“What on earth are you doing?”
Martin flailed, let out a startled noise that sounded suspiciously like a squeak, and dropped the mirror he’d been holding. It hit the floor with a crash, glass shattering and spilling onto the floor, shards catching the light and shooting bright sparks in every direction. Martin didn’t even notice the mess; his back was turned, his hands frantically wrapping the blanket from the small cot around his waist, presumably to preserve the modesty that he’d already lost when Tim walked into the room. The back of his neck was flushed bright red, and Tim knew even before he turned around his face would be the same shade.
“What are you – Jon said – everyone was supposed to be gone!” Martin hunched his shoulders defensively.
“Clearly not,” Tim answered. His cheek hurt. He’d been biting it to keep from laughing, and he knew that that amusement was clear in his voice, but honestly, what did Martin think he was doing, bent over with a mirror held between his spread legs, half-naked and practically sticking his bottom in anyone who entered the room’s face like an invitation?
“What were you doing anyway? And why didn’t you lock the door?” A thought came to him. “You said you talked to Jon – were you hoping he’d walk through?” Tim abruptly felt a lot less amused at the thought. “You’re lucky it wasn’t Jon. He would have fired you on the spot.”
Martin hunched in on himself even more at this, and okay, maybe Tim could have been a bit kinder about it. It just rankled a bit, is all. Martin’s little crush. He certainly never fussed over Tim the way he did Jon. Tim bet that if it had been Jon to find him like this that Martin wouldn’t have been half so quick to cover himself up, in the hope that the sight of his bare arse might inspire something in him. And Jon probably wouldn’t even have the sense to appreciate it, idiot that he was.
‘I just – I needed to check, okay? I needed to know. And Jon said that you and Sasha were gone for the day and then he left as well…” Martin bit his lip. “I thought I had plenty of time to look.”
Understanding hit Tim, and he grinned. “You were checking for worms, weren’t you? Again.”
“I – look. I know you think it’s funny, oh ho, let’s all laugh at Martin’s paranoia, what a good time, but you weren’t there. You didn’t have her just, just shuffling around outside your door, knocking and sending in those little – and I tried to kill them all but maybe some survived, and I was awake a lot but I couldn’t be awake for three days, and what if one of them got in and I turn into something like her?”
Martin was shaking. His hands were fisted in the blanket and his eyes were wide and terrified, and Tim felt all of the amusement drain out of him. He put up a hand, fingers splayed. “All right. I get it. But you know it is just paranoia, right? If she’d gotten you you’d know it by now.”
“Would I?” Martin asked. “Maybe it’s just in me, waiting. And I won’t ever know unless she wants me to.”
Tim sighed. “Fine. I’ll look.”
Martin’s eyes went even rounder. “You what?”
“What? You can hardly look yourself now, can you, with your mirror broken. And it’s sort of my fault, although anyone else would have known to lock the door.” He smirked. “Besides, this is sort of our thing now, isn’t it? Me checking you for creepy crawlies while you blubber.”
“I don’t blubber!” Martin snapped, and Tim laughed. Martin gave him a smile filled with reluctant amusement, then looked down, twisting the blanket in his hands. “Thank you, but I think – it’s probably not. I don’t want to –“
“Just an offer,” Tim said, raising his hands. “You don’t have to say yes. But it’s not like I haven’t already seen everything. And I don’t mind.”
“You don’t? Even with – I know I’m not-” Martin cut himself off and shook his head. His face was redder than ever; if he didn’t calm down Tim thought he might swoon, that’s how much blood was currently suffusing his cheeks. “I know it’s stupid, but I keep thinking I can feel them moving. It’s making me sloppy; well, sloppier than usual, I guess,” his mouth quirked into a self-deprecating smile, “and Jon already thinks that I’m useless –“
“Hey,” Tim moved closer, stepping around the glass, so that he could put a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “Enough of that. Jon thinks everyone but him is useless; you know that. Hell, he probably thinks he ought to be running this place instead of Elias.”
Martin shook his head. “No, he’s not that bad. I just – I’m not qualified, am I? And he can tell.”
Tim scoffed. “Yeah, well, he’s one to talk.” He’d let it go, mostly, but they all knew that the job should have gone to Sasha. Would have gone to Sasha, if Elias were anyone else. But Tim supposed that’s what happened when the head had clearly gotten his job due to money changing hands rather than any real skill. If they didn’t like it they were always welcome to quit, and as none of them had, he guessed that none of them were really invested in making sure that promotions went to the people who deserved them. Still. “He goes after you too much; you’re not a bad researcher, Martin.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Martin said, waving Tim’s words away like flies. “If you’re sure, then, yeah. I’d like you to look. You don’t have to – to look hard, or anything, just enough to –“
“I said it’s fine, but first let me take care of the glass. No, don’t move, you don’t have shoes on.” Tim picked up the shards of glass on the floor and tossed them in the bin, then did his best to sweep the rest with a couple pieces of paper. That would have to be enough for the moment; Tim thought he’d gotten most of it, anyway.
Martin watched him with a furrowed brow the entire time he worked. “Are you sure?” he said again when Tim was finished. “I don’t want to – this is –“
Tim rolled his eyes. “Martin, your arse isn’t the first one I’ve been this close to. It’ll be fine,” he said, stressing the last word.
Martin’s expression relaxed a fraction and he nodded. “Right, I’m being ridiculous. I’ll just –“ he turned around and began to lower the blanket.
“Hang on a second,” Tim said, and moved to lock the door. “Wouldn’t want anyone interrupting us and getting ideas,” he said, winking when Martin cast him a curious look over his shoulder. Martin turned his face away immediately, but Tim saw the flush climbing up his neck and grinned. Flirting with Martin was always fun; his face was so ridiculously responsive. Tim knew very well the look of shy pleasure that it most likely wore at the moment; he’d put it there often enough to have it memorized. One day, perhaps, Martin would stop being so surprised when Tim flirted with him, but until that day Tim intended to put that expression on his face as often as he could.
“Now let’s see that lovely –“
“Oh my god, shut up,” Martin said, and dropped the blanket. Tim knew that it wasn’t supposed to be a tease – Martin would never, too self-conscious by far – but damned if it didn’t sort of feel like one anyway. Martin’s hesitance made the blanket slide down in increments rather than all at once, and Tim found his eyes glued to its progress, watching with helpless fascination as it slowly revealed the curve of Martin’s arse.
It was lovely. Tim felt his mouth go dry and his palms start to itch. He wanted to touch, so badly, wanted to reach out and splay his fingers along the smooth skin of Martin’s back and then drag them downwards, running them over the round globes of his arse, caressing the skin before stopping to squeeze. He wondered if Martin would moan for him, and he felt his cock respond to the thought, hardening in his trousers. He curled his hands into fists so that they wouldn’t reach out and swallowed hard.
“You, uh, you look good. I mean, no signs of worms.” He paused, then thought, what the hell. “It really is lovely.”
Martin squirmed slightly, and sure enough, when Tim checked the back of his neck was going red. “Do you have to do that right now?” he asked, voice plaintive. “It’s so much more embarrassing like this.”
Embarrassing? Tim thought, and was only saved by making the obvious pun by annoyance at Martin once again brushing off a sincere compliment. “I guess we’re done, then,” is what he said instead, a bit more brusquely than he intended. Martin fidgeted, head down. Tim sighed inwardly and opened his mouth to soften his words, make some sort of joke, let Martin brush everything off the way he always did.
“Oh,” Martin said, and the words died on Tim’s tongue. He knew that he had to be reading into it – it was such a small word and how could he tell tone from a single syllable anyway? – but Martin sounded almost disappointed, like he’d been hoping…
What the hell. “I could. I could look closer. You know, just to be –“
“Yes! Er, yes please. I was – that’s what I couldn’t, it’s why I-“ Martin gave an awkward little laugh and shifted from foot to foot. His arse tightened briefly, perhaps with nerves; Tim saw it and he couldn’t help himself.
He slid to his knees behind Martin. He thought briefly about the glass – if he’d missed any of the larger pieces he could really hurt himself – but there was no pain, and then Martin’s arse was in front of his face and he forgot to worry about it.
Tim raised his hands. One of them he splayed on Martin’s back, exactly as he’d thought of doing. The other curled high on Martin’s thigh, just under the swell of one arse cheek. Martin drew in a sharp breath.
Tim ran his fingers over smooth skin, dragging them lightly, ostensibly looking for what his eyes had already told him wasn’t there but really just savoring the ability to touch. Martin’s skin was so delightfully soft; Tim wanted to put his mouth to it, to trail his lips all along Martin’s back and arse and see what noises he could coax out of him. Instead he slid his palms to the cheeks of his arse, stroking along, mapping it out, memorizing the feel of it under his fingers. The air around them grew heavy and thick; Tim felt like he was having to work just to breathe normally. Martin shifted under his hands restlessly, but it didn’t seem as though he was trying to get away, more like he was uncertain about something. Tim thought maybe the uncertainty was how to tell him that that was enough but he didn’t offer to stop; he wasn’t going to stop unless Martin asked him to.
Tim stroked his thumbs along the crack of Martin’s arse, not quite dipping in but flirting with the idea. This time he was rewarded with a gasp and the tiniest twitch of Martin’s hips back into Tim’s hands. It was all the invitation Tim needed.
Tim spread the cheeks of Martin’s arse, eyes greedily devouring the new area as it was exposed to them. Martin gasped again and fell forward slightly, catching himself on the corner of the desk. This gave Tim an idea, and he slid his hands to Martin’s hips (drawing a very gratifying noise from Martin as he did), and turned him to face the desk properly. Martin let out a very soft “oh,” and then leaned forward slightly, bracing himself on the desk.
Tim got his hands back on Martin’s arse. This time he took double handfuls and squeezed, exactly as he’d wanted to do before, and Martin did moan, a short, surprised sound that he quickly cut off. Tim wished he wouldn’t. The sound had gone straight to his cock, making it twitch in the confines of his trousers, and he could reach down, adjust himself into a better position at the very least, but that would mean letting go of Martin and that was the last thing Tim wanted.
He spread Martin’s arse cheeks again, still moving slowly, enjoying the slow, almost teasing reveal of Martin’s arsehole. He rubbed his thumbs along the edges of it, fascinated when it contracted under the light touch. Tim did it again, then again, relishing the way that it made Martin twitch under his hands. Tim rubbed one of his thumb directly over the hole, pressing down hard. Martin cried out loudly, but his hips moved away from Tim’s hand instead of towards it.
Tim frowned. The body under his hands was trembling, and Martin was breathing oddly, little hitched breaths that sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Tim’s eyes widened and he leaned back, starting to pull his hands away.
“Don’t,” Martin said, and his voice sounded wrecked, breathless and eager and hoarse, like he’d been screaming, or, oh god, like he’d been sucking cock, and that was not a thought Tim needed to have right now. “Don’t stop.” Martin took a deep, shaky breath, and when he spoke the shake was in his voice. “Y-you’re looking, right? Keep, keep on –“
“I’m not,” Tim said, cutting him off. “I haven’t been looking for those stupid bugs at all, and you know it.” Tim wasn’t sure why it was so important that Martin admit that, but it was. He dropped his hands and sat back on his heels. “If you want to pretend that that’s what’s happening here, then maybe –“
“No, I-“ Martin straightened and turned, and Tim saw how hard he was, his cock flushed and leaking precome. His mouth went dry.
“I know this isn’t – that you’re not – you don’t - “ Martin was still stumbling over his words, and Tm got the gist. It was enough to make him want to beat his own head into the wall.
“Martin?” he said. “Shut up.” And he leaned forward and took the head of Martin’s cock into his mouth.
Martin let out another one of his high moans and pushed his hips forward, forcing Tim to take him deeper. His hands slipped into Tim’s hair and tugged, and Tim felt him twitch in his mouth, so close already. It would take so little to make him come, Tim thought. He could have him moaning and shaking apart over him in no time at all if he wanted, and oh, he did. A part of him wanted nothing more than to blow Martin’s mind right here and now, swallow him down and moan as he shot down Tim’s throat, but if this was going to be the only time that he got to have this – and surely it would be, surely Martin would want to forget this interlude the second Jon deigned to look his way – then Tim wanted something else.
He pulled off of Martin’s cock reluctantly, ignoring the way Martin whined, the way his hands tugged at his hair, trying to push him back down. “Turn around,” he said, a little amused at how raw his voice sounded.
Martin blinked down at him in apparent confusion, but he let his hands fall from Tim’s head and did as he was told.
Tim put his hands back on Martin’s arse; this time wasting no time spreading him wide open and baring him to his hungry gaze. “Of course I want to,” Tim said. “Who wouldn’t?” And before Martin could do something stupid – something like open his mouth and try to argue with him – Tim leaned forward.
He circled Martin’s hole with his tongue, relishing the low moan that the action forced out of Martin’s chest. Loving, too, the way that the circling tongue made him shake, made him curl his hands around the desk so tightly that it creaked. Martin trembled, and Tim knew that he was fighting not to press his arse back against Tim’s face. Tim remembered how he’d pressed his face against his groin and wondered if he could make him lose control the same way again. Make him stop worrying about whatever it was that was holding him back now and just take his pleasure. He thought he could.
Tim circled his tongue around Martin’s hole, dipping in briefly before circling again, keeping the touches light, almost not there at all. Martin squirmed against him and moaned. “Tim,” he says, and a part of Tim lit up, hearing his name in that cracked, pleasure drenched voice, “Tim, please.”
Tim didn’t respond, merely continued to tease, and sure enough, he felt Martin’s hips rock back, pushing his arse onto Tim’s face. Tim hummed encouragingly, rewarding Martin for understanding by sliding his tongue slightly farther inside on the next pass. Martin was moaning fairly continuously now, softly, almost like he couldn’t help it. He began to rock into Tim’s face in earnest, grinding his hips back in an effort to wedge his tongue deeper inside. Tim gave him what he wanted at last, driving his tongue into Martin’s arse as deep as it would go, groaning when it made Martin’s whole body jerk in response.
Tim let his hands wander. One he moved to join his mouth. He pressed a finger in Martin’s body alongside his writhing tongue, probing for the small bundle of nerves he knew would drive Martin wild. His other hand he slid around to Martin’s front to fondle his balls, rolling them back and forth, cupping them, running his fingernails over them in a light caress. He touched Martin like he liked to touch himself: teasing, playful, in no rush to get anywhere. Lust was thick in his belly, coating it so thoroughly that he felt almost sick with it. His cock was hard and leaking; he could feel his own precome sliding down the shaft. He needed to touch himself badly but he needed to touch Martin more, needed to make him come, to feel him clenching around his tongue and hear him cry out with his release.
Martin’s hips jerked faster and faster, body trying to move both into Tim’s hand and into his mouth, and Tim knew that he was close. He sped up movements of hands and tongue, matching Martin’s frantic pace. He felt Martin start to come an instant before it happened, arse tightening around his tongue and finger before his cock twitched and Tim felt warm come hit his hand. He worked Martin through it, pumping him lightly as he spent and twitched, milking him dry, continuing to move his tongue in long leisurely swipes inside him until Martin let out a moan that was more like a sob and tried to shift away. One of his hands pushed weakly at Tim’s arm, and after a moment Tim relented, pulling his face and hands away from Martin’s body.
Martin stumbled to the side, falling into the cot with a gracelessness that had Tm smiling. He looked completely fucked out, eyes half closed and legs spread, cock laying against his thigh. Tim could see wet steaks on the inside of his thighs - saliva from the sloppy rim job – and it sent a bolt of fierce arousal through him, nearly doubling him over with its intensity. He scrabbled at his pants with desperate hands, needing to get them open and himself out as soon as possible. One of his hands was coated in Martin’s come, and he used that one to fist himself, setting a near punishingly fast rhythm, driven past the ability for slow by his need to come.
There was a soft noise from the cot, and Tim looked up. Martin was watching Tim stroke himself, eyes wide and glazed, mouth open. His throat worked; he licked his lips, and that was enough for Tim. Eyes fixed on Martin’s, he jerked himself twice more and then came, and only then did he break their gaze.
When he came down, he found himself slumped against the cot, head next to Martin’s thigh. Tim grinned. “I’d say you’re officially worm free,” he said, and Martin laughed.