Archive of Our Own

“Hey boss.” Jon was startled out of his reverie by Tim seating himself on the edge of his desk a scant few inches from him. Sighing, Jon drew the file folder Martin had dropped off for him earlier out from under Tim, setting it aside. He hadn’t even touched it yet.

“What are you still doing here, Tim?”

“Waiting for Martin. He’s getting us takeaway and I’m gonna keep him company tonight,” he winked, “If you know what I mean.”

Jon was well used to Tim’s antics by now, having endured his fair share of flirtation when he worked in Research. Tim’s blatant disregard for chairs and personal space was as familiar to Jon as his own handwriting. He pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.” Damn, he’d forgotten that Martin was still sleeping in the archives. It’d been, what? A week? He made a mental note to ask if Martin needed anything.

Then his tired brain caught up to the rest of what Tim had said. “Surely you’re not also spending the night?”

Tim’s smile had an edge of tantalizing secret to it. “Depends how the night goes.”

“So you and Martin are… friendly. Friends. Outside of work hours, I mean.”

A number of emotions twisted Tim’s mouth up into a smile. “Yeah we get on,” was all he said.

Jon nodded, almost to himself. “That’s good,” he said. “I think company would be good for Martin right now. Being on his own shut up in his flat for so long… I think it was bad, worse than he let on.”

Tim gave Jon a curious look. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Listen, do you want to come and eat with us? We always order too much food, anyway, and Martin wouldn’t mind.”

Jon stopped fidgeting with his pen and looked up at Tim sharply. “You two do this a lot?”

Whoops. “Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes Sasha too.”

Jon smiled thinly, looking down at his desk and didn’t say anything. He could hardly blame them for not inviting him. God knows they never asked Gertrude or Elias to come along on those rare occasions Tim had managed to wheedle Jon into coming out with him and Sasha. He started at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder.

“You keep yourself apart,” Tim said gently. “Martin’s not the only one who could use some company.”

“What about Sasha?”

“Unlike the rest of us, Sasha has a life,” Tim said drily. “She’s already left.”

Jon nodded, going back to fidgeting with his pen. “I wouldn’t be intruding, would I?” he said softly. “On you and Martin.” He looked up, and Tim, perched on the edge of the desk, saw that knowing look in his eyes.

Tim deflated. There was no point pretending. “How did you guess?”

Jon shrugged. “I hear more than you lot think I do.”

Curiously, Tim’s face went red at this. “Martin said the rooms down here are soundproof.”

Jon blanched, “You did not! I sleep on that cot too you know!” He took a couple of deep breaths. It didn’t help. “I just thought you had a massive crush on Martin!”

“What?” Tim looks startled. “We’ve been dating for almost a year.”

Jon can feel his own face heating. “Well, I suppose between the two of you Martin has the better poker face.” Jon groaned and rested his head on his folded arms on the desk. Tim patted his back. “I am going to die alone,” came Jon’s muffled voice. “Probably at this damn desk, like Gertrude.”

“Maybe next time you’ll come out for drinks with us, then.”

“What, and look for the love of my life in a club? Or watch you two snog?”

“Sure, you can archive our makeout sesh. And who said anything about the love of your life?”

John glared up at Tim over the rim of his glasses. It was quite a good glare and one that had taken years to perfect. “Let’s face it, I’m not the most conventionally attractive person. Anyone who loves me would have to love me for my dubious personality.”

“That has far more to do with them that set the conventions than you. When you don’t look as if you’ve been run over by a hearse you are… very easy on the eyes.”

John leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms and giving Tim a frank look. “Really,” he said flatly.

“I think I’ve very much put my money where my mouth is after the dozen passes I’ve made at you over the years.”

“You just flirt with everyone.”

“I do not! I have standards.”

“Like what?”

“Like, must be actually interested in me and my wants and needs and must be able to articulate their own. I like boundaries, boundaries are good.” Tim paused, as if testing the waters. “And restraints, restraints are also good.”

Jon’s face still felt warm. “What don’t you like?”

“Going for the heavy hitters, huh? Most people like to start off a little lighter. ‘What’s your favorite color?’ ‘Are you allergic to anything?’”

“Are you allergic to anything?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Jon swatted at Tim and he ducked, laughing. He grin faded to a more serious expression as he thought. “I don’t like being criticized,” he said finally.

“As your boss, I could have told you that.”

Tim’s gaze remained level. “You wouldn’t necessarily know this unless you’ve been involved with people who like being humiliated, but it can cross a line if you’re not careful. I mean, I don’t even like to be humiliated really, but it can be fun in certain contexts. What I really don’t like is when it gets personal, when someone uses it as an opportunity to take out petty grievances, or even to browbeat you with things—” Tim stopped. “Anyway.”

Without realizing it Jon was nodding. “I think… I think I know what you mean.”

Tim gave a brittle smile. “What about you? What don’t you like?”

“Pressure.” The answer came without too much need for thought.

“What, like—?” Tim pressed the pad of his thumb against his own thigh.

“No, like, feeling pressured to do something. Have another drink, kiss someone you’re not sure you like yet,” Jon hesitated. “Keep going until you come even if you don’t want to anymore.”

Tim looked stricken. “I hope—when I’ve asked you to come out with us for drinks that I never—”

Daringly, Jon covered Tim’s hand with his own. Tim’s eyes flitted down for just a moment to where their hands rested on the edge of the desk and back up. “No one has pressured me to do any of those things in a long time. And it can be tricky, in the moment, to figure out that I want to stop doing something and then stop doing it. Sometimes it feels like a waning, a very small creeping suspicion that I don’t want to be doing…whatever I’m doing. Sometimes by the time I’ve realized what the feeling is, it’s too late to go back.”

Tim took a deep breath, his face tight. “Can I hold your hand right now?” he asked, bluntly.

Jon nodded, surprised, and Tim used the hand Jon had captured to capture his in return.

Tim took another deep breath. “No offense, but I kind of hate all of the shitty people who have ever made you feel like you couldn’t say no. That is not okay, and you are always allowed to change your mind and no one is allowed to make you feel bad for it.”

Jon felt something hot and prickly in his throat.

“And,” Tim added, doggedly, “I’m really glad you told me that, because normally the way I tell if I’m into someone is by asking them out for a drink, shifting the pants off of them, and taking them home to engage in consensual adult fucking.”

Jon snorted. “You and I are very different.” He hummed, absently running his thumb across Tim’s knuckles. “Is that how you and Martin started out?”

“Nah, I proper wooed him,” Tim looked so maddeningly pleased with himself that Jon just wanted to kiss that smile off—his thoughts ground to a halt.

Tim didn’t seem to notice. “And as for the consensual adult fucking… Martin didn’t even jump my bones a little until we’d spent way too many nights staying up late talking about boundaries.” Tim sighed, half frustration, half bliss.

By this point Jon was pretty sure he’d regained control of his face. Get it together, Archivist. “Believe it or not, not everyone wants to sleep with you all the time.”

“Inconceivable!”

Jon pointed at Tim threateningly with his free hand. “No, nope, I am not doing cute references with you. Don’t even think about it.”

“Our Jonny Sims, getting a pop culture reference! Why I never! And calling me cute to boot. Are movie references a hard limit, then? Because I know it’s gonna break your heart but that’s a total deal-breaker for me.”

“Shut up.”

“Shut your cute mouth, I think you mean.”

“Such a charmer.”

“Yes, aren’t I just,” Tim said, happily.

“Martin?” Tim stuck his head into the room Martin had been camping out in. “Oh, you got the food. Thanks. I invited Jon to join us, but he said he was going home to rend his garments and mourn the fact that he never took me up on an offer for wild no-strings-attached sex, or something.”

“Ha-ha. What did he really say?”

“Said he was going home to cook dinner for once and sleep in a real bed rather than passing out at his desk, but that he’d be happy to join us another time as long as we give him a warning before we start doing unspeakable things to each other.” Tim beamed, pleased as a puppy who’d learned a new trick.

Martin snorted. “No really, what did he say?”

“Yeah, that is almost verbatim what he said.”

“Tim!” Martin was horrified. “You told him!”

Tim had the good grace to look ashamed. “To be fair, he implied that he knew something or had heard something and I just assumed he knew everything.”

“Tim!”

“I’m sorry! He told me that he had just thought I had a massive crush on you. Said you have a good poker face.”

Martin groaned. “Was he upset?”

Tim’s brow furrowed. “Do you want him to be upset?”

“I—” Martin looked abashed. “I mean, a little? I had the biggest crush on him for so long, but always told myself it wouldn’t work out. He’s our boss and he barely seems like he can take care of himself, and as much as you know I like taking care of people, I have to know that they won’t completely fall apart on days when I can’t or don’t want to look after them.”

Tim nodded, seriously. “On that front, him going home to eat and sleep must put you at ease.”

“It does a little. Here, take a plate or the food will start getting cold.”

Tim was the first the break the amiable munching silence. He pointed at a pile of books on the floor by the cot. “Those are new.”

“Jon brought me those. He said something about how in my statement I’d talked about how bored I was, trapped at home.” A smile tugged at the corner of Martin’s mouth. “He said that books are often better company than people.”

“That sounds like our Jon Sims.”

“Honestly, it’s interesting seeing what books he chose,” Martin said, picking up the stack by the foot of the cot and thumbing through them.

“How do you know they’re his books? He could have picked them up from a charity shop.”

“Nope, he made sure to tell me that if I dog-eared any pages or folded back any covers, Prentiss would become the least of my worries. I also… may have antagonized him a little.” Martin put on a comically naïve voice, batting his eyelashes at Tim, “‘I think I lost my bookmark, is it okay if I just leave them open facedown?’”

Tim pulled Martin into a lingering kiss. “I’m sorry,” he said as he pulled away, wiping an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye. “But I have literally never been prouder of anyone in my life than I was just then hearing that.”

Martin swiped at him, snickering. “Oh, shut up. I may have even taken it a little far. I think he was two seconds away from drawing up a full-blown contract outlining the exact condition that his books are to be returned.”

Tim hummed thoughtfully, “In that case, maybe he’d be more amenable to our degenerate lifestyle than you think.” Tim selected the top book from the stack. “Slaughterhouse Five. Didn’t take him for a Sci-Fi man.”

“That one’s a classic though.”

“Okay, but the kind of classic I expect from Jon is more along the lines of ‘Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.’”

“There is actually some Shakespeare,” Martin admits, pulling out the volume. “It’s Midsummer.”

“What else is here?”

Martin flipped through the volumes. “Detective novels, Howl’s Moving Castle, wow it’s been ages since I read that. Something called Black Swan Green—” Martin hesitated. “There’s a note on that one.”

“What’s it say?”

Martin read it out. “‘This used to be my favorite book. It’s about a boy with a stammering problem who publishes his poetry in secret. Let me know what you think.’”

Martin’s face is flaming red. “How did he know I write poetry? Unless…” Something dawns on him and all the color drains from his face at once. He scrambles off the cot and crouches down, hunting for something.

Tim watches, perplexed. “Um, darling, what are you doing?”

Martin is franticly digging through the clothes he had asked Tim to retrieve from his apartment. “Looking for the tape recorder I took down here. I’ve been using it to practice reading my poetry out loud.”

“You mean this tape recorder?” Martin whirled to look.

“Where did you get that?”

“I’ve been sitting on it. It was tucked into the blanket. I think there’s a note I sat on, too.”

Martin snatched the note and smoothed it out.

Martin,

Sorry for the invasion of privacy, I turned the tape on thinking you were working on a statement, but I turned it off as soon as I realized what it really was.

-J

PS- If you ever felt comfortable sharing it, I’d love to actually listen to your work, recorded, written, or otherwise.

“Ahh,” Martin said helplessly, staring at the note. Tim peered over his shoulder.

“Guess you’re gonna have to read that book so you can agonize over what it means that he lent it to you,” he said cheerfully. “And if I’m not much mistaken, I think that was an invitation for you to perform poetry for a one-man audience.”

Martin swiveled his eyes around to stare at Tim. “Ahh,” he repeated.

Tim bounced up, the cot giving an unhappy squeal of springs. “I’ll just make us some tea then, shall I? See if I can hunt up something to spike it with.”

“Yes please,” Martin said, staring down at the note.

Tim had entered a courtship with Martin knowing full well about Martin’s harbored feelings for Jon. It was impossible to miss, if one was spending as much time sneaking covert glances over at Martin as Tim was. It was still nice though when Martin had told him outright.

“S-so I really like spending time with you and I don’t in any way want to stop, but I feel like I should tell you that I have…a bit of a crush. On someone else at work. Too.” Martin had sounded so wretched, not quite meeting Tim’s eyes.

“Oh, you mean the boss man?” Tim waved a hand. “Yeah I know.”

“O-oh.” Martin looked relieved, guilty. “I’m sorry. I know it’s never going to happen.”

Tim shrugged. “If you’re at all a masochist, it’s impossible not to fall for him at least a little.”

At this, Martin met Tim’s eyes, interested. “I don’t think I am a masochist,” he said slowly. “I don’t really like when he’s being a prick, more like I want his… approval?”

Tim sighed and took Martin’s hands, kissing his knuckles.

Martin gave Tim a slightly amused look and raised a hand, experimentally running it through Tim’s hair.

Tim shuddered, leaning into the touch, his eyes falling closed.

Martin hummed, a warm, dark, liquid look in his gaze. “Maybe you get that.”

“Maybe I do.” Tim’s voice was breathless.

“I want to kiss you.”

“Please.” There was just the barest trace of whine in the plea.

Martin curled his hand in Tim’s hair, tugging, and leaned down to taste the desperate little sounds Tim made against his lips.

After that there had been negotiation, during which Martin reminded Tim again and again that all of these were things that could and should be revisited, that these would always be ongoing conversations. Endless rounds of negotiation, during which there were many red faces (mostly Tim’s), delicious teasing (mostly Martin’s) and many late nights sat curled together on Tim’s bed watching movies or reading, too tired to do more than cuddle and feel the tension ebbing and flowing between them, powerful and sinuous and as deceptively calm as the tide.

Tim was surprised by some of the questions. What do you like to be called? What do you like your various parts to be called? What don’t you like? What have you tried? What did you like about those experiences and what would you want to do differently? What don’t you want to try? What are you curious about? What kind of touches should I avoid and when? How do you feel about me?

The last one was the easiest and hardest. “You make me feel safe,” Tim had said simply. “Limits or no limits, I trust you not to hurt me in any way I don’t want. I can… turn my brain off around you.”

Martin had nodded, gently fitting his hand around Tim’s throat, not squeezing, just putting the barest pressure there. Tim had let his head fall back, exposing even more of his throat. Martin had smiled. “What about you?” Tim had asked. “How do you feel about me?”

“I...” Martin had flushed. “I want to bite you. You’re very bitable you know, especially when you start talking a big game. I want to take my time working you up because you always go so fast. I want to tie you up and take my time taking you apart over and over again.”

Martin could feel the suppressed whimper through his hand on Tim’s throat. Martin smiled. “You like that, don’t you?”

Tim nodded as best he could.

“Out loud, please.”

“Yes, oh god, please.”

“Good boy.”

Jon stood in the doorway to the archives, watching his assistants. It did dimly occur to him that this was not normal human behavior, but he had all of a sudden forgotten why he had come here. There was a file in his hands, that he knew, but the sight of Martin’s studiously innocent expression as he tapped away at his phone had suddenly robbed Jon of any momentum.

On the other side of the room, Tim was hunched over his desk, tapping a pen against the keyboard in front of him, clearly not working. His phone chimed and he snatched it up, reading, biting his lip. Tim looked up at Martin who had returned to his work with only the barest of smirks visible on his face.

Tim sent a response and stared at Martin as he continued reading off of his computer screen, eventually casually picking up his phone to check what he’d received. He grinned, looked over at Tim, and saw Jon in the doorway. He blanched, and Tim, seeing his expression, whipped around to see Jon as well, eyes going wide.

Jon, sensing that his presence had been discovered, strode over to Sasha’s desk and set the file folder he was holding on it. He cleared his throat. “I’ve marked out some things that I need followed up. If you don’t have time today, ask Tim to help you on the other cases you’re working on, I’d like to have this one back as soon as possible.”

Sasha nodded, looking amused. Jon could almost feel Martin and Tim’s chagrin behind him. He half-turned. “Martin, could I have a word?”

Martin shot from his chair as though a live current had passed through it. Jon charitably ignored the glances Tim and Martin exchanged as Martin followed him out of the archives and into his office.

Honestly, Jon didn’t know why he’d asked Martin in here. To give himself thinking time, he settled himself behind his desk, raking his hair back from his face with impatient hands and tying it up into a little stubby tail, most of it falling right back into his eyes. Martin waited, looking like he was preparing himself for a dressing-down.

Finally, Jon asked, “Does Tim have any allergies?”

Martin raised his eyebrows. “U-um, what?”

Jon shrugged, “He mentioned something about it but you know what it’s like trying to get a straight answer out of him.”

Martin’s smile looked a little strained. “Yeah he’s good at deflecting. Um, I think he’s allergic to Penicillin? Is that all?”

Jon didn’t know how to say what he was feeling. He missed Martin acutely, although what specifically he was missing, he couldn’t really articulate. When was the last time Martin had asked if he wanted a tea? What was the last time Martin had asked if Jon wanted to come to lunch with the rest of them? He knew these were not legitimate grievances, but he… liked having Martin fuss over him. Liked that Martin could occasionally coax a smile out of him. Liked knowing that his presence was desired, even when most of the time he declined the invitation for human company.

“I know you’re still sleeping in the spare room,” Jon said finally. “I’m here most nights if you ever need—want—company. And if there’s anything you need to be comfortable here, let me know. You’re safe here, and you can stay as long as you need to.”

Martin looked like this was the last thing he had expected to hear, which somehow made Jon feel worse. He wasn’t such a monster that he assistants expected to be taken to task every time he asked them into his office, did they? He almost blurted out the question to Martin, but checked himself at the last moment. No need to put a subordinate in the compromising position of assuring him that he wasn’t a dreadful boss.

Jon sighed. “Sorry to keep you from your work. Just let me know when you all decide to get lunch in and I’d be happy to join and foot the bill.”

“O-okay. That’s really nice of you.” Martin made his way to the door, looking a little lost. Before he left, he hesitated. “In the meantime, can I get you some tea or… anything?”

Jon just managed a smile. “That would be much appreciated, thank you.”

The next morning Jon found himself in the Archives’ kitchenette. It was nine in the morning and Jon’d been there over two hours already and was pouring himself his second guilty cup of coffee. Not as bad a habit as cigarettes, but still one he’s not proud of.

“Morning.”

He starts so badly he almost spills his coffee. Martin comes up beside him to flick the kettle on and cast Jon’s mug a look of reproach.

“How’d you sleep?” Jon asks.

“Not great, but at least sleeping in the Archives cuts down my commute, so I had a bit of a lie-in.” Martin smiles. He looks tired.

“Is Tim the one keeping you from sleeping?”

Martin snorted, “He wishes. No, just the usual. Nightmares.”

Jon nodded. “It’s this place,” he said softly. “Teeming with nightmares.”

Martin shivered, and Jon cast about for a way to change the subject.

“What did Tim do to woo you?”

Martin sighs, looking unbearably fond, and rummages in the cupboard before retrieving a mug and showing it to Jon. It has a picture of a blushing cartoon succulent on it, bearing the words, “I fancy the plants off you.” The look on Martin’s face is making Jon’s heart ache in a way he’s really not ready to examine yet.

“And that worked?”

“You don’t understand, he made me earl gray with lavender and brought it to my desk in this tacky, tacky mug.” Martin sighed.

“From your tone of voice, I’m guessing you like earl gray with lavender in tacky mugs.”

“Who doesn’t? The point is, after I was done panicking in the bathroom to Sasha, Tim asked if he could make me dinner, and the rest is history.” Martin flicks off the kettle and fills the mug, adding a tea bag.

Jon nodded slowly. “And part of that history I suppose is that you two defiled my workplace cot at some point.”

At that, Martin blushed all the way to the roots of his hair. Jon’s heart squeezed erratically. “I’m going to bloody murder that boy,” Martin muttered.

“Can I watch?” The words slipped out before Jon had a chance to think about them.

Martin eyed him up, thoughtful, still blushing furiously. “That could be arranged,” he said finally.

“Darling.” Tim is sitting with his legs thrown across Martin’s on the sofa.

“Yes, love?”

“You need to tell Jon how you feel.”

Martin looked stricken for a moment before rallying. Setting down his tea on the coffee table he turned to face Tim, lifting Tim's chin and tilting his face first one way, then the other. Tim melted. “How I feel?” Martin said, drily, “How about how you feel?”

Tim made a helpless little noise.

“Weren’t you the one who said you wanted to see what that mouth of his was good for, other than reading statements and making interns cry?”

Tim whimpered.

Martin obliged him by leaning in for a kiss, the kind that lit a fire in Tim’s belly, all slick heat and teeth scraping his bottom lip just so, and little breathy gasps and approving moans.

“Okay,” Tim said, breathless, “Okay, we’ll both talk to him.”

The next time Tim asked if Jon would like to join him and Martin for supper, Jon said yes, assuming that they would be having takeaway in the back room like last time. He was caught somewhat wrong-footed, therefore, when Tim went bounding off and came back with Martin, grabbed their coats, and stood over Jon, impatiently shifting from foot to foot as Jon hastily wrapped up the email he was writing and grabbed his coat.

“If you two were going out I don’t want to be a nuisance—” Jon protested as Tim shepherded them both out. Martin gave Jon an amused look.

“We weren’t going out, Tim wanted to cook. And don’t worry about imposing, he’s been wanting to show off his cooking to you forever.”

“That so?”

Tim nodded vigorously. “Man of many talents, me.”

“And if he’s not being properly recognized for every one of them he goes all sulky.”

“That’s right.” Tim smiled sunnily.

Martin reached out and took hold of the collar of Tim’s coat, pulling him around for a searing kiss. Jon looked away, interest, jealousy, and discomfort warring inside of him.

Tim’s flat was tidier than Jon had expected, given the state of Tim’s desk at work. Jon allowed Martin to take his coat before browsing Tim’s collection of books and movies, pulling out one or another here or there before carefully replacing them.

He picked up a framed photo of Tim in a track uniform with the Trinity logo, his arms around a couple of his teammates, color high in his cheeks, clearly basking in the glow of victory. He looked younger, his hair a little longer, none of the tension in his limbs that Jon sometimes noticed in him. Jon’s stomach swooped a little and he quickly replaced the photo. To silence the pang of longing in him, and went looking for Martin and found him in the kitchen trying to help Tim but mostly getting under his feet. He gratefully allowed himself to be extracted and took a seat on the sofa in the living room, Jon opting instead for the armchair. He removed his shoes, laying them neatly by the chair and tucked his feet up under him. Martin declined to comment and Jon declined to offer any explanation.

“The kitchen is Tim’s domain,” Martin explained.

“Except for the kettle, I imagine,” Jon said before he could stop himself.

Martin bestowed a rosy, pleased grin upon Jon, so beautiful that it made Jon a little dizzy and he had to look away.

“Speaking of, I’m going to sneak in and make us a cuppa, if you’d like one.”

“Lovely, thanks.”

Martin returned bearing two steaming mugs, one of which he passed to Jon.

“What does he have planned for us tonight?” Jon asked, nodding towards the kitchen.

“I think risotto-stuffed butternut squash with roasted Brussels sprouts? He wants desperately to impress you.”

“I can’t imagine why, he’s never given the impression he particularly cares about impressing me at work. Although I appreciate the effort.”

Martin gave Jon and amused look over his mug. “We’re all a bit different outside of work,” he said, and it was a moment before Jon realized that Martin was referring to the way he’s perched in the armchair. He fidgeted, drawing one knee up to his chest and reaching up to take his hair down, rubbing his tender scalp.

“Here, let me,” Martin sets his mug on the coffee table and comes to stand into front of the armchair. He’s quite a bit taller than Jon anyway, and with Jon seated he rather dwarfs him. Lifting his hand, he gently touches Jon’s hair, sliding a piece through his fingers. “Okay?” he asks.

Jon doesn’t trust himself to speak and just nods and sits up a little, hyperaware of where Martin’s fingers just grazed his cheek.

Martin tilted Jon’s head forward a little to rest his forehead against Martin’s chest and cards his fingers through Jon’s hair. It’s surprisingly soft, streaked with premature gray in places, and Martin gets to work, working over Jon’s scalp, the knobs of his spine, behind his ears, dragging his thumbs down to the soft part of his throat just under the hinge of his jaw, tilting Jon’s head up to remove his glasses—Jon can’t remember when he had closed his eyes, is only dimly aware of the little plaintive noises he’s making—and stroking along Jon’s hairline, massaging gentle circles at his temples, under his cheekbones, so prominent that sometimes Martin worries about him with a fierce protectiveness that lives in his chest, along his brows, and, gently, around his eyes.

When Martin removes his hands Jon makes the smallest, most heartbreaking noise and Martin kneels in front of him, bringing their faces just about level.

Jon’s eyes flutter open, deep brown and hazy, and without his glasses Martin can tell that his eyes don’t exactly match, although the effect is certainly subtle—one eye just a hint more hazel than the other—and he wants.

He traced a thumb across Jon’s cheekbone that has Jon’s eyes closing again and tilts his head forward so that their foreheads are touching.

Without thinking about it or meaning to, Jon leaned forward to kiss him. It’s soft and relaxed and wondering and Martin tastes like earl gray and lavender and his lips part under Jon’s, pliant and willing.

His eyes flew open in horror and he scrambled back in his chair as soon as he realized what he’d done.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry Martin, I didn’t—I mean—you and Tim—Christ I am so sorry.” He reaches down to grab his shoes. “I’ll just go, I didn’t mean—I mean—”

But Martin stills him with a firm hand on his chest and an understanding smile that somehow makes Jon feel worse. He hands Jon back his glasses, which he shoves onto his face, stomach churning with anxiety.

“Christ it’s alright Jon, really. Just hush now, okay? One moment. Babe?”

Tim appears in the kitchen doorway. “The risotto’s almost done, can it wait?”

“No, love, can you come here please?”

Tim grumbles but disappears, presumably to shut off the burner before reappearing. He takes one look at Jon’s cornered expression. “Darling! You started without me? I thought we were going to talk to him together!”

Jon felt like he was about two seconds away from a full-fledged anxiety attack, and that fact that Martin’s hand on his chest was warm and solid and glorious was only making things worse. “Martin,” Jon said tightly.

Martin took his hand away as though burned. “Oh, em, sorry.”

Tim perched on the arm of Jon’s chair as Martin settled himself more comfortably at his feet, reaching up to snag his forgotten tea from the coffee table.

“What is this?” Jon asked. The words seemed woefully inadequate to capture his churning confusion.

“We like you,” Tim said simply.

Martin shot Tim a quelling look.

Jon couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that. “And?”

“And,” Martin said doggedly, “We were hoping to tactfully ask if you want to… start a discussion… about it?”

“Do you like us back?”

Jon focused on Tim. “Define ‘like’ in this context please.”

Tim glanced at Martin.

“Like can be whatever you define it as,” Martin said gently. “If you’re not interested at all we can leave it at that, but judging by,” Martin went pink under his freckles, his hand flying up to touch his lips, and Jon felt his own tingle with the phantom of their kiss. He bit down on them, suppressing the feeling. “If that means you want to do… more of that, or just spend time with us—”

“Or if you want to fuck me, or Martin, or both, for example—” This earned Tim a gentle, “Hush, love.”

Jon’s head was reeling. “I don’t—” he swallowed thickly and started again. “I don’t know what I want…yet. But…I’d like to stay for now. Please.”

Martin nodded, his eyes shining. “That’ll do, love.”

Jon’s heart swelled. Love.

Tim leaned over and pressed a kiss to Jon’s temple, nuzzling at the warm, fine hairs there. “Is this okay?” he asked quietly.

Jon released a shaky breath and nodded, and then, having reached some resolution, turned and hooked a finger into the collar of Tim’s shirt and drew him forward, capturing him in a kiss that quickly turned heated, his hand cradling the back of Tim’s head and leaving Tim gasping. When Jon looked up Martin was positively beaming, and Jon was washed with a feeling exactly like sinking into a warm bath.

“Come,” Martin said, holding out a hand to Jon, who took it, wondering. “You and I will set the table while Tim finishes up in the kitchen. I finished reading that book you lent me and I want to talk it over with you.”

By the time Tim brings their dishes to the table, Martin is saying passionately, “And that woman at the antique store, the one who gave him mango? She’s supposed to be trans, isn’t she?”

To which Jon shrugged, helplessly caught in the attention of a Martin he felt like he’d never met before. He turned his attention to the plate Tim slid in front of him. “This looks incredible, Tim.”

Tim fair shone with pride and Martin beamed at Jon over Tim’s shoulder.

Jon insisted on clearing away the dishes and doing the washing up, partially to give him and them a little break, partially as a thank-you for the meal. After, he moved to the living room to join the others on the sofa. Martin beckoned him over to sit next to him, and Tim twisted around where he’s sat at Martin’s feet and rested his chin on the edge of the sofa cushion. Jon stroked Tim’s hair, absently, and Tim hummed and his eyes fell closed.

“So,” Martin said gently. “I’d like to talk a little more about this, if you’re up to it. We can answer any questions you have at least, and maybe talk about any hard boundaries you have. Is that okay?”

Jon nodded, half turning to face the two of them, one of his legs tucked under him and the other knee drawn up to his chest for him to rest his chin on. He’s still playing with Tim’s hair, just feeling its texture between his fingers, really.

“Tim told me a bit ago about what you said about... feeling pressured to do certain things, and I want you to know that we can stop this conversation at any time, or revisit something later if you eventually start to feel differently about something we’ve already discussed. Nothing has to happen tonight, and if you’re not feeling comfortable with anything we can stop or take a break.”

Jon nodded.

“To start with, do you have any questions for us?”

Jon felt like he was made of nothing but questions, but for the life of him didn’t know where to start. “I guess I’ve asked Tim about something he doesn’t like, so I suppose, so what about you?”

Martin nodded, adjusting his glasses, seeming to give the question serious consideration. “I don’t like… using punishment for something that makes my partners feel bad. Like, if my partner is genuinely worried that they’ve upset me, it’s time to stop the scene. Punishment to me is for breaking rules or protocol or to address brattiness.” Martin cupped Tim’s face and Tim shivered deliciously. Martin’s tone was fond. “This one can be quite the brat when he wants attention. He pushes buttons wanting me to put him in his place.”

Jon fidgeted. “I don’t… I mean, I don’t have a lot of experience with this but I don’t think I feel that way. The way Tim does I mean, about wanting to be… put in place.”

Martin nodded. “Neither do I, much. Would you ever want to be the one doing the disciplining, though?”

Jon shifted, the image Martin’s question conjured mesmerizing. “Yeah. Yes.”

“Can I ask you a question now? You don’t have to answer if you don’t know or aren’t comfortable.”

“Sure.”

“What do you like and not like to be called?”

Jon frowned. It seemed like a simple question but he had… no idea.

“For example,” Tim piped up, “Martin tells me when I’m being good.”

“Oh, um, that sounds nice,” Jon gave a shaky smile. “Maybe that sometimes, but mostly just my name will do.”

“And what kinds of things are you interested in trying with us?”

Jon flushes, avoiding Martin’s gaze and burying his hand in Tim’s hair, tugging a little. He doesn’t have the words. Cute domestic scenes flit through his mind. Lazy mornings, casual kisses, holding hands. These things feel like more to ask for than being allowed to punish Tim. “I don’t know. It’s rare for me to feel aroused for any sustained period of time, rare for me to want to be touched in that way, although doing the touching is more often fine.”

“Fine, or something you want?”

“It depends. Sometimes ‘fine’ means I want to to participate in an active role, sometimes ‘fine’ means I'm ambivalent. Like I said, I don’t have much experience.”

Martin nodded gently. “That’s not a problem. If you find that your feelings change at some point, whether that’s during a scene or over the course of many, we can revisit that.”

Jon is staring at down at the sofa again. “Do you forsee—I mean, do you want this to be more than one encounter?”

Martin and Tim exchanged a look. “We like you,” Tim said again. “No matter what, we want you around, but none of us will know what it'll be like until we try it.” John nodded. “How do you feel about us?” Tim asked. “Martin asked me that when we first started negotiating, and I think it’s a good question. Martin already knows this,” Tim swallowed, eyes darting to Martin and then away, “but I… want you to break me. I want to impress you with how much I can take, how good I can be for you.”

Jon felt as if he breath had been robbed from his lungs. “Oh?” he croaked. “And what about you, Martin?”

Martin peered at him anxiously. “Are you sure you want to hear this? I understand it can be intense—”

Jon took Martin’s hand with his free one. “I’m good,” he said softly, and found to his surprise that he was. “I want to hear.”

“Oh, em,” Martin looked flustered, far more like Jon was used to from work, not this cool composed creature who used words like ‘punishment’ in casual conversation. “I guess I w-want to feel… treasured?” He shot a look at Tim who was gazing up at him adoringly. “B-but also I feel… very protective of you, sometimes.”

Jon sat, stewing in their words. Even with the kisses and touching and talking about doing things together he hadn’t realized how much they individually wanted him. Him. And wanted him in a way that was specific to him as a person. It felt good and strange and good.

“What about you, boss?”

Jon resumed petting Tim. “Both of those things sound…incredible. I think it’s more or less bang-on how I feel about you two, to be honest. Tim, I’ll admit there have been… a few times where I wanted to kiss that smirk of your face and crush you up against a wall in the research center and take you apart.”

Tim swallowed, his pupils blown. “Any time you want, boss,” he said, shakily.

“And Martin,” Jon sighed, studying the way Martin’s freckles stood out among the flush in his face, “I…I know I’m not the easiest person to take care of but it makes me feel… really fucking good when you do. I notice when you do. It makes me want to reward you by showing you how much I appreciate you.”

Martin moaned a little, helpless, and Tim laughed softly, kneeling up and letting Jon’s hand slide out of his hair to take hold of Martin’s face and lean his forehead against his, much as Martin had done with Jon earlier.

Tim stood up and seated himself sideways in Martin’s lap, forcing Jon to bend his knees and put his feet up on the coffee table so Tim could shove his feet underneath him. Tim planted a kiss on Martin’s cheek and grinned at Jon.

“I think Martin is going to need a minute while he reboots, so just one more question for now, unless you have some: What kinds of things are you curious about trying?”

“All sorts,” Jon said. He knelt up, balancing with a knee on either side of Tim’s outstretched legs and pulled Tim into a blistering kiss, tugging at his hair and feeling Tim slide his fingers around to cup his head in turn.

Martin gave a breathless laugh, and Jon felt a warm hand at the small of his back. They broke apart and Tim reached out with both hands to grasp Jon’s shirt with a little whine.

“Stay,” Tim begged. “I know Martin said we didn’t have to do anything tonight but please stay and—and watch.”

Martin gently unhooked Tim’s hands and rearranged him so that his face was buried in Martin’s neck, straddling his lap. Martin petted Tim’s back soothingly.

“Tim’s a little worked up at the moment,” he said apologetically, “You of course can go if you like, or stay and have us not do anything tonight.”

Jon’s heart was beating fast. “What if I do stay? What if we did do things tonight? What would we do?”

Tim groaned into Martin’s throat.

Martin smiled at Jon. “You can change you mind at any time, about anything.”

Jon smiled and cupped Martin’s face, brushing his thumb across Martin’s cheek, gently rubbing his earlobe between his fingers, enjoying the texture of the faint golden fuzz there. “So can you.” Jon leaned in and inched the collar of Martin’s jumper a little lower, exposing the junction where his throat met his shoulder and scraping his teeth there, sucking until a bruise bloomed, the sounds Martin made sinking through him like sticky amber, settling low in his belly.

When he leaned back, Martin brushed the hair out of Jon’s eyes. His voice wavered a little, but his hands were absolutely steady. “Alright love, but we’re not doing this in the living room.” In a single motion, Martin stood, lifting Tim as he went. Tim gave a started noise and instinctively wrapped his legs around Martin’s waist and his arms around his neck, and Martin hitched him up a little higher. “Alright, babe?” Tim nodded desperately. “He likes to be manhandled,” Martin said to Jon.

“Who doesn’t?” came from over Martin’s shoulder.

Martin pinched Tim reprovingly. “Not everyone does.”

“Ah well, more for me, then.”

Jon followed Martin down the hall to a bedroom with more pillows on the bed than Jon thought strictly necessary, even for three people.

Jon had expected Martin to set Tim down gently, but a mischievous glance over at Jon, Martin lifted Tim a little so he relaxed his grip and threw him down onto the bed. Tim yelped, bouncing once and landing in a heap before scrambling up onto his hands and knees with a grin that bordered on feral.

“What am I gonna do with you tonight?” Martin sighed, smoothing his hand down Tim’s back.

“You could start by having him take off his clothes,” Jon commented. Tim laughed.

Martin cast Jon an approving look. “Would you like to do the honors?”

Jon gave Tim a slow once-over. “I think I can manage that,” he said finally.

Tim knelt up on the bed as he approached, reaching for Jon, but Jon stepped back. “Hands behind your back and come sit on the edge of the bed.” He voice was low and quiet and Tim shivered, doing as he was told.

“You caught on fast,” Martin murmured, moving over to rummage at the bottom of the closet, emerging with a large box.

Jon knelt in front of Tim, unable to resist running a finger up the sole of Tim’s bare foot, dropping a kiss on Tim’s knee by way of apology as Tim squirmed and pulled away. “Sadist,” Tim huffed.

“Be polite,” came Martin’s mild rebuke as he settled himself on the edge of the bed perpendicular to Tim. “You want to show Jon how good you can be, don’t you?”

Jon skimmed his thumbnail up the inner seam of Tim’s jeans. It made a blunt little sound and Tim shivered, shifting. Martin scooted over behind Tim, skimming his hands up Tim’s sides under his shirt and resting his chin on Tim’s shoulder to watch.

Jon smoothed his palms down Tim’s thighs. “You’re so patient,” he said in that low, quiet voice. “If all it takes to get you to sit still is the threat of punishment, maybe I should make you stay at your desk or risk a beating over the edge of my desk.”

Tim’s voice was rough and his eyes gleamed. “That not really as much of a deterrent as you might imagine, boss.”

“Oh?” Jon reached up and tugged on Tim’s belt loops on the pretext of moving him closer to the edge of the bed, forcing him to cant his hips forward a little. He reached up and dragged the edge of his fingernail down the seam over Tim’s zipper. Tim shuddered, head falling forward, and Jon went back to smoothing his hands down his inner thighs. “Well I think Martin said something about punishing you for telling me about using that cot for nefarious purposes, so maybe a beating is exactly what you’ll get.” Jon met Martin’s over-bright eyes over Tim’s shoulder. “That is, if you haven’t already disciplined him for that.”

“I hadn’t, actually, thank you for reminding me.” Martin’s voice was soft, his breath warm on Tim’s ear.

Tim whined.

“How are you doing there?” Jon asked softly.

“G-good.”

“Is Jon getting you all worked up, sweet boy?” Martin asked.

Tim gave a frustrated noise. “Y-yes.”

“Do you want him to take your pants off?”

“God, yes.”

“You can ask more nicely than that.”

“F-fuck, please, please can you take my pants off, Jon?” Jon acquiesces, popping the button on Tim’s trousers.

The plea makes Jon suddenly aware of his own arousal, the insistent ache forcing him to spread his legs a little more where he kneels. Martin’s eyes dart down and then away, biting his lip.

Jon unzipped Tim’s jeans. “Lift your hips,” Martin encouraged him, and Jon tugged Tim’s pants off. Tim was obviously hard already, and Jon leaned forward before catching himself and looking up at Martin.

“May I?”

Martin can only nod, rapt with attention.

Jon ran the pad of his thumb up the clothed underside of Tim’s cock and felt it twitch. Curiously, he covers the damp patch with his mouth and Tim’s back bows as he make a guttural sound and Jon feels Tim’s hands in his hair. Jon squirms back, out of reach.

Martin sighed. “And you were doing so well, sweet boy. Jon told you to keep those hands behind your back.”

Tim whips his hands back to clasp guiltily behind his back and looks plaintively at Jon. “I’ll be good I swear, just please come back.”

Jon shakes his head, not trying overly hard to keep the smile from his face. “If I’m not mistaken, that’s not how these things work.”

Tim whimpers, voice cracking on a whine as Martin dips his hand inside his briefs, giving him a few tight strokes, rubbing his thumb over the head of his cock. “You know he’s right,” Martin says. “If you can’t keep still, we’re going to have to restrain you.”

Martin bends down and fishes two short red coils of rope from the box by the bed, checking them over to ensure they were wrapped properly, then handing them to Jon to be unraveled. “Up by the headboard, please, and take your shirt off.”

Tim shuffles up to the top of the bed and lies down on his front. Martin takes the opportunity to smooth his hand down Tim’s back again and accepts the ropes from Jon with a smile. Jon perches on the edge of the bed, watching attentively as Martin binds Tim’s wrists with quick, efficient knots, tying them off to the posts of the bedframe so that Tim’s arms were slightly bent, extended to either side.

“Can you tap the bedframe for me, sweetheart?” Tim did so. “That’s in case he needs me to stop or check in. Do the ropes feel okay?”

Tim nods and gives a thumbs-up.

“Why isn’t he talking?” Jon asks.

“Concentrating,” came Tim’s muffled reply. Martin answers this with a sharp slap to Tim’s ass that had Tim’s back bowing, his knees sliding up against the bed. "A-ah."

“He gets in a certain kind of a headspace when he’s about to receive a punishment. It’s normal for him to be less chatty then,” Martin explains. “And even though he’s being cheeky,” Tim gives another thumbs-up, “there are certain rules he needs to bear in mind while he’s taking his punishment.”

“What are you going to use to punish him?”

Martin draws a leather item from the box. It has leather tails about a foot long and a thick weighted handle. It looks disturbingly medieval, but Martin holds it out and Jon passes his hand along the ends of the tails before nodding.

Martin places his hand on Tim’s shoulder, kneeling off to one side of him. “Alright, babe, count for me.”

He brings the flogger down across Tim’s shoulders and Jon winces, but it’s not as loud as he had expected. Tim arches his back again. “Ah-one.”

Martin continues, explaining to Jon that using the tips of the tails makes for a stingier sensation while using the part a little farther down makes more of a thuddy sensation, demonstrating as he does so. Martin seems to favor the latter, as the former makes Tim gasp and arch his back, pulling against the ropes and holding his body taught and trembling for a good few seconds before collapsing.

“How many is that, baby?”

“T-twenty.”

“What do you think, Jon?”

“I think it’s been twenty-one.”

Martin grinned. “Let’s make it an even thirty then.”

Tim whined and yanked on the ropes binding him and Martin laid a gentling hand on his shoulder. Jon could see Tim was trembling. Martin tilted his head to listen, then nodded, knelt back up, and continued.

By the time they reached thirty Tim was shaking in earnest, and Martin asked Jon to help him untie him. Worried, Jon laid a hand on Tim’s shoulder and turned him over, only to find a relaxed glassy-eyed expression wracked by bouts of giggling. Martin instructed Jon to rub the rope marks on Tim’s wrists as Martin coiled the ropes back up.

“Hey boss,” Tim slurred, as Jon pressed a kiss to the inside of each of his wrists.

“You’ve gone all silly,” Jon told him, which only made Tim giggle harder.

Martin sat down beside them with a sigh. “This is normal,” he told Jon.

“What do you do when this happens?”

“Usually I give him a gag or something in his mouth to calm him down.”

“I bet Jon has something he could gag me with.”

Jon could feel himself flushing. He could he supposed, but this giggly blissed-out Tim was an experience he wasn’t totally sure what to do with. He shook his head at Martin minutely and Martin smoothed a hand through Jon’s hair.

“Come here then, babe,” Martin said, and Jon passed Tim over, laying his head in Martin’s lap. Martin touched two of his fingers to Tim’s lips and he immediately opened his mouth to take them, holding Martin’s wrist. “So good for me. You took your punishment so well, baby.” Tim moaned as best he could around Martin’s fingers.

With Tim lying on his back, it was clear just how hard he still was, and Jon dragged his thumb around the head of Tim clothed cock. Tim’s eyes rolled back and he made a broken noise, and swallowing around Martin’s fingers.

“You don’t have to touch him if you don’t want, Jon,” Martin said gently, but Jon shook his head. He wanted. Jon parted Tim's thighs, reaching up to pull his briefs down and off.

Tim’s cock was flushed and heavy and before Jon could overthink it too much he wrapped his hand around it and gave the head a tentative lick. Tim jerked and made and strangled sound. Jon heard a sharp intake of breath and glanced up to see Martin looking gorgeous and flushed and distracted, eyes wide behind his glasses. Were Jon’s mouth not otherwise occupied, he’d be licking his way into that soft pretty mouth of his, perhaps with a hint of teeth, just because he could. Tim’s eyes were closed and Martin withdrew his fingers as Jon watched, a thin strand of spit connecting his fingers and Tim’s slick lips

Jon took as much of Tim’s cock as would fit in his mouth, which is not quite as much as he had hoped, and hollows his cheeks, pulling back slowly until he had only the head in his mouth. He lathes his tongue just under the head and dips his head down to take more of his length, squeezing gently with his hand.

From the sound of it Tim might actually be losing his mind at that, his words reaching Jon through a haze of arousal and the scent of Tim and the feeling of Martin’s eyes on him. Jon holds Tim’s hips down firmly as Tim tries to arch up.

“Oh fuck, Jon, fuck, more please—”

Jon feels a hand on his cheek and pulls off with an obscene pop, looking up to see Martin smiling at him apologetically. “He’s going to come if you keep spoiling him like that,” Martin said.

Jon bared his teeth. “Can’t have that.”

“No please—”

Martin rests his hand on Tim’s throat, applying only the barest pressure. This stops the begging but not the little pleading noises and the tremors Jon feels as Tim fights against his hold, his hips making little aborted movements.

Jon’s whole body feels flushed. He feels drunk, every part of him sensitive, every single detail bright, too bright.

“He’s not allowed to come first,” Martin says, his gaze steady. “So, would you like to, or shall I?”

Tim whimpers and Jon shakes his head a little. Martin nods. “On your hands and knees then, sweet boy.” Tim scrambles to obey, head hanging down and back arched so beautifully.

Martin takes a moment to strip off his jumper and shirt and moves to edge of the bed to similarly dispose of his trousers when Jon stops him with a hand on Martin’s chest and a blistering kiss. Martin’s eyes are full of stars when they part.

“You are so beautiful,” Jon murmurs, stroking Martin’s cheek, and Martin looks away, fumbling with his trousers as Jon takes up a position by the headboard. He runs his fingers along Tim’s scalp and Tim leans into his touch.

Martin takes himself in his hand, stroking his length a few times, biting his lip and suppressing a groan. He's hard and leaking already and Jon eyes him with appreciation, even as Martin's rolling on a condom and slicking himself with lube.

Kneeling up, he laid a hand on Tim’s hip. “You need my fingers first, baby?”

“No, f-fuck, please—”

“Please what?”

“Please I need you cock.”

Jon feels heat course through him. Even sitting idly by, nothing could have prepared him for the way this feels.

“Good boy.” The first push punched a groan out of Tim and Martin bit his lip, eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“Go on,” Jon said. He popped the button of his trousers, grinning lazily at the heated look Martin cast him. First at his face, then at his hand dipping below his waistband, palming himself through his briefs. “Let me see his face when you fuck him.”

Martin pulled back, settling himself against the headboard and gathering Tim into his lap, Tim’s back to his chest, before letting him sink down onto his cock. Tim made a punched-out noise, spreading his legs wider, taking Martin even deeper. Spread out like this he couldn’t control the pace at all. Jon arranged himself in front of them, noting the flush spreading down Tim’s chest, his labored breath, the furrow of concentration at his brow, his closed eyes, delicate eyelashes fanned across his cheeks, his cock leaking against his thigh.

“You take cock like you were made to,” Martin said, nuzzling against Tim’s neck and taking Tim’s cock in his hand, giving the base a little squeeze to edge him down.

 Jon’s cock twitched and he ground down against his hand. “Filthy,” he muttered, and Martin and Tim shuddered in unison. “Go on, then,” he said again.

Martin began to fuck Tim in earnest, one hand at his waist and one splayed across his chest. “Such a good boy for me,” Martin was whispering. “Fuck, baby, you feel so good.” Martin’s voice caught and he groaned, burying his face in Tim’s neck, biting and sucking bruises into his skin.

“Are you close?” Jon asks. Martin groaned again. “Are you going to be good and come for me?”

Caught unprepared Martin bit down on Tim’s shoulder and came hard, arms wrapped around Tim’s waist, just about sparing a thought to wrap a hand around Tim’s cock and thrust up into him roughly, forcing Tim to fuck up into his hand once, twice, before Tim was coming too with a gasp that was almost a sob.

Gently, Martin tipped Tim forward and Jon caught him, maneuvering him to lie down, head pillowed on Jon’s thigh. Unable to resist, Jon brushed a finger across Tim’s softening cock and Tim whined and batted his hand away. “Sensitive,” he muttered.

Jon leaned down and pressed an apologetic kiss to Tim’s temple, stroking his back.

Martin reappeared for the bathroom with his boxer briefs on once more, holding a damp facecloth. Once Tim had himself cleaned up, Martin climbed in behind him, throwing an arm around him and splaying a hand possessively across his chest. Martin looked up at Jon. “You didn’t come?”

Jon shook his head.

“Do you want to?”

“Yeah,” he said, wishing his voice didn’t sound quite so thin and needy.

Tim scooted back a little, forcing Martin back as well. He propped his head up, interested. “Go on.”

Jon sighed and wriggled his trousers down, opting to keep his underwear. They were ruined anyway, it wouldn’t make a difference if he left them. He startled at a touch to his thigh and saw Tim hastily withdrawing his hand. “Sorry boss.” He sounded guilty, at least. Martin was propped up behind Tim, watching with rapt attention.

Jon took a calming breath and closed his eyes. This wouldn’t take long, he knew. He had been riding the edge for a while now. He rubbed the crease of his hip before dipping his hand lower, taking firm hold of himself and stroking tightly. It was barely a minute before he was overwhelmed and came, gasping, the sensation rolling through him in waves, leaving him panting and spent. He slumped back against the pillows and peeled his underwear off, using them the clean himself up before tossing them off the end of the bed with a look of distaste.

“How was that?” he asks before he can stop himself.

“Really fucking hot.” Tim tugs at Jon’s shirt until he removes it and consents to lie down beside him, Tim immediately moving to lie with his head pillowed on his thin chest.

“And you, Martin?”

“You are so beautiful.” The tenderness in his voice is almost too much for Jon. Martin reached over to brush the hair out of Jon’s eyes and Jon just manages to stop himself nuzzling into Martin's hand. “Thank you for doing that with us.”

Jon’s caustic reply died on his lips. He just felt… good. His chest felt warm and tight and…good. “Can you keep doing that please?” He asked instead, and Martin gently scratched his nails across his scalp as Tim nuzzled against his chest.

They fell asleep like that later, after hours of talking and gentle teasing and touches so soft they made Jon’s heart ache.

Jon woke in the dark, opening his eyes. Martin was snuggled up behind him and he could see Tim’s outline in the dark, eyes open.

“Can’t sleep?” Jon murmured.

Tim shook his head. “Nah.”

“Did you enjoy that?”

He saw Tim turn toward him a little. “My fantasies have nothing on the real thing.”

Jon is silent for a minute. “In your fantasies I'm sure I'm a bit more adventurous”

“That’s what makes the real thing better. Real people are just…more complicated. It makes them better.”

“Martin makes it all look so easy.”

Tim sighs, his breath stirring the loose strands of Jon’s hair. “Martin isn't perfect. He doesn’t really take care of himself if there’s no one around for him to take care of.”

Jon frowned, perturbed. “How so?”

“Well, if he’s making dinner for two people to make sure someone else eats, he’s making dinner for himself, too. But when he’s home alone all day writing or whatever, he doesn’t really think about his own needs like that. Sometimes I bully him into taking care of himself, saying he needs to set a good example.” Tim grinned, absolutely shameless.

“And that works?”

“Well I know your idea of setting a good example is working yourself into an early grave for the Cause, but Martin actually cares about the likes of us.”

Jon felt something sour twist in his stomach. “Martin’s lucky to have you.”

“We’re both lucky to have him.”

Jon’s heart hurt. He twisted, placing a hand on Tim’s chest and kissing him. Tim’s lips are soft and forgiving and Jon takes his time exploring, a little nip making Tim gasp quietly and another slide of tongues and teeth making him groan.

“I wouldn’t have thought you were such a one for kissing,” Tim said when they broke apart.

“Oh? What did you expect from me?” Jon asks idly, resettling himself on his side with his head pillowed on Tim’s chest once more. Martin muttered in his sleep and tightened his arm around Jon's chest. It feels like an anchor.

“Strict stone top, maybe. Not much for affection. Maybe a bit of a voyeur.” He can hear the grin in Tim’s voice.

“And what am I?”

“Surprisingly lovely and cuddly.” Tim runs his fingers through Jon’s hair and Jon leans into the touch.