Archive of Our Own ^beta

For the first time in his life, Jon was thankful he’d forgotten his tea on the counter long enough for it to cool to a reasonable temperature before he’d attempted to drink it. In his distracted state - trying to solve a particularly tricky corner of a frankly ridiculously large jigsaw puzzle they’d found before Martin finished his shower - he’d managed to pour almost an entire cup’s worth down his front and into his lap, soaking him through. 

“Dammit!” he yelled more in shock at his own stupidity than anything else. He’d simply tipped the cup before thinking to put it to his lips. “Stupid,” he hissed at himself. Thankfully, his clothes absorbed most of the spill and he stood before it could soak into the sofa, putting the offending cup down well away from the puzzle and carefully making his way back to the bedroom to change his clothes, trying not to drip. 

He smelled the steam coming from the en-suite bathroom as he entered. He’d shower after Martin was done, but for now he just needed to be out of his wet clothes. The entire front of his jumper was wet, and it had soaked through his vest beneath before pooling in his lap, saturating his trousers and briefs. 

“Idiot,” he muttered under his breath as he carefully peeled off his jumper and vest, tossing them aside before stripping out of his wet trousers and pants, pulling his socks off with them for good measure and throwing the entire mass of damp fabric into the laundry hamper.

He heard the door unlatch behind him and only then it hit him that he hadn’t heard the water running. 

Jon turned to see Martin in the doorway, completely naked and seemingly frozen in the middle of towelling off his wet hair. 

Of course, they shared a bedroom now. They decided that, didn’t they? 

It was safer to sleep together, and they both agreed they preferred the company. Martin was also something of a thermal generator and Jon would freeze even under the thickest of blankets, so that was welcome as well. But in the near week they’d been living together, they’d never managed to catch each other changing. It wasn’t deliberate, per se , more like one would wake before the other and get dressed while the other slept, or they’d change in the evening, taking turns to go to the bedroom, or they’d take their clothes to the bathroom and change after a shower. 

“Oh, M-Martin!” Jon stammered.

“Jon!” Martin sounded just as surprised. 

“S-sorry, I can uh, I can give you some privacy if you’d-”

“It’s ok, Jon, I don’t mind,” Martin said simply, recovering quickly. “Do you? Uh... mind, that is?”

Jon opened his mouth but stopped himself short, the beginning of what might have been a smile dancing on his lips. “No, no I suppose not.”

Martin nodded. He didn’t avert his eyes and out of a strange sort of mutual respect, neither did Jon, allowing himself to take in Martin’s whole and perfect form. His skin almost glowing from the residual warmth of the shower, it looked soft and pillowy and comfortable. For the first time, Jon noticed the soft hair that led up to Martin’s belly button, despite his chest being almost bare, save a few sparse curls. The freckles that Jon knew almost by heart on his face continued all over his body, mapping constellations that he imagined, perhaps wishfully, would one day be familiar enough to navigate by. Martin’s face was round and warm and friendly, topped with a mop of damp, loose curls and he squinted slightly without his glasses. He had always thought of Martin as handsome, even though he knew Martin would never choose to describe himself that way.

As much as Jon allowed himself to drink in his view of Martin, Martin’s eyes were locked on him. Not in a scrutinising way, but suddenly Jon felt very seen. 

He imagined what Martin saw when he looked at him. His scrawny body, all scars and sharp angles. Bones visible through pockmarked and discoloured skin, coarse dark hair that covered him in patches of incomplete growth, or bare where it would never grow again thanks to the scars that littered his body. Being so skinny, he could see the soft gaps in his chest, just noticeable where his ribs should poke through, but didn't. He sighed sadly, eyes falling to the carpet. The last few years had been hard on his body, but it was always “what’s another scar?” Now it seemed, they added up. 

“I’m sorry, Martin,” Jon mumbled, looking up to see Martin had closed the distance between them.

Martin’s face fell. “Why?”

Jon held his arms out as if to gesture to all of him. “Just…” his arms fell back against his sides, shoulders slumping, tired of being a disappointment.

Martin made a noise in his throat that Jon couldn't place, something like a mix of surprise, relief and disbelief.

“Jon,” Martin said, “may I hug you?” 

Jon didn’t look up, just nodded silently and suddenly found himself wrapped in Martin’s arms, warm and soft and secure. Martin dropped his cheek onto Jon’s head and Jon hugged him back tightly. 

The closeness and intimacy of it hit him like a wave, washing over him with such a force that had Martin not been there, he surely would’ve swayed right off his feet. Suddenly he realised he felt safe . Even at his most intimate and vulnerable. He hadn’t felt safe like this in a very, very long time and his bones ached for it.

“I see you , Jon,” Martin said, not letting go of him. “I see you, the way you are, with all your scars and everything you carry around.” He lifted his head and Jon instinctively looked up at him, eyes already shimmering. “And it’s perfect. Because it’s you .”

The tears broke at the corners of Jon’s eyes, single droplets running down his cheeks and leaving faint wet trails after them as Jon smiled. 

Martin stepped back, breaking the hug and took Jon’s burned hand in his, raising it to his lips and planted a kiss in his palm. “I mean it.”

Jon wiped the tears from his face with the back of his other hand. “I don’t deserve you.”

“Well if you truly believe that, you should be willing to give me anything I want to make up for it. And, surprise, surprise, I want you, Jon.”

Jon laughed, conceding Martin’s victory by leaning into him. 

Martin hugged him back for a moment, before pulling him over to the bed and tugging him down into it. They lay on the bed, facing each other. Jon put his hand on Martin’s face and pressed their foreheads together, the damp from Martin’s still-wet hair soaking into the pillow between them. 

“I love your freckles,” Jon said suddenly. “I love the way they cluster like stars in places.”

“Well I love your grey streaks,” Martin retorted, curling his fingers through Jon’s hair. “I actually think they look very nice on you.”

“I love your back dimples,” Jon countered, running a hand down Martin’s side to rest near the small of his back, where the skin pinched in, creating the divots Jon would settle into. 

Martin laughed. “I didn’t even know you knew about them. I don’t think I knew about them.”

He smiled again, running the back of his hand over Jon’s chest, coming to rest at the edge of an especially dark patch of skin with very thick black hair growing from it. “I love the way there's so much to learn about you.”

“I love that about you too.” Jon reached up and stroked Martin’s face again, finally seeing the glimpse of insecurity in his eyes. “I see you too Martin. And you’re perfect.” He caught the reflexive flash of doubt on Martin’s face and suddenly understood. “Really. I’m not just saying that. I know you’ve never believed it yourself but you are almost unfairly handsome. And I’m sorry that it’s taken until now for me to say so. Because you deserve to hear that every day until you believe it yourself.”

The tears were streaming down Martin’s face now and Jon wiped them away with his thumb.

“I could say the same back at you, y’know?” 

Jon smiled. “I know you would.” Jon pulled himself into Martin, hugging him tight. The relief of safety washed over him once more as he felt Martin kiss the top of his head. He sighed against his chest.

“Martin K. Blackwood, I love you to death.”