for epistemological

[corkscrewed]

[ further continued from this thread. ]

[ things are, for a few more days, pretty good. they make progress. they make tentative plans. martin spends a lot of time with jon, wrapped around him when they sleep, and they never manage to quite finish the movie.

so, yes: things are pretty great, until suddenly they aren't anymore.

it's a strain to hold out hope with both tim and daisy gone, with jon in the hospital, but he does because he has no choice. the circumstances are less than ideal when he finally meets georgie, but she seems to understand the situation by the look on martin's face when she comes into the hospital room with her coffee. she usually brings two coffees from that point on.

so he clings to hope, because he has to, and when that finally starts to fray? peter is there. peter, who promises him that he can help. that with jon gone - and jon is gone, he says with gentle urgency - that others are going to need to step up. that martin will, because that's the only way to keep everyone safe. sure, it won't be easy at first, but it will get easier, and he'll barely notice the difference. that concessions need to be made.

so martin agrees to those concessions, and georgie starts spending more time at the hospital, to pick up the slack that martin leaves.

and then jon wakes up. don't, peter tells him. if you want this to work, you can't. it'll be easier if you don't think about it.

it works for a while, too. not that it's gotten easier at all like peter promised (and he has, quietly, sent georgie a single message to ask if he's okay, because that's all he needs to make it), but because martin is stubborn. because he's this far in, and if he can be the one to keep everyone safe, then he will.

it's working well enough until the evening jon's office door opens, and martin swears under his breath. the expression jon will catch on him is surprise, panic, before it's carefully arranged into something more neutral. busted. ]

Comments

[corkscrewed]

God, I'm such a mess right now.

[ he squeezes jon's fingers, and then - pulls his hand back, quickly, like the action scalded him. ]

[epistemological]

[ He lets him go. Lets him slip away. ]

You're a bit drunk, Martin. That's all.

[corkscrewed]

I'm not a bit drunk.

[ he points at him with a fork. ]

I'm pissed.

[epistemological]

I had noticed. [ Snorf.] See if I try tact again.

[corkscrewed]

You know tact doesn't work with me.

[ like a private joke. ]

[epistemological]

[ Jon looks at him curiously for a moment before. ]

Fine.

You're pissed and you're grumpy and I very much want to kiss you.

[corkscrewed]

[ martin cuts his eyes up to him, drunk and challenging. ]

So do it.

[epistemological]

Is that what you want?

[ Challenging right back.]

[corkscrewed]

When has what I wanted ever mattered.

[ he's draining the glass. ]

[epistemological]

It matters to me.

[ Jon's own fingers remain around the rim of his glass.]

[corkscrewed]

[ his tone is wan, exhausted: ]

You know I want you.

[epistemological]

I do.

And you know I want you in return.

[ And he's healed enough that he can lean down, careful, and put his hands lightly on Martin's arm.]

That doesn't mean you want me to kiss you this moment.

[corkscrewed]

[ his eyes cut up to jon, very seriously. ]

I always want you to kiss me.

[epistemological]

Well, if that's the case...

[ And it's really not that far for Jon to move to lean up, to lean in, to press his lips to Martin's as his hand slides into his hair, as his fingers curl lightly against the back of the other man's neck to play at the softness there.]

[corkscrewed]

[ martin's eyes slip shut, because it's jon's mouth on his, and it's been a horrendously lonely few weeks. maybe that's the way things are supposed to be - maybe he's supposed to be embracing the loneliness instead of shirking it.

but instead he's leaning softly into the kiss, and then laughing soft and bubbly against jon's mouth. ]

You taste like kebab.

[epistemological]

You like kebab.

[ Not sour or grumbly. Mostly he's amused, though he leans down to nip lightly at the line of Martin's jaw]

You taste like Ribena. Sweet.

[corkscrewed]

[ martin laughs before he can help it, a high and amused sound as he presses a firm kiss to the bridge of jon's nose.

whispered: ]

We can't make out in the break room.

[epistemological]

I don't 'make out', Martin.

[ But he does lean in to kiss him again, lighter this time.]

[corkscrewed]

You- you let me kiss you and touch your chest. How is that not making out?

[ he's chasing that kiss, lips to jon's chin. ]

[epistemological]

[ Jon lets Martin chase him a little before dipping down to return the kiss.]

It's different.

[ ...all right, he sounds just a touch distracted.]

[corkscrewed]

How is it different?

[ he's scooting his chair a little closer, just so he can gently grab jon's elbow while hooking into another kiss. ]

[epistemological]

[ Jon lets himself be hooked.]

It's different.

[ There's a bit of scotch and and a lack of sleep and more than a few kisses that mean it's hard for him to explain exactly what he means by that. It's something to do with how the kissing goes, how it gets sloppy and wanders and tongues and such go all sorts of places they've no business going.

What they do is just kissing with extra touching. It's different.]

[corkscrewed]

[ rationally, martin knows that.

one am, in the break room near artifacts with scotch and whisky in his stomach and humming in his blood, he doesn't really care. ]

Fine. We can't- we can't kiss a whole bunch in the break room.

[epistemological]

I've got the cot downstairs.

[ Clearly the issue is the location.]

[corkscrewed]

[ and he's laughing again, trembling with it. ]

You're supposed to- to be the responsible one.