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Ever since they had all shuffled themselves into the dimly lit basement that dared to call itself the Archives, Martin and Tim had something going on between them. It was a gentle, light thing, that curled itself around them as they easily tossed whatever it was back and forth. It started out as a few teasing jokes here, a brush in the break room there, the occasional moment of eye contact as they sat at their desks. On occasion, a kiss or two during nights where they all went out to blow off stress and got way too drunk as a result, which they could blow off in the morning as a drunken joke between friends.

For the past few months, that’s all it was. Martin was quite obvious in his one-sided pining over Jon, and Tim was clearly head over heels for Sasha (although in a still much less obvious manner than Martin.) They both knew where the other stood, so that little something just became an easy game between them both.

Things had changed though, after Prentiss. The dust had cleared and the worms were swept away, but the surface appearance might have been the only thing to regain some sort of normalcy. Sasha seemed the most put together considering the trauma they’d all been through, but… Well, Martin wasn’t above admitting that he’d been vaguely following along the little “will they, won’t they” routine that Tim and Sasha had performed through the office, and it had been increasingly inching towards “they will” before it had all gone to hell. After the attack, Sasha was a bit more reserved. She still laughed at Tim’s jokes and nodded in agreement when they talked over statements, but it felt more polite than genuine interest. 

Tim seemed to pick up on this as well, and Martin would watch him escape to the break room where he thought no one could see him so he could rub over the still angry red puckered scabs that dotted his once smooth skin. Martin could never quite tell if they still itched or if Tim blamed the scars for the way that he and Sasha were drifting further and further apart, and didn’t know which answer would be better anyways.

As for Martin’s own romantic endeavors, well, Jon had never seemed especially interested before, but now he would be gone for long stretches, and when he was back he was even more withdrawn and biting than he had been before. He surely had even more on his plate to deal with than the rest of them did, considering all the new information that had come to light, but he didn’t seem willing to let anyone else help. Where he might have passed a statement along to Martin and asked him to “ carefully investigate this one further, thank you very much,” he instead marched out of the office without a word and returned looking even more ragged than before.

But the world kept spinning, and they all went about their lives as best they could.

When Tim quietly approached him as he sifted through a seemingly random box of statements that was deep in the stacks, he couldn’t say he was particularly surprised. The Archives had been so quiet and lifeless recently, and it was hypnotic to feel the presence of someone else that could provide company and warmth and proof that they were all still alive. So they had slowly orbited each other over the past few weeks, both sucked into the gravitational pull of someone else that knew what they had gone through and wasn’t completely closed off for it. Each passing revolution pulled them closer and closer, and Martin supposed it was just as well that they completed their dance.

There were no words in this though, only the soft dance of fingertips brushing over the oversized sweater that clumped awkwardly around his hips. Martin didn’t have to look behind himself to know that it was Tim running his lanky, gentle hands over his body in a silent question. He rolled his hips back in response, letting Tim know that he was cherished and wanted and real . But then Tim’s fingers wrapped more firmly around his hips, and this was finally enough for Martin to turn and face him.

“Tim, we can’t.... We can’t mess this up. Not work, not between us.”

Now that he could finally see Tim, Martin could see all of the raw hurt that oozed out of his every pore. Underneath all the anger he’d shrouded himself in recently was this aching bruise that he’d been poking every time he picked a fight with Jon or sought out Sasha while knowing fully well she was no longer interested, and now it was all seeping out of every crack in his carefully built walls. 

“We won’t. Sasha’s likely to be in IT the rest of the day with her computer, and Jon is- well-” Tim pleaded. “Please, Martin.”

Martin cautiously wrapped a hand around one of Tim’s wrists, toeing the line between the embrace of a lover and the way a zookeeper might approach a terrified prey animal. He slowly pushed away from the stacks he’d been pressed against, and nudged Tim in the direction of the door.

“Not here,” Martin said.

They traipsed through the office, which lay entirely still save for their movements and the dust particles they sent spinning through the air as they moved. Their hands were kept carefully clasped as they moved, anchoring the other to the spot and keeping each other grounded. Not so grounded, however, to prevent them from slowly floating into Jon’s dark, empty office. It felt wrong to be in there without Jon. Tim rubbed his thumb across the knuckles of Martin’s hand, and for a moment Martin swore he could feel Tim’s ache roll into his own.

They both missed him. The Jon that they used to have, blunt and snappish but still a part of the team, still trusting them. The Jon they had now was barely a person at all, consisting entirely of eyes bloodshot with exhaustion that would follow them all around the office and pressed thin lips that hardly ever deigned to speak to them. 

There was never any spoken decision between them. Martin just happened to close the door as Tim roughly pushed the papers that covered every surface of Jon’s office to the floor. He was still in the anger stage of grief, while Martin, he supposed, was stuck squarely in depression. It didn’t seem likely that there could ever be acceptance though, not while the scars were so fresh. So Tim seated himself on top of Jon’s desk and Martin stepped forward to keep as much contact between them as possible, and Jon’s shadow over them both was left unmentioned.

Martin gingerly cupped Tim’s chin in his hands, his thumb brushing over the rough ridges of his still healing scars. It was hard to tell if they were still painful for Tim, but they were still an angry red against his tan skin.

“Is this okay?” Martin whispered. 

Tim nodded and pushed his face into Martin’s hand.

“Are you okay?” He continued.

At this, Tim wrapped his arms around Martin’s neck and closed the distance between them for a soft kiss. Martin pulled away, holding Tim’s jaw more firmly this time. 

“I’m as okay as I think I can be,” Tim answered without further prompting.

Martin moved back in to resume their kiss, putting in conscious effort to keep it gentle and chaste. He rested his free hand oh so lightly on Tim’s hip, just to keep them both present there. It had been so hard, recently, to keep from floating away out of reality. It was so easy to think about the countless horrors they were up against, but why would Martin want to do that when he had Tim so soft and open and pressed against him?

Tim opened up his mouth so sweetly for Martin and gently pulled his wrist from Tim’s hip until it was just barely underneath his shirt. So Martin took the hint and pushed his hand up to explore Tim’s bare chest, then pressed back in for an open-mouthed kiss this time. He ran his fingers over Tim’s muscles, taut with the effort of holding himself against Martin, then over the small circular scars that dotted his side. Finally, Martin’s fingers brushed up against the smooth scarring under his pectoral. He ran his fingers along its length, and felt Tim roll against him and try to keep his moan from escaping into Martin’s mouth.

“Martin, please- fuck- I need you.”

“Mm, I’m right here, so what do you need?”

Tim quickly squirmed his arms in between their bodies and grabbed his shirt, pulling it off with enough speed to launch it across Jon’s office. God, Jon’s office. Before Martin could dwell on that too much though, Tim was wrapping his arms back around Martin’s neck and pressing his face into the side of Martin’s neck. 

“You already know.”

“I’m not about to start making assumptions here.”

“Martin Blackwood if you don’t put something in my cunt right the fuck now I’ll… I’ll do something, I'll get back to you on that one,” Tim mumbled against his neck, before adding, “Please.”

That definitely resolved any questions Martin could have had. He glanced around at Jon’s office, then briefly pulled away from Tim to lock Jon’s door and wheel his chair in front of it for good measure. If Jon were to walk in and see them like this, Martin just might drop dead. Unless Jon wasn’t actually all that mad, in which case-

He glanced back over at Tim, already shirtless and flushed and smiling at him with this cautious crooked grin that Martin doubted he gave out to the nameless one night stands he picked up. He could put a pin in any pining fantasies he had about Jon for a couple hours, as long as he had something (or Tim, an Everything, the radiant bright sun from which Martin's moon reflected light) to keep him from feeling the bone-aching loneliness that sometimes crawled inside of him. 

So Martin moved back in front of Tim, but paused before touching him again.

“I want you to know that you’re allowed to withdraw your consent at any time for any reason, no questions asked, but that being said, would you be opposed to if I- ah, went down on you too?”

Tim paused for a moment, then beamed at him with the warmth of the sun itself and frantically twisted at the button to his jeans.

“Well Martin, I’d say that you’re legally obligated to do so now that you’ve said that,” Tim said with a wicked grin, then added, “Wait, do you think Jon’s got any lube in here somewhere? All while he convinces us all that he’s hard at work?”

The double entendre didn't pass by Martin, but he finds it hard to stomach. Because really, it was a great question: What exactly did Jon do besides work? Did he have friends outside of work, maybe even a significant other? He never talked about his life, and well, part of Martin hoped that Jon did have friends that he was still talking to right now, because he definitely wasn’t talking to any of them and no one should be that isolated. (He should know.) The other part of him though, that part selfishly hoped that he didn’t have anyone else, because that meant Martin would at least have a chance. 

But then Tim’s pants were off and flung to the wall where they sank into where his shirt already was, and Martin could definitely focus on that instead, and especially the fact that he either took his boxers off with them or was never wearing any to begin with. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it, I doubt you’d need it anyways,” Tim reassured him with a voice much softer than the face value should have called for. 

Martin took off his sweater to reveal his undershirt, then added it to Tim’s pile and got down on his knees in front of Jon’s desk. He didn’t need to take anything else off, he didn’t intend to be receiving anything and the last thing he needed was to add another distressing factor to his life.

There was also one last bit of concern about whether he or Tim should really be doing this that bounced around in the back of his mind, so Martin looked up and watched as Tim leaned back and slowly spread his legs. The careful way his muscles tensed as he positioned his legs and held himself up to look back down at Martin was intoxicating, even divorced from what they were both about to do.

“Are you sure about this?” Martin asked.

Tim didn’t bother answering, and instead pushed one arm up to grasp Martin’s tight curls with each hand and pulled him forward. Martin took a moment to hover as he propped himself against the desk with one hand and ran the other over Tim’s thigh, his warm breath ghosting over Tim’s folds all the while. He could feel Tim’s hips twitch under his hand, and he didn't stop the small smile that overtook his face before he finally found his balance and could snake his other hand up from the desk to lightly brush over Tim’s clit.

His hips tried to jerk upward at that, only to meet resistance from Martin’s hand, fingers spread wide over his hip bone, keeping him pinned to the desk. Tim huffed at that and wiggled his hips insistently, so Martin applied only the slightest bit more pressure and Tim actually whined .

“Oh my god please stop teasing, do you want me to die?” Tim asked as he once more tried to push his hips up into Martin’s touch.

Martin reached his tongue out and licked all up one side of Tim’s cunt and down the other, but kept just far enough off from his clit to avoid giving him any sort of real satisfaction. Martin felt Tim tense and he pulled away again before Tim’s hips bucked up even harder than before, and Tim tried (not very hard) to thrash underneath Martin’s hand pinning him down.

“Martin Martin Martin Martin I will literally do anything if you just eat me out,” Tim moaned.

It would be a fairly easy argument to say that Martin was a tease, but he would also never be able to say no to Tim. So he leaned in and gently sucked on Tim’s clit, before pulling off with a wet pop so that he could lap into Tim’s hole. 

Tim immediately curled both of his hands into Martin’s curls in an attempt to brace himself, but in reality all he ended up doing was pulling Martin’s face deeper into his cunt. After a few seconds of deep probing, Martin slid a finger to circle around. He toyed with Tim, listening as he moved his finger to gauge which movements would produce which sounds. It didn’t take long to discover that gently pulling up on the edge of his hole up towards his clit would generate a high pitched whimper, which was a sound that Martin managed to reproduce a few more times before finally giving in and sinking his finger in to his base knuckle. 

He had barely finished inserting his first finger when Tim started pushing down against it, so Martin didn’t hesitate to start pumping his finger in and out as he alternated between delicately tracing the tip of his tongue over Tim’s clit and harshly sucking on it. 

Martin only managed to keep this up for a minute or two before Tim started writhing again, so the next time he pulled his finger out, he thrust two in its place. Tim seemed to acclimate much faster this time, and his writhing was accompanied by soft pants that would occasionally morph into moans when Martin flicked his tongue just right.

It wasn’t that much longer until Tim’s fingers were so tight in Martin’s hair that he was pulling, and the second Martin felt that dull ache he crooked his fingers up towards the ceiling and sucked hard on Tim’s clit. Tim immediately stopped breathing and his back arched at an angle that looked like it should hurt, so Martin kept the suction and gentle pulsing of his fingers up until Tim’s back slammed back down against the- Jon’s desk.

Martin slowly lapped at Tim as he withdrew his fingers, but only pulled his mouth away when Tim sharply tugged his hair upwards. He rocked back on his heels and gazed up at his work, with Tim’s entire body flushed and sweaty and his cunt a beautifully open and slick piece of art. He used his not-wet hand to push himself up and on top of Tim where he lounged on Jon’s desk, and nudged his face up into Tim’s chin line as Tim continued panting for breath.

He sucked softly at a spot under Tim’s chin, and felt the sensation of Tim’s hips stuttering against his still-clothed leg. Tim gasped, then raced his fingers to the edge of Martin’s undershirt and grasped the hem.

“Lemme- Least I can do is return the favor,” Tim said.

Martin hesitated for just a moment, then shook his head against where it was still pressed into Tim’s neck. He couldn’t, not in Jon’s office and not with the way that his body looked in comparison to Tim’s lithe, tight muscles that could never pass as anything but distinctly masculine.

“Another time,” Martin whispered.

Tim didn’t push, but used a firm grip on Martin’s chin to pull him back for a kiss. It was such an easy, delicate kiss; a gossamer thread that had been weaved between all of the things they would continue to leave unsaid. 

Eventually they broke apart, and Tim cheekily sucked Martin’s fingers clean before they redressed. It only brought the dull ache of Martin’s own dick into his consciousness for the first time, and Tim pretended to keep his eyes trained on his computer when Martin slipped away to the bathrooms 20 minutes later. Martin tried his hardest to focus on how incredibly hot Tim had been, but in the end he found himself cumming to the thought of Jon walking in on them.