Work Text:
Jon sat at his desk, reading over the follow up research Tim had given him on the most recent statement. The air in the archives was… chilly, to say the least, and Jon found himself rubbing the arms of his dark-green sweater in a futile attempt to warm himself up.
“Knock knock!” Jon heard Martin’s voice through his office door, accompanied by the rapping of knuckles. He let out a sigh as he temporarily pushed his work to the side.
“Come in,” Jon called out, his attention focused on the door. Martin lightly pushed the door open, holding 2 cups of tea in his hands. A small smile dusted itself onto his face as he walked over to Jon’s desk.
“Hey, Jon, I brought you tea,” Martin said as he gently sat the cup onto the coaster that Jon kept on his desk. Jon gave him a small smile, and…
“Good lord, Martin, why are you in a t-shirt?!” Jon exclaimed, his jaw dropping slightly. “It’s the middle of February, are you daft? You must be freezing!”
Martin let out a small, soft chuckle. “I- yeah, I forgot my jacket at home. It’s fine, though. I’m fine,” he stammered out, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck.
Jon let out an exasperated sigh. “Martin, you’re clearly not fine.” Jon looked to Martin’s hands, which were wrapped firmly against the surface of the hot tea cup. “Judging by the way you’re holding that tea, you’re cold.”
“Jon, I said it’s fine. There’s nothing anyone can do about it.” Jon narrowed his eyes at him. Hypocrite.
“Wait,” Jon said simply, before standing up to rummage through the drawers behind his desk. “I have some extra sweatshirts here. Don’t worry, they’ll fit, they’re not exactly the right size for me.” Jon searched through the clothes he had moved to the archives, looking for something he could part ways with, at least temporarily. After a moment, he settled on a thick black hoodie that was a few sizes too large.
Handing the hoodie to Martin, he watched as his assistant unfurled it and held it up in front of him. Looking at the sweatshirt, Martin’s face positively lit up.
Why is he smiling like that? It’s just a sweatshirt.
“Jon,” he exclaimed, “how come you never mentioned you were a Mechanisms fan??” he asked, turning the sweatshirt to face Jon. On the front of it, taking up most of the sweatshirt, was the Mechanisms logo.
Shit .
Jon never meant to bring that sweatshirt here. He preferred to keep his work life separate from his home life. Jonathan Sims, the preppy Oxford graduate, was far more respectable than Jonny d’Ville, the immortal space pirate. He’d assumed that none of his colleagues knew about the Mechs, given that they had never said anything, but apparently Martin was far more oblivious than Jon had anticipated.
At least he doesn’t recognize me? Jon thought to himself.
“Oh- uhm- yeah, I know a few of their songs,” he tried to cover for himself.
“Really? Wow, what’s your favorite?” Martin asked, and Jon couldn’t help but find his enthusiasm endearing. “Mine has got to be Blood and Whiskey.”
At that, Jon let a bit of surprise slip onto his face. “Blood and Whiskey? I didn’t peg you for the High Noon type.” He paused, thinking. “I think my favorite is Sleeping Beauty.”
Martin laughed. It was a soft sound, and the expression on his face was awfully cute charming. “High Noon? You even know the slang?”
Shit, Jon thought again. “I- I guess you could say I know more than your average person,” he replied in a poor attempt to play it off.
“ Really. Bet.”
Jon sputtered. “ Bet?”
“Yeah. Bet.” Martin then looked up at the ceiling in thought. “Who’s Nastya dating?”
“The Aurora,” Jon answered without thinking, mentally cursing himself afterwards. Martin laughed again, his eyes crinkling as he smiled. Good Lord, he’s pretty. How has it come to this? Jon thought. No. Stop. You’re his boss. That is wildly inappropriate.
“I’ve got an idea,” Martin stated matter-of-factly. “I’ve got a ticket to their last concert, Death to the Mechanisms? I could probably score an extra one if you’d like. It’s today next week.”
Jon froze, his expression falling. God dammit. What was he supposed to say, yes? He couldn’t exactly go watch his own concert.
“I’m sorry, Martin. I’m afraid I’m busy.” The cloak of his work persona returned in an instant. Martin’s expression fell as well, and Jon could feel a pang in his heart along with it. God, these feelings are unprofessional. Jon returned to his desk, pulling his paper back out in front of him as Martin timidly slipped on the sweatshirt. “I hope you have a good time there.”
“Yeah, yeah, thanks,” Martin spoke quietly. “I’m sorry, it was foolish of me to ask.”
Jon felt the pang again. “It’s ok, Martin,” he said just as softly. “I appreciate the sentiment.” And with that, Martin had left his office.
Jon felt a bit… dazed . Martin, his crush coworker, was a fan of his band. And he was completely unaware that Jon was a part of it. For the next week, at least.
This is going to be one hell of a concert.
. . . . . .
Jon sat on the countertop of Georgie’s bathroom, applying Jonny d’Ville’s signature eyeliner. He was dressed in his full steampunk attire, about to head to the gig.
“I can’t believe your little crush is a fan of your band! That’s one adorable romance,” Georgie commented from the floor next to him, the Admiral curled at her feet.
“He’s not a crush , Georgie. But yes, I was quite surprised as well.”
Georgie exaggeratedly rolled her eyes at him. “Sure. Whatever you say, Jonny.” Jon returned the cap to the eyeliner and stood up. The pub location was only a couple minutes on the Tube, but he still felt it best to be early. He and Georgie made comfortable conversation as they traveled, though Jon was having trouble ignoring the small flutter in his chest. Was that always there before concerts?
The pub was rather crowded when he arrived, but he and Georgie were able to slip into the back with relative ease. Behind the curtains of the stage, the rest of the Mechanisms were beginning to set up their respective equipment.
“Alright, Jon, I’ll be in the crowd. Knock ‘em dead!” Georgie shouted some quick encouragement as she mixed into the mass of people.
Once he had set up his mic, Jon risked a peek through the curtains.
Immediately, he saw Martin’s face in the crowd. He was smiling almost wistfully, and the stage lighting illuminated his hair in a way that made it look like it was glowing. Fuck, he’s really pretty.
Would Martin recognize him? It seemed like he was a big fan, so Jon assumed he had been to other concerts before. Maybe he still won't recognize me.
Is that what I want?
Jon shook the thoughts out of his head. Those were Jonathan Sims’s thoughts. Right now, he was Jonny d’Ville.
He took his place on the stage and pulled on a smile as the curtains were drawn. The familiar feeling of the almost blinding light was something he had forgotten he was so fond of.
“Alright then, one last time,” he spoke softly in the microphone. The crowd gave a resounding cheer.
“ Like whiskey laced with gasoline, we're deadly when we're drunk
So shut your face and settle down, you sneering little punks
For space is vast, you are small, it’s black and bitter cold
The book is lying open, there are tales to be told.”
His gaze fell upon Martin once again, who appeared to be having more than a good time. That was all he needed to keep going.
. . . . . .
All in all, the concert ran smoothly, as long as you ignored Tim retuning the guitar mid-performance. Even then, it gave Jon a good moment to do some improv.
He was still in his costume, and most of the people who had come to see them were gone. Perhaps the hope that a certain someone was still waiting for him on the other side of those curtains was foolish. Georgie had already left to feed the Admiral, and most of the band members had either mingled with the crowd or left the bar entirely. But alas, the prospect of that ‘What if?’ had him searching through the crowds for a familiar face.
Jon was just about to leave when he spotted him. Martin was sitting alone in a small booth on the far end of the pub, a plate of food in front of him. Mustering up as much of Jonny’s confidence as he could, he made his way over to his colleague.
“Jonny!” Martin exclaimed when he noticed Jon walking in his direction. Jon could feel his confidence start to fade, his default introversion beginning to slip out. No. Play it cool, Jon.
Jon realized he had not thought this out. Like, at all. What am I supposed to say? He thought, panicked.
Thankfully, Martin did that part for him.
Before Jon could process what was happening. Martin had stood up, making the gap in between the two far smaller than originally intended.
“Jonny! I’m a huge…” Martin’s speech began to peter out. When he spoke again, it was softer, more fond. “Wait… Jon?”
Jon let out a small, timid laugh. “The one and only.”
The expression on Martin’s face was priceless as the realization dawned on him. “ Oh. My. God! My boss is Jonny d’Ville??”
“Yep, your humble captain,” Jon replied, doing a slight bow.
Martin huffed indignantly. “First mate.”
The two of them were practically pressed up against each other now, having subconsciously shifted closer together. If I just moved a few inches closer… Jon could feel a blush dusting itself across his face.
“Jon, you were amazing. I can’t believe I never realized it was you,” Martin spoke gently. Jon felt as his fingers danced across his cheekbone.
“Can I…?” Martin asked, the rest of the question going unsaid. Jon gave a small nod before leaning in.
Martin’s lips were soft, the kiss gentle, conveying all the built up emotion without the need for words. Jon’s mind was blank for the first time he could remember, his thoughts jumbled and fuzzy. For once, that didn’t feel wrong.
After what felt like both a second and an eternity, Martin pulled away, taking a deep breath.
Then, slowly, a grin formed upon his lips.
“I just kissed Jonny d’Ville, ” he laughed. Jon’s face morphed into a playful glare.
Jon huffed. “That’s Captain, to you.”