is he going to say? They have to talk now, probably. Fuck. Shit.
He would have worried about it more were he not immediately distracted by more very vivid memories of kissing Jon. After a very long moment of that, he shakes himself and crawls across the bed, looking for his pants. They’re close enough to grab, thankfully, and he digs his phone out of the pocket. There’s just one text, from Tim, which he swipes open.
“Popped out to get stuff for breakfast. Have fun!”
Oh, bastard.
Martin scrunches his nose and frowns at the screen. Then, furiously types.
“You’re an ass, you know that?”
The three little dots appear almost immediately, and a reply comes within moments.
“I’m doing u a favor, u don’t need me around for this. Talk to him, idiot.”
Martin huffs.
“Well now you can’t come back until we’re finished.”
“I know, I know. Text me when you’re done and I’ll bring toffee yums.”
“Are you at WAITROSE?”
“Don’t judge me”
Before Martin can reply again, another message comes in right after the first.
“He’s awake, yeah?”
A little pang of something swirls in Martin’s chest and he’s not sure what it is. Tim’s obvious affection for Jon makes him feel some sort of way. Not a bad way, just… a way. Sort of fond and envious at the same time.
“In the shower before I woke up.”
“How convenient lmao”
“Shut up. Do you think he’ll be weird”
“Martin. Jon.”
“Shhhhhhhh. Yes. Okay. Yes. But do you think he will….???? Regret it?”
“I am absolutely 100% fucking sure he will not. As long as you don’t make him anxious by being anxious. U know how he is. Just chill.”
“I am chill!!!”
“Chill more. Ur fine just Kiss him a bunch. Love u bye xxx”
Groaning, Martin drops his phone and puts his head in his hands. When he realizes the shower has been off, it’s already too late.
“Everything alright?”
Jon’s voice makes Martin jump slightly. “Oh! Um, yeah, I just— ah.”
Jon is a goddamn sight. His hair is tangled and damp, and he looks genuinely somewhat well rested. He’s wearing leggings that must be his, under one of Tim’s stretched out t-shirts, the collar of which sags slightly because he’s swimming in it. His neck is covered in lovebites, some faint, some purpling. He blinks at Martin expectantly, nothing in his face to suggest that he thinks this situation is at all unusual. “You just what?”
Martin’s mouth is suddenly very dry. “Um. Nothing. Can you…” He hesitates for a second, but the extreme desire to be as close as possible to this lovely man overshadows everything else in his brain. He holds out his arms. “Come here?”
Jon blinks again. Then his face softens and he steps forward, folding down onto the bed. “You slept in your binder. And you need a shower.” He says, scolding, but he comes nonetheless, shuffling up on his knees. Martin thinks he must certainly be the happiest man in the world as he wraps his arms around Jon’s middle and presses his face into his stomach.
Jon smells like Tim’s shampoo and detergent but nothing about that is fooling Martin’s lovesick little brain. He slides his hands up Jon’s back, just feeling the delicate planes of him under the fabric. Jon gingerly drapes his arms over Martin’s shoulder and presses a kiss to the top of his head. The little gesture makes Martin tingle all over and he whines very softly.
“Did you sleep alright?” Jon asks gently. Martin nods, and Jon’s shirt moves with his face. “That’s good.”
There’s a long pause, then, and Martin has to reluctantly pull back to look up at Jon when it becomes long enough to be slightly awkward. Jon looks back, a little furrow between his eyebrows. He’s thinking very hard about something, and Martin clamps down on the worry that tries to arise in him. There’s absolutely no use in trying to guess at what Jon is thinking.
“Tim says we should talk,” Martin finally says, rather helplessly. Jon’s nose scrunches up, as though he is feeling exactly the same way Martin is about this concept, but he nods.
“I suppose that’s the proper thing to do.”
Martin tilts his head to the side. “What… would you rather be doing?”
With a huff, Jon rolls his eyes and waves a hand flippantly. “You know…” he says, and Martin rolls his eyes in return.
“No, Jon, unlike some of us, I do not know.”
This seems to catch Jon somewhat off guard and he flushes. “Ah. Um. Well.” He looks to the side evasively and bites his lip. It’s achingly cute. “Just much nicer to kiss than to talk, is all.”
For a moment Martin just gazes up at him, slightly amazed. This is all very surreal; Jon talking about kissing and speaking softly and wearing big shirts that say “worlds worst copy editor” on them. Also Martin, almost entirely naked in Jon’s presence, is extremely weird now that he thinks about it. But it’s fine, it’s all fine. He grins. “Yeah?”
Jon smiles like he’s trying not to. “Yes. But not right now. Go clean yourself. And don’t put this back on if you don’t feel like you have to.” He tugs at Martin’s collar. “Then I will kiss you.”
“Okay,” Martin breathes rather dreamily. Jon raises an eyebrow.
“You have to let go, and get up, and go into the bathroom.” He says pointedly. Martin sighs.
Letting go is a very difficult task, but he manages it. There’s a brief moment of panic when he can’t locate his boxers, but he does, and Jon is too busy shoving the blankets on the ground to notice when he hurriedly dons them. He’s not quite ready to do the bottomless walk across the room.
As Martin grabs things from his drawer in Tim’s dresser, Jon manages to peel all the dirty bedding off and leave it in a pile. He settles in the middle of the empty bed and starts combing the tangles from his hair with his fingers.
Martin spends his shower contemplating what on earth he’s going to say next, when he’s not distracted brushing his fingertips over where he remembers Jon putting his hands. Does one of them need to ask ‘what are we now?’ Are they going to be anything? What if Jon just wants to be friends? Martin very quickly decides that he’ll take anything he can get, obviously.
The exact moment he turns the shower off there’s a sharp knock on the door. It startles him and he quickly grabs for the towel, scrubbing it over his hair before hastily trying to dry the rest of himself. “Jon. Did you see that I was done?” He demands.
There’s a pause, and then Jon sheepishly replies, muffled on the other side of the door. “I didn’t see, I knew.”
“Sure. Um. What do you need?”
“Ah. Nothing. Just. Could I come in?”
“I’m not dressed yet,” Martin says helplessly, grabbing his shirt. He’d picked a big, comfy one, inspired by Jon’s leisurely choice.
“Th-that’s rather the point,” Jon says and Martin's brain short circuits halfway through tugging the shirt over his head. “But if you’d rather I not, obviously that’s alright, I just thought—“
Martin pulls open the door. He’d finished putting his shirt on but nothing else; he might be vaguely self-conscious but he sure as hell isn’t going to be passing up whatever the implications of that are.
Jon gapes at him. “Oh. Hi.”
Martin blinks. Jon’s hair is mostly dry now, and it looks ridiculously soft and like it probably smells nice. “What, did you expect me to say no?”
“I don’t know.” Jon is still just staring, and Martin shifts restlessly under his heavy gaze. “Will you shut the door?” Jon says distantly, without breaking eye contact. Spellbound, Martin does, stepping and pulling it closed behind him.
“Why?” He asks, but all the air leaves his lungs as Jon steps into his space, crowding him until his back hits the door. “Oh.”
It feels like it’s all happening in slow motion when Jon reaches up and cups his face, tugs him down for a kiss. His mouth is just as soft and wet and perfect as it was last night but it feels like the first time all over again, he tastes like toothpaste and his lips are bitten all to hell and he opens for Martin like they were made for this, made to slide together, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Martin is distantly aware that he has probably made an embarrassing sound, but he really can’t be fucked to care as Jon licks into his mouth and slides his fingers into his hair.
“Sorry,” Jon mumbles between kisses, not actually willing to pull away to speak. “Was… impatient.”
Martin wants to say don’t be sorry, Christ, I’ve never wanted anything more than this, but he’s not going to, so he just thinks it very loudly and pulls Jon closer.
He very nearly forgets that he didn’t put any bloody pants on, until Jon’s fingertips brush between his legs and he goes hot all over. With a choked gasp, he tips his head back, breaking the kiss. Jon pulls his hand away quickly, looking somewhat frightened. “I-I’m sorry,” he stammers. “I thought—“
“Christ, Jon, shh, you just startled me.” Martin soothes immediately, reaching out and catching Jon’s hand in his own. “Please, I want you, always,” he murmurs and guides it back down.
The way Jon perks up and smiles a shaky smile makes Martin feel lightheaded. “Okay,” he says simply, and Martin doesn’t have time to contemplate any of this because then there are clever fingers sliding around his dick and a tongue in his mouth again.
By the time Jon had gotten his hands on Martin last night, a soft breeze could have knocked him over. In other words, he didn’t really have time to realize that Jon is remarkably good at this. Martin is whimpering and writhing against the door in no time at all, dripping wet down his thighs. Jon slips two fingers inside him and grinds the heel of his palm just so, all the while still kissing Martin absolutely breathless.
It’s when Jon finally pulls away, though; when he drags his open mouth over Martin’s jaw in a messy kiss and murmurs into his ear. “You’re so lovely like this, Martin. I want to know every gorgeous thing about you.”
That’s when Martin shudders and moans and comes, buries his face in Jon’s shoulder and holds him so tight.
Jon makes an array of very pleased sounds, humming and cooing as he strokes Martin through it, until it’s almost too much. Then he stops, and he wriggles, loosening Martin’s hold on him.
When Martin looks down, Jon is very pleased. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are bright as he wipes his dirty fingers carelessly in Tim’s shirt. He softens somewhat when he meets Martin’s gaze, though, lips parting in mild concern. “What?” Martin asks weakly.
Jon reaches up to brush his thumb over Martin’s cheek, and Martin realizes his eyelashes are wet with tears. “Oh.” He says softly. Before Jon can take his hand back, Martin covers it with his own, moving to press a kiss to the palm and then resting his cheek against it. “‘M fine,” he says, though Jon hadn’t asked.
“Are you sure?” Jon asks solemnly. “Did I do something wrong?”
Martin shakes his head emphatically. “No. I…” he pauses, trying to think straight but it’s not really working. “I just can’t believe this is real?” He says, finally. Jon tilts his head quietly, watching him and waiting for more so Martin keeps going.
“I’ve wanted this for so long, I’ve wanted you… for so long, and I honestly didn’t think I’d ever have a chance. And now you’re here, and you’re saying these… all these things to me, and you’re acting so calm and you’re being so sweet as if this is just how it is? As if this is just normal but yesterday morning I wasn’t even a hundred percent sure you really liked me all that much, which was maybe a bit on me, but you can’t exactly say we’ve always been chummy, maybe more lately but…but I… and it’s just so much, Jon, I don’t know what to do. Are we…” He takes a deep breath. His heart is beating so loud in his ears, and he closes his eyes because he’s scared of what he might see in Jon’s face.
“Please, tell me you want this to be something. Because I don’t know if I can handle going back to how it was, not after this. Not after knowing what it’s like to kiss you.”
There’s a moment of silence after he finishes. Jon’s thumb gently brushes over his cheek again and he squeezes his eyes even more tightly shut.
“I’m sorry,” Jon begins, and Martin feels like he’s going to shatter into a million pieces.
“No, stop it, Martin, I’m not— Martin, look at me.” Jon says firmly, shaking Martin just a little. Obediently Martin opens his eyes, but he has to blink away tears before Jon comes into focus.
“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner.” Jon continues. “That I knew how you felt, and that I… also… felt. Things. To be perfectly honest, it took me a long time to realize I was. Feeling things. And then I second guessed myself. Many times. And was generally too much of a coward to do anything about it. So I’m sorry.”
He stops, then, as if he expects Martin to respond. Martin blinks at him. “It’s okay.” He says, because he isn’t sure what else to do. “What things… were you feeling? Are you, I mean. What things are you feeling?”
Jon’s face twists into a little pout, and he steals his hand back so he can cross his arms. “God, I hate talking.” He says. Martin barks out a laugh.
“That’s the biggest lie I’ve ever heard.” He says and Jon pouts even more.
“Shut up, you know what I mean, I hate talking about feelings, it’s hard and it’s stupid, feelings are very difficult to parse and to put into words and you never know what the other person is going to say and it’s awful.”
Martin just looks at him, watches him gesture as he furiously talks, and decides right then that there’s nothing in the world he wouldn’t do for this man. “Jon.” He says softly. “Do you want us to be something? More than… coworkers, or friends, or… whatever the hell Tim is?”
Jon snorts at that. Then he looks back at Martin, chewing on his lip, eyes darting about his face like he’s searching for something.
“Yes.” He says, finally.
Martin starts crying again. He’s laughing too this time, though, and he tugs Jon in and just holds him, until Jon wiggles free and kisses him soundly, just once. “Yes, I would, please.” He says matter of factly, as if it is suddenly the easiest thing in the world. “I want to kiss you often and I want you to be mine.”
Martin huffs out a laugh, still reeling with disbelief. “Jon, I’m already yours. I’ve been yours. I’ve been yours since the moment I saw you.”
Something that looks a bit like guilt flashes in Jon’s eyes, but he sets his jaw and nods. “Well, that’s settled then.”
“I suppose it is.” Martin says. “Now what?”
“Now you should go put pants on. Because you look very silly.”
Martin flushes red, the absurdity of the situation suddenly dawning on him. “Christ,” he mutters, already fumbling at the door handle behind him. “Why did you let me have that conversation half naked. Full would have been better.”
Jon laughs, and it’s a wonderful, melodic thing, and Martin can’t really find it in him to feel that bad at all, actually.
“Also, text Tim! I want breakfast!” Jon calls as Martin closes the door. God, he’d entirely forgotten about Tim.
“My phone is in the blankets that were on the bed, you do it!”
When he’s half-heartedly made himself presentable, he returns to find Jon once again sat in the middle of the sheetless bed. He looks up when Martin opens the door, crawling over and hopping off the bed. Martin half expects him to come do something sexy again, but he simply waltzes by into the bathroom. “He says he’s coming back, and he’s bringing me coffee,” Jon says happily as he starts washing his hands.
Martin leans against the doorframe. “Should we talk about Tim, too?” He asks, somewhat concerned. While he had decidedly forgotten about his friend for a few minutes in the midst of… Jon… he’s suddenly realized that he feels a bit sad at the prospect of things with Tim getting any less comfortable than they are now.
Jon glances at him, decidedly not concerned.
“Do you think we should talk about Tim?”
“Ah. Um… well. Are we going to… keep…?” Martin isn’t exactly sure what he’s asking.
“Fucking Tim?” Jon finishes matter of factly. When he walks back out of the bathroom he grabs Martin’s hand and tugs him to follow. “I don’t see why not.”
He falls back onto the bed, pulling a stunned Martin with him. Clumsily Martin catches himself and rolls so he doesn’t squash Jon, ending up curled next to him, propped up on an elbow. Without looking, Jon feels around above his head for Martin’s phone as he continues talking.
“In fact, I think it’s rather serendipitous.” He punches in the password that Martin definitely never told him and swipes directly to his folder of games. Martin pointedly doesn’t comment. He did tell Jon to use it, after all.
“I’m certain I don’t want sex as much as you do. And I doubt you’ll be up for being too rough with me when I need such a thing, no offense.”
Martin makes a slight noise of protest at that, but wonders if it’s the truth. He also starts to consider what exactly rough might entail, before firmly stopping that train from leaving the station and shoving it in a large mental box for later. Instead he focuses on the tantalizing curve of Jon’s throat, and how he can presumably just kiss it more or less whenever he wants, now.
“So why not continue to let him indulge us in our needs? Besides,” Jon continues, as Martin leans down to nose at his jaw. “He’s Tim. We like Tim.”
As if comedically timed, the man in question takes that opportune moment to enter the flat loudly and yell. “Honey, I’m home!”
Martin immediately bursts into giggles as Jon drops the phone to his chest and looks decidedly unimpressed at the ceiling. “Yeah. We like Tim,” Martin wheezes into Jon’s shoulder.
“Can I change my mind?” Jon deadpans.
“Serious answer? Of course. But also no, not really,” Martin says, grinning as he sits up.
They get a solid seven seconds before Tim appears in the doorway, duel wielding a large coffee and a small bag of what are presumably sweets disguised as breakfast. Jon’s eyes go wide and he sits up straight, reaching out expectantly. Tim hands the coffee over with an unnecessary little flourish and Jon smiles and holds it to his chest like it's a treasure.
Martin wrinkles his nose. “I don’t understand why you like that stuff.”
After taking a testy little sip and then, deeming it worthy, another larger one, Jon sighs contentedly. “Because I must, Martin.”
Tim is kicking at the pile of the bedding on the ground, pouting a bit. “Jon, I’m telling you, we don’t have to wash all the blankets every time.”
“Don’t put all the blankets in the cum next time then, Timothy.”
Martin watches them squabble with delight. He still can’t entirely believe the two of them have managed to cultivate something so oddly harmonious. True, they’re already very cute when they bicker at the office. But arguing about post-coital habits, while Jon sits with his leggings-clad knees pulled up to his chest, drinking coffee that Tim bought him, in Tim’s bedroom, on Tim’s bed? This is several whole new levels. Martin couldn’t have conjured it in his wildest dreams.
“Whatever, whatever, it’s all mixed up now anyways.” Tim sighs. “I’ll do it in a minute. Just means we can’t use the bed.”
Jon narrows his eyes as he takes another sip of his coffee. “You could just put clean sheets on it.”
“Only to have you peeling them off again after one use? I don’t think so! You can fuck in the shower!”
Martin coughs pointedly to get their attention. “It doesn’t look like anyone is currently dying to get it on. Why don’t we go eat whatever Tim very graciously stepped out to acquire.”
Jon quirks a wicked little smile and shoots Tim a glance as though he thinks he’s won something. Tim sticks his tongue out but Jon just turns up his nose and looks away, unfolding himself up off the bed.
“Christ, and here I thought you two couldn’t get any more stupid around each other,” Martin remarks, just as Tim plucks the coffee from Jon’s hand and tries some sort of capture maneuver, bending down to grab Jon around the waist
Jon yelps and tries to wiggle away, but he has the disadvantage of surprise. Alarmed, Martin jumps up and snatches the coffee from Tim, fearing for the carpets. When he looks back from putting it safely on top of the dresser, Tim has Jon thrown over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“You’re continuing to prove my point, Tim,” Martin says, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. Jon is rather pathetically attempting to punch any part of Tim he can reach.
“I will kill you a thousand different ways, Timothy Stoker, put me down.”
“Martin, have you seen Jon?” Tim says, turning with a look of exaggerated faux innocence. “I was just going to throw this pile of clothes in the laundry, but he’s got my other sock and I can’t find him!”
Jon kicks his feet and Martin snorts with laughter, unable to hold it in any longer. “Oh my God, Tim, please,” he wheezes. “This is ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous is right, this is not nice or fair, I am never coming over again I swear to—” Jon’s muffled attempts to sound threatening just make the whole thing worse, and Martin has to hold onto something; he’s laughing so hard.
“Martin! Who’s side are you on!?” Jon shouts.
Martin approaches carefully, grabbing one of Jon’s ankles to keep it from hitting him in the face as he does.
“Excuse me, Tim, but I believe this is mine,” he says, trying his darndest but still failing to keep the laughter out of his tone.
Neither of them miss that Jon stills for a moment at this, and Tim raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Is that so?”
Martin bites his lip as he smiles and nods. “Yeah.”
“Oh, my apologies then,” Tim says and leans forward, putting Jon’s feet on the ground. The first thing Jon does is take a harmlessly aimed swing, but Tim steps easily out of the way, laughing brightly.
Grumbling, Jon gives up and turns around, looking up at Martin with narrowed eyes. “You are an enabler.” He says, pushing the hair out of his face.
Martin attempts an innocent smile. “I saved you, didn’t I?”
Jon ponders this for a moment, frowning deeply. “I suppose.” He eyes Martin suspiciously for a moment but then seems to concede, sidling up and pulling him down for a kiss. Martin goes happily, humming against Jon’s mouth. It’s well worth the awful coffee taste. “Yours, hmm?” Jon murmurs as he pulls away just enough that their lips brush as he speaks.
“You said it first,” Martin replies softly. Jon makes an agreeable sound and kisses him again, a long lingering thing that lasts until Tim clears his throat behind them.
Jon huffs and pulls away. “You are on thin ice,” he says darkly as he turns to Tim.
“Do I still get kisses in this new arrangement?” Tim asks, ignoring Jon’s threats.
“After that?” Jon sounds genuinely affronted. “You deserve nothing!”
“Aw, not even if I promise to make up for it?”
Jon glowers. Predictably though, he goes for the bait. “And how do you intend to do that?”
With a quick step and a practiced move Martin knows all too well, Tim catches Jon by the waist again and pushes him against the dresser. Judging by Jon’s gasp, it’s with just enough force to knock the wind out of him. Watching them is enough to make Martin’s own breath catch in his throat as Tim cages Jon in with his arms and presses their hips flush together.
“Any way your little heart desires.” Tim manages to execute this line in a way that is somehow more sexy than corny, and Martin’s mouth goes dry.
Jon is still trying to look stern as he glares up at Tim, but his cheeks are flushed and he arches his back just slightly. “Just kiss me,” he demands, and Tim does. It’s efficient but it’s filthy; Tim cups Jon’s face in his hands and Jon grabs his wrist tightly. Martin sees a flash of pink tongue before they break apart with an audible exhale.
They just look at each other for a moment then, some wordless exchange happening that Martin couldn’t begin to guess at the meaning of. Jon tilts his head for a long moment. Then he nods almost imperceptibly and Tim smiles and steps back.
Martin is speechless when they finally look back to him. Jon looks mildly apologetic.
“I’m sorry, Martin, would you like one too?” Tim offers with a crooked grin. There’s a slightly deeper meaning here— Tim isn’t just asking about now. Both of them know that Martin would happily throw everything out the window for Jon, and only Jon, and always Jon.
But he doesn’t have to, because Jon is here and doesn’t seem to want or need any windows broken. So Martin steps forward and allows Tim to pull him close and kiss him, and doesn’t feel guilty at all.
“Right.” Jon says when they break apart. “Now, I am begging you to let me leave this room and let me drink this coffee.” He holds out a hand to silence Tim before the other man can even open his mouth. “Also, Martin and I are together now.”
Tim blinks at him. “Well yeah, Jon, what do you think that whole dramatic exchange was about?”
“I just wanted to be clear.” Jon says, gathering his coffee.
“Thank you for being clear.” Tim says graciously. “Do you need me to be clear too? Because the two of you are still welcome here, anytime. In my bed too, I mean. Obviously.”
“Yes thank you, Tim, I am sure we will be frequenting it.”
Martin groans. “Alright, clear enough, thank you. Give me the goddamn croissants, I know you brought some.”
Tim grabs the shopping bag off the ground and does a tiny little bow as he offers it to Martin. “As you wish,” he says with a wink.
Martin shakes his head, smiling softly as he takes the bag. “Love you too, Tim.”
Jon leads their little procession into the kitchen and Martin trails behind, still vaguely trying not to get lost in his thoughts. He’s got a large amount of things to contemplate, but he wants very much to be present right now. In front of him, Tim and Jon are still bickering, trading teasing grins and scathing glares that now so clearly veil affection.
Tim proudly reveals that he’d found fresh cherries at the shop, which Jon is very excited about judging by his contented little smile.
“How convenient that you found the sexiest fruit,” Martin teases as he steals a few and rinses them in the sink.
Tim grins. “I got Jon to tell me that they’re his favorite.”
“I think figs are the sexiest fruit, actually,” Jon says with his mouth full. “Or possibly pomegranates.”
“Jon, what exactly do you think sexy is?”
“Do you guys think I can tie the stem with my tongue?”
“Tim—“
“Oh, I’d like to see you try.”
“JON—“