A loud thump of something on the desk next to him gets Tim out of his daydream. He stirs and looks up at Jon who’s drumming his fingers nervously on the stack of books he just brought back from the library.
It’s no secret that Jon dislikes the guy who works in the library. Granted, it’s not just him – there’s a whole library team and the poor soul isn’t even anyone important – but somehow Jon always has the luck of dealing with him when he needs to find some books. And dislikes might be too soft of a word. Tim has been on the receiving end of many angry and shaky rants about the sheer incompetence to know that.
So he chooses violence. ‘What, long queue?’ he asks in a sweet, conversational tone.
Jon scoffs. ‘I’m not even going to think about it!’
‘I’m sure you won’t,’ Tim tuts, looking down to the research materials spread out on the desk before him.
He hears Jon take in a deep breath and exhale slowly through his nose. He sits down opposite Tim and moves some of his notebooks and pens around but doesn’t open anything in the end.
‘It’s just that,’ he starts, irritated, and Tim bites down on his lip to suppress a smile. ‘It’s just the incompetence, Tim. I asked him, I specifically asked him for the second edition of the manual, 1784 I said, published by—’
‘Maybe someone else has it? There are other people working on this case, you know.’
‘I checked in the database this morning, Tim! And he brings me the first edition. First! Like that’s going to be useful,’ Jon snorts, pushing his papers away. He leans back, arms crossed on his chest and scans the room. It’s early in the morning and there’s not many people around yet.
Tim goes to take a sip of his coffee, which he finds completely cold, before trying to formulate (or reuse) a response. Jon, on his end, doesn’t give him a chance. He gets up from his chair again and starts pacing next to the desk they share.
‘I’d really say this is some sort of elaborate plot to torture me,’ he exclaims dramatically, complete with hand gestures. ‘But I don’t think he’s smart enough to keep such a scheme for this long.’
‘Oh, Jon, come on,’ Tim says, getting up from his seat and collecting both of their cups. ‘I’m sure he doesn’t mean to. You probably make him nervous.’
‘And he makes me want to rip my hair out,’ Jon retorts. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Please leave your hair out of this, I don’t think you could rock a bald look if I’m being honest,’ Tim replies. The best strategy, he’s found in the past year or so, is to let Jon have a go for a few minutes and then leave him to cool off. Fresh coffee it is, then. ‘I’m gonna get us some coffee and then I’ll see about your book, okay?’
‘Tea for me, please,’ Jon says, deflating already. He sits back down and starts organising both their papers and notebooks. ‘Thanks, Tim.’
‘No problem at all.’
Tim doesn’t go to the library too often. He knows his way around it, sure, but since he’s met Jon, he mostly relies on him to get whatever literature or sources he needs. And usually they work on very similar projects anyway, so it does make sense to let Jon make the library rounds as he gets them snacks and drinks, even if it is at the expense of this poor library assistant.
Tim is sure he’s probably dealt with him one time or another as the library team isn’t awfully big, but he can’t honestly recall anyone who’d be so bad at their job as to stick out in his memory. He can believe it to some extent that the guy might not be the best library assistant, though he also knows Jon is a hothead and has a tendency to storm off without waiting for an explanation. Maybe he’ll see for himself today, he thinks as he pushes the heavy door leading to the main hall. He debates apologising on Jon’s behalf, but decides against it. He knows he has to stop doing that. Jon can come back with his tail between his legs some other time when he needs something he doesn’t have clearance for again.
The library is still fairly empty and so he heads straight for the main desk. There is someone sitting in the office chair but their turned around, facing the big window coming out into the courtyard.
Tim clears his throat as gently as he can. He really hopes the guy isn’t upset or anything. It doesn’t matter what everyone says, he doesn’t really feel that comfortable consoling a stranger.
The chair turns around slowly to reveal the most beautiful person Tim has seen recently. He’s mumbling something, probably along the lines of ‘sorry, sorry, I’m here’, but it doesn’t feel like Tim can process anything right now anyway.
Instead, he stares. He’s well aware he’s staring but he can’t help himself.
The man in the chair – Martin, his little nametag says – has beautiful dark curly hair that’s somehow ruffled just enough to look cute and boyish but not uncared for. It looks soft, too, Tim thinks and feels his cheeks burn as if this wonderful stranger could somehow read his mind. He has kind eyes and a big, pronounced nose and freckles scattered all across his face and neck. His cheeks are flushed deep crimson and only then Tim notices his eyebrows are knit close together, eyes narrowed, and lips (beautiful and full) pursed into almost a straight thin line. He must have been too distracted by the way Martin’s biceps seem to want to burst free from the confines of his crisp white shirt to notice the man in front of him is looking quite annoyed, actually.
‘Can I help you find anything?’ he says in a flat tone which suggests it’s not the first time he’s asked Tim that. Even though it should wake him up and get him back on track to get what he’s come here for, the deep, vibrating timbre of his voice puts Tim in even more of a state. He blinks and shakes his head, trying to get some blood back in there and force his brain to cooperate.
‘No?’ Martin asks, raising his eyebrow. ‘Well, in that case…’ he says, giving Tim a displeased little smile and begins to turn back around to face the window again.
‘No, no, sorry, wait,’ Tim manages to get out. Martin spins back to face him. He’s still not looking at him kindly by any means, but he looks a bit more amused now, at least. ‘Sorry, I’m clearly not awake yet. I do need your help finding this particular manual, uhm, from 1784, it has to be a second edition and it’s about—’
Martin narrows his eyes and gets up from his desk, putting his big hands firmly on the surface. He is much taller than Tim, probably good twenty centimetres or so. He’s built and broad and Tim has to force himself to look away from the point where his shirt meets his dark trousers and where it stretches over his belly so deliciously. Instead, he tilts his head up and forces himself to look Martin in the eye, even if it makes him feel quite flustered (and he thinks it shows).
‘Sims sent you?’ Martin interrupts harshly. ‘Because if so it’s like I told him—or, well, tried to tell him, we don’t currently have it. It’s been requested by the Beijing Institute over two months ago and we still haven’t got it back. So there. You can go back and tell him that, if he will listen to you. Better yet,’ Martin finishes with a bit of venom in his voice, ‘stop doing his work for him. Or send him back to kindergarten so he can learn basic manners.’
Tim is stunned, which doesn’t happen often. So there’s two of them, he thinks.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,’ Martin says after a while, taking Tim’s silence to be one of offence rather than pure shock and mild arousal. ‘He just gets on my nerves.’
‘He has that effect on people,’ Tim agrees weakly. He’s already had a weird, botched start and so the cogs in his head are turning at insane speeds. One way or another, he will snog this tall and mean librarian. It’s just the matter of how to get there.
‘You work with him?’ Martin asks, sitting on the edge of his desk and crossing his arms on his chest again. It feels physically impossible for Tim to stop staring at his arms. His mind is racing, fighting a losing battle with itself over the fact that he needs to focus on the conversation and definitely not imagine how easy it would be for Martin to lift him and throw him on a bed.
‘You could say that,’ Tim says. ‘We’ve been friends for a while, too.’
‘Really?’ Martin snorts and then immediately pales a little. ‘Sorry, sorry. That’s none of my business. I just think he’s a bit—’
‘—of a cunt. Oh. Um. Yeah. Difficult,’ Martin laughs nervously. ‘Sorry, you just said he’s your friend. Forget it. It’s just that… Hm,’ Martin pauses, biting down on his bottom lip. Tim feels weak in the knees. ‘No offence, but you seem like a nice guy and he, on the other hand—Oh, shit.’
‘What’s wrong?’ Tim turns to look into the direction Martin is staring at. The head librarian just walked through the main door.
‘I’ve been in a bit of trouble lately for slacking off, is all,’ Martin explains with a conspiratorial smile. Somehow, Tim’s gut tells him it’s more than just talking to co-workers when he’s not on his break. ‘Is there a book that you need which I can actually get you? That would look a lot better with my supervisor.’
When Tim gets back to his desk an hour and a half later, he’s carrying a stack of books that have nothing to do with his current case. His cheeks are pink and tingly from laughing and he feels that familiar happy feeling deep in his gut. Martin turned out to be nice and funny and Tim is pretty sure he was flirting with him as well, even if the efforts on Tim’s side hadn’t been the clearest nor his best. They hid in the stacks for as long as they could, changing sections from time to time to look less suspicious, loudly talking about Tim’s apparent research whenever a co-worker passed them by and giggling like schoolgirls right after they were out of earshot. It was the most fun Tim has ever had with someone he just met in a library in a very long time. They clicked instantly.
He’s mentally kicking himself for not asking for Martin’s number as they finally parted when Jon decides to snap his fingers in front of his face. Tim shakes his head and looks at him expectantly, asking to repeat whatever he had said.
‘Did you get the book?’ Jon asks and there is a low thrum of excitement very neatly hidden behind his otherwise disinterested tone.
‘No, uh, Martin explained that it’s currently in China,’ Tim replies, settling down opposite him. Jon frowns but doesn’t comment. ‘You should be nicer to him, you know. He’s actually worked there almost five years now and he knows quite a lot about—’
‘Well, it doesn’t show. Any of these for me?’ Jon nods towards the books stacked on the desk next to Tim.
‘Pulling his pigtails won’t work, Jon,’ Tim says, and his voice might be just a bit harsher than he intended. It’s a shot in the dark, of course it is, but he wouldn’t put it past Jon to behave like a toddler because he refuses to deal with his crush. Or maybe, Tim thinks, feeling only a little bit pathetic, it’s what he wants to believe. He’s liked Jon almost since the moment he met him and at times he’s sure they might be close to doing something about it, but it never happens. Because if that’s how Jon behaves when he likes someone maybe then—
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,’ Jon responds, looking at him quickly over the rims of his glasses before diving back down to the letter he’s translating. Before Tim can say anything more, Jon reaches for his earphones and puts them on.
‘Right,’ Tim murmurs to himself, only a bit disappointed he didn’t outright deny it.
After that, Tim volunteers to go to be library more often. Softer touch works wonders, he tells Jon, who’s mostly relieved he doesn’t have to deal with Martin anymore but slightly confused by the coffee rounds that fall now on his shoulders.
By the third time he spends almost two hours hiding in the stacks, Martin finally asks him out. It takes a lot of Tim’s energy not to jump at him right there and then. Instead he just nods, takes his number and, much to Jon’s annoyance, fails to do anything even remotely productive for the rest of the day.
He’s sure he’s vibrating on the way home, fiddling with his phone, waiting for it to buzz when Martin finally texts him to sort the details out. He ends up texting him first, tries to make it seem casual and fails miserably. Martin called his nervousness adorable before and he’s glad to be the one pursued for once, happy to relinquish control.
For their first date, Martin suggests they go see a play. He inherited the tickets from a co-worker who moved out of London and couldn’t be bothered to come back and see it. The play turns out to be absolutely terrible and Martin suggests they sneak out during the intermission as not to hurt anyone’s feelings. As soon as they’re out of the stuffy building and in the cold evening air, Martin presses him against the brick wall and kisses him passionately. It’s all a bit of a blur after that.
Currently, Tim has a hard time catching his breath. Martin has him pressed against the wall in the furthest corner of the library and most people are out to get lunch, anyway, so there’s a very slim chance someone could find them like this, but the idea excites Tim, nonetheless. His break ended well over twenty minutes ago, but he truly doesn’t care about the repercussions when Martin is kissing him like he is, and his hard cock is digging into his thigh.
It’s not the first time they’ve done this by any means, seeing as they’ve been going on dates for the past month or so, but it’s the first time they came this close to having sex at work (Tim refuses to count the blowjob he gave Martin a few days ago in the library staff’s bathroom). If he was still capable of coherent thoughts, he’d say they should have stopped about twenty minutes ago when Tim said he had to get going. Instead of letting him go, Martin asked for just one last kiss, and when his hands snuck under Tim’s jumper, he didn’t protest. And now here they are, both panting heavier than it would be advisable in a very quiet library, looking at each other expectantly.
‘I should—erm, I should—’ Tim tries. His voice is hoarse and he’s sure he looks a state.
‘You should stay,’ Martin says, tugging at his hand. ‘I know a place.’
Tim tries to protest some more, say something about how Jon’s going to notice he’s gone too long, he might come looking, you know? Martin just waves him off, replies with something vaguely anticapitalistic in nature (though Tim knows this is just for his own purposes) and leads him into a small staircase and down to an equally small, stuffy room.
‘This is technically our office,’ he says, gesturing towards a small desk covered with books and a crappy garden chair. ‘Not much, but that means no one ever comes in here. Well, almost never.’
‘There,’ Martin says, turning the key and locking the door. ‘Now, where were we?’
He closes the distance between them, effectively backing Tim into the wall again. In the short time they’ve known each other, Tim has come to learn that Martin enjoys pinning him down a whole lot and enjoys how much the display of strength affects Tim.
He wastes no time, one hand landing on Tim’s cheek and pulling him up for a kiss, the other working on his belt and zipper with surprising efficiency. Tim opens his mouth with a small moan, his own hands working on his own trousers. The rush and the urgency of it makes his skin crawl with arousal as he manages to push his trousers and boxers down in one motion. Martin breaks the kiss but stays close, panting into his mouth.
‘Needy,’ he smiles. Tim’s cheeks burn bright as Martin leans down to scatter wet kisses all over his face and then his jaw and neck. When he starts sucking on the sensitive skin behind Tim’s ear, Tim swats him away, knowing his hair nor his shirt will cover it properly if it leaves it a mark.
‘We don’t have much time,’ Tim settles for as an excuse. The truth is he needs Martin inside, his tongue, his fingers, his cock, it doesn’t matter. It’s silly, honestly, the influence Martin has on him and while Tim is sure he knows, he’s not about to admit it. Not without an incentive, at least.
‘We have all the time in the world,’ Martin says and Tim snorts.
‘If you’re going to try and convince me again this is direct action I will—ah!’ He stops because with one last kiss to his jaw Martin drops down to his knees and pushes at his thighs gently, getting him to open his legs a bit more.
Tim complies with a small whimper escaping his lips. Martin’s strong hands are gripping his thighs with confidence as he leans down to give the first tentative lick to his cock. He keeps lapping up at it for a while, giving Tim just the faintest of sensations, clearly relishing in the way he’s trying to push his hips in the direction of his face only to be restrained by Martin’s grip.
‘Tell me what you want,’ he says, hot breath hitting Tim’s sensitive skin.
He leans down, finally taking all of Tim’s cock into his mouth and suckling keenly. Tim moans, trying desperately to keep him there, keep the wet heat on his cock. Besides that, he’s also trying to focus enough to be able to answer Martin’s instruction.
‘I want you inside of me,’ he manages to get out finally, panting. Martin alternates between sucking and licking along his length. He pulls off his cock, at which Tim moans with disappointment.
It only lasts a second, during which Martin repositions his hips for easier access, and then two of his fingers are pressed against Tim’s hole and his mouth is back on his cock. Tim knows he’ll wait like this as long as necessary and will only proceed to give him what he needs when he asks for it.
‘Not, ah, that,’ Tim whimpers. ‘I-I mean yes, yes, please, I need it. But I want you to fuck me, too.’
Martin moans on his cock, which sends a shiver down his spine. He bucks his hips forward and then grinds down, pressing himself onto Martin’s fingers. It’s a dangerous game but Martin allows it, letting his fingers slip past the tight ring of muscles into the wet heat of him.
He makes quick work of stretching him, fucking him on two and then three fingers, pulling them out almost completely and then shoving them back almost roughly. Tim is moaning pretty much constantly now, not even worried about someone possibly overhearing. His hips are rolling forward almost on their own accord by now, pushing his cock into Martin’s wanting mouth and his fingers inside at the angle he wants them. The room is almost steaming, filled by wet noises and their loud panting.
‘Enough, enough,’ Tim swats at Martin’s arm, asking him to pull off. ‘C’mon, up, I want your cock in me.’
‘Needy and demanding,’ Martin murmurs but he obediently scrambles up and onto his feet. He finally opens his trousers with a low grunt, pushing them down alongside with his boxers while Tim steps out of his.
The first time Tim dropped down to his knees and tugged Martin’s clothes off, Martin told him it’s okay if he changed his mind. Like all of Martin, it turned out that his cock was… sizable. It was by far the biggest dick Tim has ever encountered and there was no way he was going to pass the opportunity of trying to fit it all into his mouth. He had looked up at Martin, then, and took the tip into his mouth, moaning at how wonderfully it ached already. They managed to have Martin fuck his throat by the end of the night, hand tangled into his hair, stream of praise spilling from his mouth as he instructed Tim to touch himself. Almost as soon as the head of Martin’s cock hit the back of his throat, Tim came, hand on his own dick, whimpering high in his throat. Martin had insisted that he could stroke himself until he came, that was fine, but Tim would have none of it. He pushed him down onto the bed and sank onto his cock almost immediately, both of them cursing.
This is what he wants right now as well. In a rare moment of clarity, he remembers they’re still at work and that he has good few hours still left on his shift. Martin leans down to kiss him, pulling him closer and flush against him, skin on skin, finally, and with his last remaining functioning braincell he manages to tap at his shoulder, requesting space.
Martin leans back, scanning his face for the signs of distress. ‘Okay?’ he asks, raising his eyebrows. ‘We can stop.’
‘No, I know, I’m okay, don’t worry,’ Tim manages. ‘It’s just. Do you have a condom?’
‘Oh!’ Martin says and his eyes widen. They usually don’t bother with one at home since there’s no way a pregnancy could even occur anymore and because Tim loves the feeling of being claimed like that, the feeling of it dripping out slowly once Martin is done with him.
Not so much if it would be seeping through his boxers for the next four hours, he reckons.
‘I, uh, left my wallet upstairs,’ Martin mumbles.
‘Same here,’ Tim says, disappointed. They could still do something else, but his heart was set on a particular fantasy already.
‘I could quickly run up and get it?’ Martin offers without much conviction to his voice.
‘And have Nancy spot you? While you’re sporting a hard on, too?’
Martin chuckles. ‘You’re right, you’re right. What do you want to do, then? I could finish sucking you off or—’
‘Or’ Tim interrupts, because he’s just had a lightbulb moment ‘you can fuck me, make me come on your cock and then I’ll suck you off. No clean up. How does that sound?’
Martin stifles a groan and nods. Without further ado, he grabs Tim by the thighs and hoists him up, making him yelp in surprise as his back collides with the cold wall behind him. Martin steps in closer and Tim reaches down, taking his cock in his hand and guiding it towards his hole. They’ve never done it like this, and the new position unlocks something in Tim, because the angle makes the stretch feel amazing, Martin’s cock hitting all the right places as it pushes inside slowly, slower than Tim would like, but he understands he’s just being careful. There’s also something about being held up like he weighs absolutely nothing to Martin, about being bent almost in half, his ankles wrapping just above Martin’s arse as he bottoms out fully.
He feels so full and the stretch burns in the most wonderful way, which he lets Martin know by moaning loudly and grinding his hips down as much as he can, urging him to move. Martin withdraws his cock almost completely, letting the head tease at his opening again, and then slides back in halfway, picking up a slow but forceful pace. He leans down, burying his face in Tim’s neck, kissing and biting at the point where his neck and shoulder meets.
‘Touch yourself, Tim,’ he grunts out and Tim understands he doesn’t think he’s going to last. He slides his hand down his stomach obediently, taking his cock in between his fingers and rolling it a bit faster and rougher than he usually would. ‘That’s it, love,’ Martin pants, his hips stuttering as Tim clenches down on him. He readjusts his grip on Tim’s hips, lifting him up and picking his pace up, fucking into him with quick and sharp thrusts.
Tim moans, throwing his head back. ‘I’m close,’ he gets out. ‘Keep talking, M-Martin, please. Just—yeah—just like that, please.’
‘You’re doing so good, sweetheart,’ Martin groans into the skin of his neck. ‘You feel amazing on my cock, taking it so well, yeah? Making the prettiest noises just for me. I bet you’d let me come inside of you if we had something to plug you up with afterwards, yeah? So you could walk out there and keep on doing your work, wondering if everyone knows, if they could tell that I fucked you at work and came deep inside and that—’
He trails off with a moan and bites down on the sensitive skin as he feels Tim clench down on him when he comes. He fucks him through it, praising him for doing so good, coming for him, so well, as Tim works on his own cock to the point of feeling oversensitive and overstimulated. Gently, Martin pulls out, cock red and glistening, and sets him down. Then he takes a step down.
Tim doesn’t wait a second, not even to properly catch his breath, just drops down to his knees and grabs Martin’s cock at the base, feeding it between his lips, tasting himself. He moans, sending vibrations down the shaft, and slowly takes more and more of it, until the head is pressing against the back of his throat. Then, instead of starting to bob his head, he looks up through his eyelashes and waits.
Martin catches his eye. He looks beautiful with his hair slightly damp with sweat and curling at odd angles, cheeks flushed and eyes glistening. He cocks an eyebrow, murmurs a quiet question, asking if Tim’s sure. In lieu of an answer, Tim grabs him by the hips and move them slightly, simulating a half-thrust.
Martin doesn’t need more convincing. His hips withdraw and then he snaps them forward, driving his cock in deep. His hands find their way to Tim’s hair, holding him in place, and a litany of praise starts pouring out of his mouth. Tim can feel his eyes water, but he keeps them open, keeps looking up at Martin, taking in the picture he makes when he’s like this, when he’s close and his hips start losing their rhythm. He hollows his cheeks and works his tongue on the underside of Martin’s cock and it’s not long until he’s stilling his hips and spilling down Tim’s throat.
Tim takes all of it, swallowing as best as he can as Martin fucks his mouth lazily, riding out his orgasm. Tim suckles on his softening cock obediently, happy to have something in his mouth. He can feel himself enter the pleasant post-coital haze and he dimly wonders how he’s going to make it through the rest of the day after a session like this.
Martin stills his hips finally and eases his cock out of his mouth, much to Tim’s disappointment, which he expresses loud and clear. Martin helps him up and back on his feet, leaning down to kiss him as soon as he’s stable, leaning back against the wall. It’s a sweet thing, no urgency, allowing them both to come down from it and back into reality.
Martin produces a few tissues from the pocket of his cardigan somehow and they clean up as best as they can in comfortable silence.
‘See, almost no clean up,’ Tim says triumphantly as they finish dressing up. ‘I’m a genius.’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Martin smiles fondly. ‘Come on, let’s find some really old and probably fake collection of letters to justify your long absence.’