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The first time was an accident. It sounds mad, he knows that—how do you kiss someone on accident? It wasn't like one of them tripped and Martin caught Jon with his lips.
No, it started with an argument. As usual. Because, if Jon wasn't being snide about Martin's work and Martin wasn't being petty in his report formatting, they were arguing. About spiders, about filing, about whether milk goes in first or last. Honestly, sometimes it felt like all they did was find reasons to argue.
Before, if he'd been asked, Martin would've said he hated his boss. Not in a vengeful, "wanting the worst for him" way, but definitely in a personal, "I hope his milk spoils before he can drink it and he doesn't know until the shops close" kind of way.
But love and hate are two sides of the same coin.
This argument was fairly standard. Martin had purposefully left something out of his newest report because Jon had been incredibly rude on the last tape, and he'd deserved it. Martin couldn't quite explain why he was willing to give himself more work in the name of pissing Jon off, but, well, there it was.
Jon had summoned him to his office and motioned to the chair, file in hand. He'd started in on Martin's report right away, tearing it to shreds, and Martin had stood up.
"If you're just going to yell at me," he'd said, annoyed, "you can put it in an email. I've got other files to work on, you know."
For a moment, Jon hadn't said anything, and Martin realized he'd actually dumbfounded Jon. He'd sputtered a bit, trying to regain traction, and for absolutely no rational reason whatsoever, Martin had added, "I do most of that on purpose, you know."
"I—what?" Jon had demanded, completely flabbergasted now.
"Missing pieces, out of order sections, the wrong reference style," Martin listed, using his fingers to number them off as he spoke. "If you'd be less of a prick, I'd turn them in properly."
Jon's eyes had gotten even wider for a moment, and then he'd actually looked impressed. "Prove it," he said then, throwing the file across the desk so it landed in front of Martin.
And he had. He'd sat back down in the chair, picked up one of the many loose pens on Jon's desk, and started making notes about what would be changed for the revision.
Martin admits he hadn't known much of anything about reports and formatting and all of the other pieces that mattered to Jon when he'd started in the basement, but Tim and Sasha had been kind enough when he'd nervously laughed and said, "I've been in the library so long, I've forgotten a lot of this. Got any refresher tips for me?" Sasha had sent him an entire folder full of articles, templates, and websites, and Tim offered to check over his reports sometimes.
Within minutes of sitting back down at the desk, he'd pinpointed the big issues and spun it back around to show to Jon, but Jon wasn't behind his desk. He looked up, and Jon was over on the same side, apparently having bent over to watch Martin at work.
He looked…intense was the only word that came to mind. There was something there, something Martin didn't recognize.
"Why?" Jon asked after a moment, looking up from the marked up report to Martin's face.
Martin shrugged. "You haven't offered to help, only criticized. Figured you might as well criticize things that're easy to fix instead of nitpicking."
The tension in the room after Martin finished speaking was palpable. To this day, Martin can't say which one of them moved first, but the next thing he knew, his hands were cupped around Jon's face and Jon's mouth was moving against his own, Jon's hands holding tightly onto Martin's jumper.
It wasn't a gentle kiss. It was deep and sense-encompassing, tongues pressing against each other and teeth nipping at lips. Martin found himself pulling the band out of Jon's hair, dropping it somewhere on the floor of Jon's office, and running his fingers through Jon's hair.
Martin hadn't thought about kissing Jon before. Or, at least, he hadn't seriously thought about kissing Jon before. Jon was attractive, there was no denying it, and all three of the assistants had found themselves wondering aloud at the pub one night what kissing Jon might be like, if he would relax or get more wound up. They were all far too drunk, and quickly laughed it off and changed the subject.
Kissing Jon was very different than his drink-addled mind had expected. It was intense, yes, the way Jon approached most things, but there was also a tenderness in the way his tongue traced along the inside of Martin's mouth, looping back and forth as if trying to memorize the space. His movements were quick, and surprising, and shockingly delightful. Martin had never been kissed with so much fervor and thoroughness in his life.
It only ended when they were both completely breathless, and Martin had felt a shock run through him at the sight in front of him, his boss completely disheveled by his own hands, his expression likely a twin of Jon's. Stammering, he'd hurriedly tracked down the hair tie, gathered up the report he'd have to edit, and tried to smooth out the Jon-sized fist marks in the wool of his jumper.
Jon was also busily readjusting himself, and then he said, in a low, dark voice, "That was unprofessional. I apologize. It won't happen again."
Martin nodded in mortified agreement. "It won't," he'd echoed, and then moved to the door. As he opened it, he said, "I'll get the edited report to you by the end of the day." Then he practically slammed the door and hurried back to his desk.
Martin had just kissed his boss, his absolute dick of a boss who'd sent him to get chopped up by a mad, murdering old lady! He might not have had much self-esteem, but he certainly had more self-respect than that! Just because Jon was pretty didn't mean Martin could lose his mind!
His fury at himself carried him through the rest of the day, and he not only edited the report that started it all, but he managed to finish three others. At ten til five, he'd brusquely knocked on Jon's door, wordlessly entered at Jon's call, and then plopped the files in the in-tray without making eye contact.
When Tim, noticing Martin's dark mood, had asked about after work drinks as Martin headed back to his desk, Martin had readily agreed, and he'd even managed to avoid telling Tim about anything that had happened.
That was nearly two months ago now. And it had kept happening. Whenever they argued alone in a room, Martin would find himself snogging the life out of Jon, and then he'd spend the rest of the day furious with himself. Jon seemed equally displeased, and yet, he never pushed Martin away, hadn't yet shoved him out of his office and called HR to report workplace harassment.
Instead, he kissed Martin back just as feverishly, as though only by kissing Martin could he properly deal with all of his feelings.
It's started to fuck Martin up a bit, if he's honest. His dreams are now usually about being reprimanded and kissed until he can't think. And when he wakes up—God, he hasn't needed such long showers since he was a teenager!
The tension bleeds through to all of their other interactions as well, and Tim and Sasha have taken to making jokes and comments about it all. Martin finds it all extremely frustrating, because he likes to think of himself as a good guy, as helpful and cheery and able to get along with anyone.
But he's also tired of being Jon's doormat, letting Jon take out any and all work frustrations on him, and so he hasn't been backing down, even when it might be wiser to do so. More than that, though, he's actually…enjoying himself? He's having fun with the arguments and the making out and the barbed comments they toss around the workplace.
And Martin might be mad, but it seems like Jon feels the same. His criticisms of Martin's work have died down significantly, and he's not sent back a report for rewrite in nearly a month now, especially now that Martin has stopped purposefully screwing things up to fuck with his boss. Martin hadn't realized it, since there's been so many other things they've been butting heads about, but Tim points it out one afternoon.
"Seems like you've really gotten back into the swing of being an academic, instead of a librarian," he comments as they sit around the break room table for lunch. Martin raises an eyebrow instead of speaking over a mouthful of leftover pasta, and Tim goes on. "Well, you haven't had either of us check over anything in a while, and I can't remember the last time Jon made you rewrite something."
Martin swallows and says, "Shit, really?" Then he huffs an awkward laugh. "I can't believe I'm surprised about that, instead of relieved."
Tim chuckles. "Yeah, that's our Jon, though," he says, shaking his head. "Has to be an asshole until he figures out how to communicate with you like a person. Did I tell you about how Jon and I actually became friends?"
Martin shakes his head and takes another bite, settling in for the long haul.
"Okay, so, you know I started here not long after…" Tim pauses, stumbling over his words a bit. "After my brother went missing, and so I wasn't in the best headspace. Jon, prickly man that he is, was actually the perfect person for me to have been assigned a desk next to, because he was focused and never much for small talk. We talked about work, though, and Jon's always been passionate about what he does, regardless of whether or not he likes the job. He had absolutely no way to know I was grieving and angry, which means he didn't alter his behavior one bit for me."
Tim says this almost wistfully, and he even puts his sandwich down as he continues his story. "If I was forgetful and left something on his desk, he'd return it with all the grace of barbed wire. If I zoned out too long, he had some quip. And god forbid I ask him to join in for lunch or if he wanted a coffee while I was up!"
Tim laughs at the memory, and then sobers a bit. "It wasn't until he saw me working on some personal stuff during business hours that I even realized he considered me a friend in return. Instead of getting snippy at me, as he's wont to do, as you know well, he just silently wrote down a list of things I should read."
Tim shakes his head, still smiling. "That's not to say he and I have never butted heads or anything, and he was just as bad to Sasha when she started, too. He likes his well-defined boundaries, and he does not like new people, or surprises. Unfortunately for you, you happened to be both of those latter ones at the same time, and then you had the audacity to be kind and well-meaning and bring him tea!"
Martin laughs now at the pretend-outrage in Tim's voice. "It's like he thought I poisoned it, the first few times!"
Tim laughs in reply and picks his sandwich back up. "He really does not know how to handle kindness," Tim says. Then he jokes, "Sounds like a job for his therapist, though, not his assistants. Good on you, by the way, for not taking his shit anymore."
Martin lets out an awkward laugh. "Yeah," he says, half-shrugging. "He's not so bad, when he's not trying to pull my reports apart." And when I can kiss him relaxed and speechless in his office, Martin doesn't add out loud, a jolt running through him when he realizes that he actually likes the Jon he gets to see during those twenty minutes at a time. That whatever he and Jon have been building in stolen moments actually matters to him.
Fuck.
He saves that particular existential crisis for when he's back home alone. Because Jon's gorgeous, yes, with dark eyes made for gazing into and luxurious curls, and his voice is downright hot when he falls back on his crisp academic persona, which is…most of the time.
But Jon's never been kind to Martin, is rarely grateful for anything Martin does, and probably couldn't show Martin praise if a gun was held to his head. He'd tried to get Martin transferred out of the archives multiple times, although he hasn't done that in…a while. And he's been quick to blame Martin for problems and delays, even on cases Martin's had nothing to do with, and although that's gone down in frequency, it hasn't completely stopped, either.
And yet…Martin's gotten glimpses of a softer, friendlier Jon. He has a dry sense of humor, that he wields sparingly with Tim and Sasha. He's quick to send a sick assistant home, and although Jon outwardly grumbles about it, Tim said Jon had soup delivered to his flat the last time. He talks gently to the stray cats around the Institute, and he goes to war with Elias for his team every week.
Martin wants to know more about that Jon.
So he returns to work in the morning with a resolve to do…something a little drastic.
His morning routine is uninterrupted—check email, respond to anything urgent, sort open cases on his desk for anything requiring immediate follow-up, and then make tea to brace himself for the upcoming phone calls or, worse, a dig in the stacks. The familiarity helps shore up his confidence, and he strides into Jon's office—after knocking, of course—determined.
"Tea's up," he announces as he opens the door.
"Mm, thank you, Martin," Jon says distractedly. He lifts his gaze from the papers in front of him to gesture vaguely toward a mostly empty patch of desk. "There's fine."
Martin sets it down, and then he clears his throat to get Jon's attention. He waits until Jon's eyes stop reading and travel up to meet his own.
"Yes?" Jon says, his voice flat and, thankfully, not annoyed.
"Would you like to get coffee with me?" Martin asks, trying to keep a measured tone and a smile on his face. "After work, or on the weekend, sometime."
"I—what?" Jon asks, obviously confused.
"Coffee," Martin repeats placidly. "In a shop, not in the break room."
Jon blinks up at him, his brown eyes owlishly large, and then he clears his throat. "I—yes, all right then." He looks briefly over Martin's shoulder at the bookcase and then flicks his eyes back, and Martin wonders if he sees a hint of a blush on Jon's face. "Tomorrow after work? We can leave from here."
Martin agrees, trying to fight down a grin and keep a more normal smile on his face. "A decent time and not half eight, yeah?"
Jon rolls his eyes and looks back down at the papers in front of him. He sighs as he drops his hands to the topmost statement, his attention being grabbed by work again. When he glances back at Martin, though, his expression is marginally softer than when Martin had walked in, and his tone is a touch warmer. "Will that be all for now?" Jon asks, adopting his stuffy voice again as best he can.
Martin doesn't hold it against him, though—he is, after all, definitely blushing a bit. So Martin nods. "I'll bring case #9891704 in when I finish the phone calls. I'm trying to track down one of the people mentioned, and you know how they can be."
Surprisingly, Jon only nods, instead of making some remark about Martin trying harder or more polite or whatever other ridiculous nonsense he comes up with. Martin takes that as a win and turns to leave. Then he pauses, turns back with his hand on the knob, and says, "I mean as a date. You know that, right?"
After Jon nods—managing to somehow blush more while not looking up from his desk—Martin books it out of the office, closing the door with a soft snap behind him.
Sasha raises an eyebrow as he walks back into their shared office space. "That was fast this time. He didn't tear into you about something else?"
Martin shrugs. "Maybe he's tired today," is all he says.
Tim, perking up from the hunch he had over his own desk, grins. "Or maybe he's finally warming up to you."
Martin rolls his eyes and sits down at this own desk. "Sure, Tim," he says, letting enough sarcasm leak into his words to give Tim pause instead of encouraging Tim to press further.
The next two days of work take approximately four years. Martin's surprisingly productive, but that has more to do with not wanting to talk to Tim or Sasha than about actually being able to focus. This does mean, though, that he finds himself buried in a box of dusty files at nearly six on a Friday night when Jon knocks on the door.
Martin startles so badly, he ends up hitting the mostly sorted box with his forearm and knocking it onto its side. He swears and looks up in distress. "Yes?" he asks, rubbing his arm and trying not to glower.
"Ah," Jon says intelligently, looking down at the box with files slipping onto the floor. "L-let me, ah, let me help." And then Jon just…crouches down and starts gathering folders, like this is something he does regularly.
Martin's so stunned, he can only blindly help stuff the papers into the box in a haphazard order. Jon's been decent the last two days, thanking Martin for tea, and he's not yelled at or criticized Martin for anything either. Jon is…being nice?
That thought helps knock him out of what was likely going to become a fugue state, and Martin firmly reminds himself that his boss being decent to him is the bare minimum he should expect. Jon doesn't get brownie points for being kind now, when he should've been doing it all along.
(His internal argument is a losing battle, really, because Jon looks positively adorable when he's flustered and trying to find words.)
"Thanks, Jon," he says when they finally get the last papers into the box. "I'll have to resort them later, I guess."
"Were they sorted before?" Jon asks, wrinkling his nose as he looks around the storage room.
Martin snorts. "Mostly," he says, not taking Jon's tone personally. This place is always a disaster, it's safe to assume nothing is sorted properly.
"Oh," Jon replies, and then he shakes his head. "Well, I'll help you on Monday. It is my fault they were upended, after all."
Martin just nods, and they look at each other awkwardly for a moment. Jon even shuffles his feet and drops his gaze from Martin's face to the floor. Martin takes in a large lungful of air before standing, heaving the box up with him, and he balances it against his hip.
"I'll just drop this at my desk and we can go, yeah?" he suggests, and at Jon's nod, Martin makes his way back through the messy back room and into the hallway. He can hear Jon walking behind him, the soft thud of his shoes on the carpet, and then Jon ducks in front of him in time to open the door to the assistants' office.
"Thanks," Martin murmurs as he navigates the door with the large box. When he's through, he hurries to his space to deposit the box onto the nearby chair. He glances down at himself and tries to discreetly bat away some of the accumulated dust. Then he stuffs his belongings into his bag and turns to Jon. "Ready?"
Jon starts to nod and reaches up, as if to grab onto something, and he looks down after a moment, his hand clutching at only air near his chest. "Right," he says, slowly. "I forgot my bag. Meet you upstairs?"
Martin agrees and then, in the quiet safety of his office, takes a few deep breaths and reminds himself why he wants to do this, why he's bothering to go on a coffee date with his stuffy, prickly, critical boss.
It's because Martin wants all of the stolen kisses to mean something more than just unexpected stress relief. He wants to get to know Jon, to understand him, to help him relax more often, to maybe even make him happy.
Martin climbs up out of the basement and into the foyer, which is quiet and dark so late on Friday. He stands near the middle of the room for a moment, looking out the front doors at the motion on the street. It's the kind of sight that holds onto Martin's heart for a moment, a feeling something like nostalgia and loneliness mixed together.
Then the sound of the archives door closing again grabs his attention, and he sees Jon at the top of the stairs. Jon's hair is starting to spill from its bun, and one of his sleeves is half rolled up. He looks softer, more human than when he's being Martin's boss. Martin can't help it—he smiles a bit as Jon gets closer.
And Jon offers a timid smile in return. For a moment, neither of them say anything, and then Jon clears his throat. "Shall we?"
"We shall," Martin agrees and gestures toward the main doors. Jon presses down on the bar, disengaging the lock, and then they're out into London, the door swinging closed and instead the night ahead of them. "There's a cafe a few blocks east of here I really like?"
At Jon's nod, Martin starts heading in that direction. The first part of the walk is quiet and awkward, something Martin had both expected and dreaded. He and Jon have had only a handful of truly civil conversations in the entire time they've known each other, and exactly two good ones.
Martin's just falling back into a doubt spiral about the entire thing when Jon says, "What activities do you like to engage in outside of work?"
And it sounds so rehearsed, like Jon had read something about making conversation and memorized it word-for-word, that it completely sets Martin at ease.
He does his best not to laugh, although he's certain his amusement bleeds through into his tone a bit, and replies, "I've been knitting for nearly a decade now, and I like to watch old films or nature documentaries while I'm working on a project. I also, um, I took up poetry a few years ago? Mostly reading, but I've been trying my hand at my own. They're, uh, they're not very good, but it's fun."
Martin sneaks a look at Jon when he stops, and Jon's nodding along, a serious, focused expression set into his features. It's not unlike the face he wears when taking notes on a statement.
"What do you like to knit?" he finally asks, his eyes flicking over to Martin. There's a hint of surprise when he realizes Martin's already looking at him, and then—shock of all shocks—he smiles at Martin. "I've, I've never done any knitting myself, but my grandmother tried to teach me to crochet once. I was a terribly restless child, and she thought a hand craft might help."
Smiling at the image of a smaller Jon without any silver in his hair, trying to use one hook and a ball of yarn, Martin jokes, "And it didn't, I imagine."
Jon lets out a small laugh. "Not one bit. Amazing how much mischief a nine-year-old can get into when left with a pointy object and colorful string." He makes a waving motion with one hand. "Do you, do you make anything for yourself?" Jon asks.
Martin's a little impressed by the effort Jon just made to bring Martin back in on the conversation, to redirect it to a question he'd already asked. On one hand, Jon's never been much interested in any personal details any of the assistants drop as part of their working time together, and he's hardly ever shared any of his own. On the other hand, Martin works so hard to keep important details—his CV, for example, or how sick his mother truly is and how subsequently mean she can be—from his coworkers for the last ten years.
"I've made some scarves, a pair of gloves, and two jumpers that I've worn," Martin says, not completely answering the question. No need to admit he'd made them for his mother and she'd not wanted them. "I've been working on a blanket for my mum lately, though. She gets cold easily, and I thought a big wool one in a nice bright yellow would cheer her up."
"She's been ill, yes?" Jon asks, and then he stuffs his hands into his pockets as though ashamed. "Sorry, don't feel like you have to answer that."
Martin takes a deep breath and decides…decides to be honest, actually. "Yeah, she's, um, she's actually down at a care home. In Devon? She needs round the clock medical care now, and she seems to be pretty happy there."
"Oh," Jon says. "That's—well, not good, exactly, but I'm—I'm glad she's receiving what she needs without you needing to quit your job."
And that's, well, that's something—it hits on a deep insecurity Martin's had ever since she left, but Jon's managed to say something very reassuring on accident.
But this is a first date, not at all the time for that kind of personal confession. So Martin opts to tease Jon a bit instead. "Are you saying you don't want me to leave the archives?" he says, smiling and leaning over a bit to nudge Jon with his elbow.
Jon's saved by their arrival at the coffee shop, and he elects not to answer Martin's question, instead darting out to grab the door Martin's already reaching for. Martin accepts his question-dodging as an affirmative and grins as he walks through the open door.
From there, the date improves significantly. They order drinks and sandwiches, and they sit tucked away in a corner for almost two hours, talking and laughing, although they don't say much of anything of import the entire time. It feels the way Martin's always wanted a first date to feel—like something good is coming.
When the staff starts to sweep and clean off tables, Martin takes the hint, and he and Jon quickly deposit their dishes in a dish bin on a nearby table. Martin thanks the server nearest them and makes a short detour to drop a couple of notes into the tip jar, as thanks for not actively kicking them out.
Outside of the cafe, there's a pause, and Martin finds himself struggling to know what to do next. Do they wave and part ways? Do they walk to do the tube together? Do they kiss goodbye? He's kissed Jon dozens of times now, but they'd always felt different, like his brain wasn't present, and now he's acutely aware of his actions.
Thankfully, Jon takes the initiative with this one. "I had a nice time," he says softly, and his smile matches his tone. "If-if you're amenable, I-I'd like to do this again."
"Oh," Martin says, more breathing the word than speaking it in his shock. "I-I would like that, too."
Jon nods a few times, his smile widening in obvious relief. "Good." He looks down at his feet, both hands gripping the strap of his bag too firmly. "I'd, uh, well—" He breaks off, shakes his head, and then takes a deep breath. He lets it out slowly and raises his eyes back to Martin, who's been watching this unfold with confusion and curiosity.
"I owe you an apology," Jon finally says, his mouth set in a determined line. "I treated you very badly, and there's no excuse for it. I'd like to talk more in the future about how I can make amends, but for tonight, I wanted to make it clear that I know I behaved terribly, and I am endeavoring to never do so again."
Eyebrows rising into his brow line during this, Martin can feel his jaw drop. "I—thank you, Jon. Apology accepted."
Now Jon's blinking in surprise. "W-what?"
"I said, apology accepted," Martin repeats, smiling. "You're right, we can talk about this more later, but honestly, I'd much rather kiss you before I have to head home than stand here talking about your tone when you reviewed my work."
Jon laughs, the sound bright and full of disbelief. "Well," he says. "I—yes. All right then."
Martin takes the invitation and steps closer, reaching a hand out to touch Jon's face, Jon's hand rising to cover his larger one. He wraps the other around Jon's waist and lowers his head, dropping his lips to Jon's and delighting in how familiar it feels, how happy it makes him to get to do this and mean it.
It's deep but short, both of them mindful of the very public nature of the location, and they smile at each other as they break apart.
"Lunch tomorrow?" Jon suggests, his hand still holding Martin's in place against his cheek.
"Absolutely," Martin agrees. He steals another short, soft kiss, and then steps back. "My tube station's that way." He points behind himself. "Text me?"
Jon nods, still smiling, and then, with an awkward wave on Jon's part and a strange little thumbs-up on Martin's, they part ways.
Martin has no idea how he's gotten here, but, as the feeling of Jon's lips against his lingers on his train ride home, he marvels at how lucky he is to get it.