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They had arrived at the safe house, and the domesticity of what could have been dawned on them. After they established what had been clear but never transparent, making up for lost time seemed a priority.
Because of these circumstances, it wasn’t completely unusual for the two to end up in the position they’re in. They had gone over boundaries before, and due to their orientations and Jon’s adorable curiosity, different forms of what could be considered intimacy were established.
The bed Martin was laying on was the right amount of stiff and soft, able to support but not too much to give back problems the next day. (Which, either way, he was adapted to, not that the archives’ cot helped at all.) Jon sat straddled atop him, legs comfortably hugging Martins hips. His hands were underneath Martins oversized pyjama shirt, tracing stars and circles on either side of him.
“What are you thinking about?” Martin asked, “You seem to be staring off into space.”
Jon stayed silent for a few more seconds, seemingly unresponsive. It took about another 20 seconds of patient silence before he silently whispered,
“You.”
Martin hummed back in response, a slight smile marking his face.
It was really funny to think about, how long he’d had been in love with Jon as his boss, the ruthless remarks he’d endured when he tried to be kind. Tim and Sasha made plenty of remarks about Jon when he’s out of professional settings, but Martin had been an extra at the time. Something that wasn’t part of the plan, something Jon wasn’t able to add into his calculations.
Funny enough, that same man is the same one who now sleeps with Martin every night, held in a lovers embrace. Realized only after Martins absence, how dependent he was on him. Jon had explained this all in a frenzy of embarrassment, but Martin watched enamored, and kissed him mercilessly afterwards and proclaimed how adorable he is.
Jon began to run his hands further up Martins shirt, looking directly into Martins eyes and making a quiet ‘hm?’, a nonverbal ask for consent.
“Of course darling, I’ll let you know if you need to slow down or stop.”
Jon smiled, leaned down for a kiss on the cheek, and continued to move his hands til he reached Martins ribs. He began gently to press against each inch of the bottom two ribs, measuring their size and examining them. Every so often he looked up to Martin who had twitched from the tickle, waiting for a nod of permission to keep going.
As his cold and thin hands glided up Martins’ frame, he gazed upon Jon’s face with adoration and treasured every mark on Jon’s face that made him, well, Jon.
Just as Martin was memorized by the number of freckles on his lovers face, faint but he could tell each difference, Jon spoke.
“You have really nice bones. You’re also very pretty. Are you aware of that?” His voice steady and monotone, but Martin recognized the sincerity. He loves all ways Jon presents himself, masking or not.
Martin made a motion for Jon to raise himself quickly, and he moved to sit upward, Jon still secured in his lap. He caressed the smaller man’s face, cupped it, and kissed him gently.
“Thank you, love. It’s not often you hear the first part of that sentence- if ever.” Martin then hovered his hands beside John’s waist, waiting for approval.
“You can go ahead, under shirt too.” Jon moved his hands to cradle Martins face, while he was busy now checking his bones.
They sat in the comforting silence, Martin running his hands and fingers gently and tenderly along Jon’s build, memorizing every bump, scar, curve. Once he finally started to thoroughly inspect the ribs, he stopped for a few seconds, confusion on his face.
“Jon?”
“Yes?”
“How many ribs does a normal human have?”
“24. 12 on each side.”
Martin removed one hand from under Jon’s shirt, feeling his own ribs in the same spot he was feeling Jon’s.
Looking up for an explanation, Jon didn’t realize until it clicked what Martin was wondering about.
“Oh- yeah I had two ribs removed. Jared Hopworth, bone turner guy.”
“Y-yeah I know who he is, but why?” Martin pulled himself closer towards Jon, worry along his face.
“Anchor…? I believe, yes.”
Through Jon’s humdrum explanation, Martin listened and watched for any signs of lying, or any hidden emotion at all.
There was none.
“Is that… healthy? Does it affect you often?”
“I’m not entirely sure. The institute isn’t healthy in general, though. I mean, just look.” Jon then proceeded to gesture to his own burnt hand, the holes from Prentiss’ attack, among others. There was worse, he supposed.
Martin sighed, and continued to hold Jon up by his waist, kissing his neck while whispering,
“Well, I know you go through a lot, but I’d like to atleast know the major body alterations.”
Jon nodded, and they continued what they were previously doing. (Sure, that mainly consisted of kissing with the occasional dozing off, but who cares?)
The gentle breeze of the wind heard outside of the cabin, the faintest moo of a cow. Jon cups Martins face, admiring his eyes for a long time.
“I love you Martin Blackwood.”
Martin kissed him once more, it was slow and gentle.
“I love you too, Johnathan Sims.”