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spit roast

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Jon isn't sure what he's doing, but Martin's mouth is soft and greedy. Elias watches with amused detachment like he's not balls-deep in Martin's ass, rocking his hips in little circles that occasionally have Martin's free hand skittering helplessly across the floor, trying to find something to hold onto. The other is holding on to Jon.

Who isn't actually hard yet; Martin gives a long pulling suck before letting it fall from his lips and looking up at Jon's face, brows pinching. "Are you— um, is this really okay?"

Jon gives a short huff of air through his nose. "That's very sweet of you, Martin," he says dryly, tangling one scarred hand into the fall of Martin's hair and scratching firm across his scalp. "I think perhaps I should be asking you. I'm sure we could find some other way to help you feel less—"

"I wouldn't guarantee it," says Elias, interrupting their moment with a quirk of his lips and a sharp thrust. "He needs to be filled. Of course, I'm more than capable of taking care of my employee's needs on my own, if you'd prefer to simply watch."

Jon scowls. "No," he says shortly, because Martin is — they haven't strictly put a name to it, what they are, but Jon feels unduly possessive of him anyway. If he could make Elias leave, he would — but Martin seems to enjoy it, groaning and pushing his ass back to take Elias' cock deeper.

"Please," he says, "Jon, if— if we're going to—"

Jon uses his own hand to lift his cock, squeezes the base. He isn't one for touching himself particularly, except on those occasions when his sleep is particularly restless and his headaches particularly bad. But he isn't immune at all to the heat of Martin's mouth as he slides back into it, Martin moaning around his shaft.

"He wants you deep," says Elias, and Jon supposes if he's going to be here, annoyingly present like a psychic mosquito, he might as well make his knowledge useful, so he tips his head in acknowledgement and presses his hips forward. The relentless suction is already getting him hard, but Martin takes it valiantly, trying to swallow all the way to the base. Using his hand, bobbing his head, dripping saliva in every attempt to deep-throat. His toes are curling. Such a silly little detail for Jon to notice, but he's struck with affection over it, runs both hands through Martin's hair.

"That feels lovely," he says, a little stilted but sincere. Watches the flush spread across Martin's cheeks and finds he's blushing himself, at being so ridiculous.

"He's not used to hearing praise from you," says Elias, and he's thumbing the buttons of his shirt open; even at a relatively gentle pace fucking Martin is starting to work him up a sweat, and they'd fallen into this too fast to do more than get their trousers out of the way.

"Well. He's doing— truly excellent work right now," says Jon, trying his best. Martin moans and gets a little frantic, wet sounds louder and faster as he moves himself between both of them. The rhythm is good; Jon closes his eyes and gets into it a little, tries to find a plateau instead of simply falling over the suddenly approaching edge.

"Yes," says Elias with nonchalance, but there's something deliberate to it as well. "He's being such a good boy for us, aren't you Martin." And then he smacks him, a resounding crack that leaves a blush in its wake as bright as Martin's cheeks, and Martin has to pull off Jon—

This isn't the first time he's seen Martin come. It isn't even the first time he's participated in the experience. But it's still never been like this, with Elias suddenly fucking him ruthlessly over the edge. He watches Martin's face twist, mouth fallen open, Jon's leaking cock just brushing across his cheek. The sharp spasms of his body, the way Jon's name emerges from his mouth in breathless little puffs.

Jon looks up, and Elias is watching him avidly. Not Martin: him. His usual punchably cocky expression turned into something dangerously fierce. When Jon looks back, he wets his lips, Martin suddenly yelping as he's fucked hard through his aftershocks.

"He needs more," Elias tells Jon, and then lifts a hand and cups Jon's jaw, so he can feel Elias' pistoning all through him. "Archivist," he says with a smile. "You do look very good like this. Will you come in his mouth?" He brushes Jon's lower lip as he says it, like maybe he's thinking of coming in Jon's mouth. "Or would you prefer to swap once I'm finished with this hole? He has plenty, and they're all greedy for cum."

Jon feels all prickly hot, embarrassed at hearing those words from Elias' mouth, overwhelmed by the way Martin has returned to sucking his cock, not sure who exactly is in control here but certain it isn't him.

"I—" he stutters, "Lord, Elias."

"Are you going to make him beg to taste you? That seems cruel."

And then he's reaching over and hauling Jon across, their mouths colliding with a clash, and Jon realizes in surprise that Elias is coming, though he'd given no real indication he was close. But the groan he presses into Jon's mouth is unmistakable, as is the way his hips go hard and then snap deep, trembling there, breeding Martin. It's enough, somehow, the two of them and the kiss and Martin working over his cock, and Jon feels the slow pulse of his ejaculation, the pleasant bright wash of orgasm, wiping everything out.

He's embarrassed, after, doesn't meet Elias' eyes as he hurriedly tugs his trousers up. "Jon," Martin says softly, going up on his hands and knees and then higher, kneeling. Jon wants nothing more than to escape to his office but Martin's need drew him to agree to this and it holds him here now. He presses close, kisses Martin's shoulder just above the strap of his binder, where a few stray freckles lie.

"Whatever you need, Martin," he promises, far less acerbic than usual, and Martin takes his hand and guides it between his legs. "You're so wet," Jon marvels as he palms him, and oh, yes, there's Elias, softening inside Martin's ass, come leaking. He has his face pressed between Martin's shoulderblades like he's planning to sleep there, but at the press of Jon's fingers he makes an irritated noise and withdraws. Martin's weight falls forward and Jon catches him, holds him steady and lets him grind off on his wrist and palm. Kisses his neck, and then his mouth, and Martin is all sloppy affection and tastes like what he's been doing, but Jon doesn't care. Devotes himself to getting Martin off again, and then in the quiet after that wailing orgasm, they lean on each other and breathe.

"How do you feel," Jon asks, finally breaking the silence. Lifting his hand to lick his fingers clean without really thinking about it, which makes Martin blush and wrinkle his nose.

"Better, yeah," he says. "Thanks! Thanks." He sounds awkward, catches Jon's wrist and tries for low sincerity. "But really. Thanks."

"It's not exactly — I don't mind, you know. It's quite enjoyable, really."

"Mm," agrees Martin, still a bit comestruck. After a pause: "Elias, though."

Who left, at some point, and took the book that had started this whole mess with him. Jon wasn't really paying attention at the time, but now he rolls his eyes. "Is still a prick," he says with level enunciation, hoping the man hears him.

"That you kissed?" Jon feels a lurch in his chest, and Martin gives a tired chuckle. "I'm not angry. Curious, I guess? But we can talk about it later. Right now, I'm more concerned with finding out what happened to my pants."

"Oh," says Jon, detaching with a last kiss to Martin's cheek, "I think I saw them in this box of statements, actually. Though you may need to clean up a little first." Honestly, they could both use a shower. Sexual relations at work were terribly inconvenient. On the other hand, since he learned this job could occasionally have a disgusting element: "I think I have some er, baby wipes around here somewhere, in a drawer..."

They pick themselves up, and put themselves back together, occasionally brushing incidental touches just to reassure each other that they were both still there. That it wasn't a dream. Martin keeps shooting him shy little smiles when he thinks Jon can't see, and he's never felt like this about another person in his life, thinks his heart is going to claw its way out of his chest.

And when he's returned from washing his hands, he brushes a thumb over Martin's cheek before he has to get back to work. "No more reading books you find just lying around," he scolds lightly.

"I'll be more careful," says Martin. "Though I wonder why it was here and not Artifact Storage in the first place? We didn't take a delivery."

Jon frowns, face settling back into its usual pensive expression. "I'll look into it," he says darkly.

Martin squeezes his hand: "Dinner tonight?" and Jon's expression shades a touch less dire. "My shout."

"Yes," he says. "Yes, that would be lovely."