Work Text:
"Sasha. He's sad today," says Tim, as he slumps morosely in his office chair. He scoots it closer to Sasha’s desk, swiveling it back and forth in restless half-circles. Clockwise, counterclockwise, clockwise, counterclockwise.
Sasha makes a long-suffering face, not looking up from her computer screen. "I know, Tim."
"And lonely. He should have someone. Why doesn't he have someone? He's all alone."
"I know, Tim."
There's a long silence, broken only by the squeak of Tim's chair and the clack of Sasha’s keyboard. Tim's exaggerated time-to-go-annoy-Sasha pout slowly fades into something more serious. "I just...I can't stop wondering. I mean-"
"It's none of our business," Sasha reminds him, with a worried furrow of her brow that says what if it was, though? What if it was our business? What if it COULD BE our business?
Tim heaves a pitiful sigh. This has the unfortunate side effect of causing him to take a deep breath of a scent that, despite smelling like none of these things, somehow manages to give Tim powerful synesthetic impressions of hot cocoa, and crisp fall evenings, and the sugar-dusted cinnamon rolls his mum used to make. With a side order of those pictures of sad puppies they use to get people to donate money to animal shelters. Shit. This is so not conducive to workplace productivity. "God, it's driving me crazy. What does it smell like to you?"
Sasha hums thoughtfully. "It makes me think of something from the house I grew up in. We had a wood stove when I was a kid. On cold mornings, before I left for school, I used to like to stand by it. Just...soaking in the heat and listening to the fire crackling. It smells like that."
Tim nods commiseratingly. They share a wistful look.
"...that, and toasted marshmallows. Are you getting toasted marshmallows?"
"Cinnamon rolls," says Tim, nodding sagely.
Sasha hangs her head. "Yeah."
"Don't you two have anything better to do?" says Jon, startling the living daylights out of the both of them. The man manifests like a bloody ghost sometimes.
"Christ, Jon. Warn a guy, would you?" says Tim, after he shoves his heart back into his chest where it belongs.
"We were just discussing the whole...situation." Sasha waves her hand airily in what they all understand to be a Martin-ward direction, as though she wasn't just as close to a heart attack as Tim was a few seconds ago. She can't fool him, he saw her jump.
(It doesn't matter that none of them can actually see Martin at the moment. They can all pinpoint his location as surely as a compass points north. He's in the break room right now. Being sad. Breaking Tim's heart.)
"I'm not sure this conversation is...appropriate. For the workplace," says Jon, as if he's fooling anyone. Tim saw his nostrils flare just now.
Tim decides to call him on it. "Don't pretend you can't smell it. You're not a B, no matter how much you try to act like it."
Sasha leans over to nudge Jon with her elbow. "Come on, we shared ours. It's only fair. What do you smell?"
For a second, it looks like Jon's going to try to argue. Then his shoulders slump with defeat, and he rubs his temple as he mumbles, "It smells like…summer nights. And ocean breeze, but with none of the disgusting parts of the ocean. The way it smells when the wind is coming in off the water." His nose twitches slightly. "And...vanilla ice cream?"
"Cinnamon rolls."
"It's definitely toasted marshmallows, guys."
Jon makes a disgruntled noise. "Well, whatever it is, it's none of our business. Even though it’s clearly French vanilla."
The three of them lapse into a brooding silence. Martin, despite his physical absence, is very present in the room. Very present, and very pregnant, and very much in need of taking care of. Tim's instincts are very clear on that last point. They are highlighting that point, and underlining it twice, and attaching it to Tim's desk with a passive-aggressive sticky note reading just a friendly reminder!
"Welp. I'm going on break," says Tim, who is in no fit state to continue working. It’s good to acknowledge your limits. And if acknowledging those limits gives him an excuse to go put himself in the vicinity of Martin, well, all the better.
"Are you sure that's a good idea?" says Sasha. Both she and Jon are looking at Tim like he just announced his intention to go rob a bank.
"Nope! Still going!"
-
Tim is on top of the world right now.
No, not just on top of the world. He is the champion of the universe. He is the big man on campus, the top dog, the leader of the pack, because he identified a huge problem and he fixed it. And now all of those sad, sad smells, the ones that felt like watery puppy eyes and stubbed toes and damp socks, have melted into pure, grateful pleasure, the coziest comfort, like being wrapped in the fresh, clean warmth of a blanket that just came out of the dryer. Tim did that. He and Sasha did that, together. Go team. Five star performance, right here. Somebody give them a raise.
God, Martin is nice to hug. Tim has always kind of had a thing for big, soft guys, even when they don't smell like literal ambrosia, so you can imagine how blissed out he's feeling right now. That magical spot on Martin’s neck that tells Tim he's doing a good job pulses like a beacon in his mind's eye. He wants to put his face right into that patch of heaven and never leave. Wants nothing more than to keep holding Martin, and for Martin to keep smelling like sunshine on bare skin and lazy Sundays in bed.
In a dreamlike haze, Tim finds himself following that phenomenal pheromonal siren song, seeking it gently out with his nose. There's a tiny uptick in intensity. A slight change of flavor. It smells like a hazelnut latte and feels like kisses. Before Tim even realizes what he's doing, he's opening his mouth to taste.
And then he has to choke back a moan, because that felt like getting groped. Literally, physically groped, like somebody just stuck their hand down his pants and greeted his dick with a hearty hello. Jesus fucking Christ, that is some potent shit.
The next moment, with a whiplash that makes his head spin, Tim is slapped in the face by a sensation somewhere between the sound of a fire alarm ringing and the feeling of having a bucket of cold water dumped over his head. Well, that took care of the boner situation, at least. Looks like taste tests are a definite "no." Good to know.
With various exclamations of surprise, the three of them spring apart like three horny cats somebody just sprayed with a hose, suddenly muttering vaguely about urgent workplace tasks they've just remembered that require them to be anywhere but here. Martin retreats hastily to document storage to reorganize some imaginary files, trailing the smell of blushes behind him.
(Tim really, really, really wants to know what Martin is actually planning on doing in there. And if it’s the same thing Tim’s going to be doing, as soon as he can find a bit of privacy.)
When Tim and Sasha reconvene after escaping the disaster zone, Sasha gives him her fiercest stink eye. "Nice going, Tim."
"I may have gotten a bit carried away," Tim admits, with sincerest contrition.
"No kidding. I call dibs on the bathroom," Sasha shoots back, in a "now sit and think about what you've done" sort of tone. Then she slinks away with all the dignity a person can muster when they're suffering a serious case of boner confusion.
Tim sits and thinks about what he's done.
-
Martin has been a treat to have around the office, ever since Archival Assistant Hug Time became a semi-official Thing.
It’s an amazing 180 from how Martin was before. To the immense pride and satisfaction of every type A person present, the smells coming off of Martin have started to ease off slightly, losing that loud, beckoning, somewhat desperate quality they'd had before. Settling into something that feels...secure. And now, like a reward, they all get to experience the lofi chillhop remix of Martin. 24/7 jazzy beats and good vibes, with only the occasional blip of alarm when Martin notices a worm.
(Tim, Jon, and Sasha have gotten a lot more vehement about squishing the little bastards lately.)
Anyway, the point is, Martin is just...really, really nice to be around, right now. Martin has always made an effort to brighten up the workplace, with his cups of tea and donuts on special occasions and cheery, slightly awkward smalltalk, but now that this is happening - now that they have the collective power to make sure Martin spends all day broadcasting contentment and trust with the volume turned up to 11 - Tim's workday feels like a trip to the spa. It's like a hot stone massage for the part of his brain that thinks he lives in a cave. Tim is one step away from going out and finding a mammoth to club to death and drag back to the den.
(Tim actually looks it up, at one point, because of course he does, and...yeah, looks like this is all normal pregnancy stuff, pretty much. Lots of articles involving terminology like "bonding pheromones" and "type A brood response" and a whole list of involved hormones, all of which sounds about right to Tim. Mother nature's beautiful system at work.)
(Tim also learns that the pheromone intensity apparently increases a lot when somebody's pregnant and there's no dad in the picture, which kind of makes Tim tear up a bit while he's sitting at his desk. Don't worry, buddy, we've got you.)
God, the hugs are so good. Tim still feels those kissy sensations sometimes, little lovey-dovey flutters brushing against his skin like moth wings when he gets a good sniff of Martin’s neck, but Tim determinedly keeps his tongue and his dick to himself, because Martin said no sampling the merchandise, so them's the rules. Tim can't really complain, because his masturbatory routine has gotten downright transcendent lately. It's insane. Tim hasn't been this sexually revved since puberty.
Like, seriously, Tim always thought Martin was a sweet guy - Tim wouldn't have minded asking him out, given the chance, if it wasn't so obvious that Martin’s tastes run more towards short, surly academics - but this entire situation is pushing buttons Tim didn't even know he had. The others are in the exact same boat. You could poke any of them with a pin and they'd bleed pure oxytocin.
(Tim thinks this probably isn't what people normally mean when they say "daddy kink," but, y’know what, he's willing to run with it. Tim has a raging crush on his hot, cute, pregnant coworker, and so do all his other coworkers, and them's the breaks.)
Jon, of course, is green with envy about Archival Assistant Hug Time, as any sane man would be. It's downright painful to watch, given what Tim knows of Martin’s little crush. Still, Jon’s being a good sport about it, which Tim appreciates. Jon’s a good guy, even when he's neck deep in hormone hell. Tim knows plenty of type A dudes who wouldn't have coped half so well.
(It's also been fun watching Jon suddenly start giving Martin the kid gloves treatment, ever since Martin gave Jon the fright of his life the other day. Tim only saw the aftermath, but he really, really wishes he'd been there to see Jon’s reaction to accidentally making Martin cry. Tim is pretty sure Jon would have preferred to have Martin pull a gun on him.)
(Not that Tim is a huge fan of the idea of making Martin cry, in a general sense, but he's also pretty sure he saw Martin start to tear up in response to spilling a bit of tea on his shirt the other day, so he tries to take it with a grain of salt. Still makes Tim want to pet his head and tell him it's gonna be okay, though.)
(It also turns out that referencing the Martin Waterworks Incident is a pretty effective way to get Jon to stop taking himself so bloody seriously all the time. Now, whenever Jon starts getting too full of himself, Tim and Sasha just poke out their lower lips and make wibbly expressions at him, which usually results in Jon scowling and turning red and losing his train of thought so badly he forgets what he was supposed to be scolding them about. It's great. Martin truly has no idea how much he contributes to this workplace.)
"So," says Sasha, one day, when they’re having one of their clandestine type A huddles in the bullpen while Martin is off eating his lunch, "I looked in document storage earlier."
"Sasha!" Jon, who has very strong opinions about enforcement of The Neutral Zone, gives Sasha a disapproving look.
Sasha holds her hands up appeasingly. "I didn't go in! Just took a peek where he left the door open."
"...and?" It only takes seconds for Jon to crack. Tim doesn't know how this man ever fooled anyone into thinking he was a bastard. He's softer than gelato.
Sasha lets them stew in it for a second longer, then breaks into a grin. "Guess who has a nest now!"
"Oh my God." Tim puts his hands over his mouth.
Sasha nods with the satisfaction of a sage imparting the good word. "Everything's in a big pile...with a Martin-shaped hole in the middle."
Jon clears his throat and visibly tries to look less pleased than he is. "Well. That's...only to be expected, of course. Perfectly natural behavior."
"Perfectly adorable behavior." Aw, Tim wants to see. Sasha has all the luck.
Sasha, who has slightly stronger hearing than the rest of them, abruptly sits bolt upright in her chair. "He's coming! Shoo, shoo! Tim, get off my desk. Jon, quick, get back in your office."
Jon puffs his chest up with offense, looking like he's getting ready to argue. Then Martin walks in through the door, giving the three of them kind of a weird look on his way back to his desk, like he suspects they've been talking about him. Jon shoos.
-
"He's not a rabbit, Tim. Or a vegan, as far as I'm aware," says Jon, as Tim takes a bag of carrots out of the trolley and replaces it with a slightly nicer brand of carrots.
"They're called vitamins, Jon," says Tim, who privately thinks it wouldn't have killed Jon to change out of his office clothes for this grocery excursion. This is sort of a date, after all. A three-dudes-banding-together-to-court-another-dude kind of date. Or, rather, two dudes and a Sasha. "They're good for you. Not everyone can survive on tea and birdseed alone."
"There is nothing wrong with my wild rice mix. And I still think getting two different kinds of apples is excessive."
"I couldn't decide between the Granny Smiths and the Pink Ladies! Besides, look, I got caramel to go with them, that practically makes them a dessert."
At that moment, Sasha plonks something pink and scaly-looking on top of Tim's carrots. Tim and Jon both pause.
"What is that?" says Jon, on both their behalfs.
"Dragonfruit."
Tim and Jon share a look of baffled solidarity.
"I'm expanding his horizons," Sasha informs them primly.
"Right," says Jon, apparently deciding to pick his battles. "Should we look at the meat section?"
"There's no stove in the break room," Sasha reminds him. Jon frowns slightly.
"I suppose buying a George Foreman might be a bit excessive," says Jon, somewhat reluctantly, with an expression that says is it? Is it, though? "A slow cooker might be okay. A small one."
"No offense, Jon, but I don't know if I can handle working in a place that smells like beef stew from dawn until dusk." God, Tim is starving. He normally tries to avoid grocery shopping while hungry. Makes him buy too much stuff. But it's probably for the best, in this case. On a whim, he throws a bag of yogurt covered raisins into the trolley.
"True," Jon says, a tad wistfully. "Could be nice, though. Make the place smell a bit more homey."
"I think Martin already has that part covered," says Tim. Wink wink, nudge nudge.
And then Jon goes a bit quiet, the way he sometimes does when one of them addresses the actual reason they're doing this. Aw, bummer. Tim wasn't trying to bring him down.
Sasha gives Jon a nudge from his other side, in a hey-snap-out-of-it sort of way. "Hey. He doesn't actually hate you, Jon."
"I know that!" Jon snaps, with the most dishonest eyebrows Tim has ever seen on a man.
Tim gives Jon a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "Seriously, though, Sasha’s right. I mean, you're a huge bitch to us all the time, and we still like you."
"...thank you for that, Tim," says Jon, who looks like he doesn't know whether to be insulted or touched. The tiny bit of red appearing on the tips of his ears could go either way.
Sasha gives Jon a bracing pat on the back. "Don't you worry. You'll work your way up to hugging privileges soon enough."
"This isn't about that," says Jon, in the tone of a man who nevertheless really, really wishes he had hugging privileges. "I'm just...concerned, is all."
"I know, I know. You're a big softy." Tim feels a grinch smirk blooming on his face. "And Martin isn't the only one qualified to dispense hugs, you know."
"Tim, what are you- Tim, this isn't- TIM, PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!"
-
"It's still hot, though."
Sometimes Tim literally cannot believe Sasha’s balls. He has never met anyone more willing to double down when the stakes are high. And her instincts had better be right this time, because if she scares Martin off, Tim is going to have to give her a serious talking-to.
All three of them hold their breath while Martin deliberates. Martin looks so uncomfortable, shit, this was a mistake, how are they going to salvage this-
And then, like a miracle, the panicky prey animal smell starts to fade. In its place, something new begins to emerge. It's still nervous, but it's a different kind of nervous. A sweeter nervous. A rosy pink, butterfly fluttering, passing notes to your crush in school smell. Do you like me? Yes or no? Circle ONE!
Tim's jaw drops. No way. She did it. She actually did it! Sasha is a mad genius. Tim will never doubt her again.
And so, with his eyes carefully averted, still wearing that expression of heart-melting shyness, Martin says, "Um. Do you guys want to-"
"Oh, thank God."