Martin has huge hands.
It’s among the first things that Jon noticed about Martin, seeing as he was fluttering them around wildly while asking nervously about a dog lost in his archives. Big hands, flushed face, and quite tall. And incredibly annoying.
Jon grew accustomed to the flushed face first. It seemed Martin was always a little red. Any extreme emotion, and Martin’s face would darken, whether he be frustrated or pleased or upset. It made the first time Jon had seen Martin visibly pale, looking at a single tiny silver worm on the Institute steps, absolutely frightening.
His annoyance with Martin had also worn down over time, clearly. The tall part may never not be a novelty, but it’s not something that he thinks about very often.
Jon continued to notice Martin’s hands though.
For example, whenever Martin brought him tea, the cups always looked comically small in his hands. Jon never quite forgave him for when he once knocked the tea over on Jon’s desk, but he probably should have taken back his grumbled comments on his “big, clumsy buffoon hands.”
There was a late night while Martin was living in Document Storage, and he had blinked blearily past him in the breakroom. He set his large hand across Jon's upper back in passing. The edge of his palm had brushed his back ribs and his fingertips pressed across his other shoulder blade, and Jon had shivered. Martin mumbled an apology, and Jon convinced himself it was just the cold, and laid awake that night.
While Sasha was boring into his skin for worms, Martin’s one hand had practically engulfed his as he clung to him in agony. At least, it had felt huge; Jon was too busy wincing to really look.
Jon can practically still feel Martin’s hands cupping his face when he asked to kiss him the night before the Unknowing. The warmth of his palms against his cheek felt like a brand at the time, but after the Unknowing he was incredibly grateful for it. No matter how many times he tried to remember what Martin’s mouth had felt like pressed against his, he couldn’t quite get it right; but he could recall those hands quite vividly. When Jon later begged him to leave the Institute with him, Martin had said no and grabbed the door handle to leave, and Jon remembered painfully well what it had felt like to lean into those palms.
Most recently, Jon had thought about how big Martin’s hand was in his as he marched them out of the Lonely, straight across the country to Daisy’s safehouse.
Jon was surely thinking of how big Martin’s hands are now, thumbs pressed onto his ribs and fingers curled around his back. Not for the first time, Jon wonders how those thick, blunt fingers would feel stuffed in his cunt. Martin keeps him stable on his lap as he kisses him breathless, desperately catching his dry lips against Jon’s like it’s physically pulling the Lonely out through him. And maybe it is, Jon thinks humorlessly, as Martin gives a kitten lick to his mouth before biting down softly on his bottom lip. He’s being so very careful to not make the kiss too wet, like Jon had asked, and his heart stutters.
Jon moves slightly, mostly curious to see if he can even budge with Martin holding him like this. The answer is no, but his knee accidentally slips inbetween Martin’s thighs. Martin moans, a breathy “aahh…” pressed harsh against his mouth as his hips hitch.
Jon freezes. Martin freezes.
Jon hadn’t realized just how overheated he felt until it was replaced with the ice in his veins. He did a quick mental calculation before realizing he was just a little shocked, a little surprised by the noise, and not scared of what the noise had actually meant.
Martin’s eyes said he had reached the opposite conclusion, though, as he carefully set Jon down and scooted back from the offending knee, drawing his hands into his chest.
Jon quickly caught one and pressed it to his cheek, momentarily taken aback about how it feels just like it had before the Unknowing.
“I’m fine, Martin. Just startled me a little.” Jon begins, and watches as Martin's tense shoulders relax the tiniest bit. Not enough, but he didn’t look like he was panicking anymore. He brushes his thumb over Jon’s cheek.
When Martin doesn’t move back to touch him more than that, though, Jon sighs into the quiet cabin. He wasn't looking forward to this conversation, but Martin’s expression said that he had, in fact, listened to that damn tape, but knew better than to bring it up himself.
He takes a breath, and intertwines their fingers.
The conversation goes pretty well, in retrospect. Jon explains that he’s asexual, and that he doesn’t feel sexual attraction. He explains that his libido is incredibly fickle and turns on and off for seemingly no reason, much to his (and his partner’s) frustration. Martin softly kisses his forehead and tells him he would be beyond happy with anything he gave him. That he would be happy as long as he can fall asleep next to Jon, and wake up with him in the morning.
Jon cries only a little, and Martin wipes his tears with his thumbs, and they do just that.
Jon belatedly remembers he forgot the other part of the conversation, about how he does want to have sex with Martin, until a couple days later. He’s pinned under Martin after an intense bout of kissing, with one of those big hands effortlessly holding his hips down and away from where he was previously frantically grinding his cock though the seam of his pants against Martin's leg. Martin pulls back, face clouded with confusion.
...After Jon’s addendum, and with a ton of reassurance that he really truly does want this with each and every article of clothing removed, Martin finally slips Jon’s sticky underwear off.
(This prompted another quick addendum, yet another footnote to add to his incomplete sexuality conversation, since Jon had neglected to tell Martin that he was also trans. It just didn’t seem like the time to share when he had caught Martin in a bra with a needle in one large hand, the other across his stomach, all those months ago in the Institute bathroom on a Sunday morning. Now Martin just laughs and pinches his thigh, before attacking his throat with his mouth.)
“What do you want?” Martin huffs against his collarbone, “I’ll give you anything, anything you want.” Jon can feel Martin rubbing his thighs together in anticipation as he trails a hand down Jon’s navel. He shivers and his toes curl as Martin’s pinky circles his belly button, and then swirls through his happy trail below. Jon is pleased to find Martin’s characteristic flush has travelled down his neck at this point.
Jon doesn’t beg. He doesn’t say “please, please put your fingers in me. All I can think about right now is how thick you would feel inside of me. I want you to hold me down and take me apart on your hands. I want to come with as many of your fingers inside of me as you can possibly fit.”
Instead, he shyly mumbles about wanting to be fingered, and hopes whatever expression he has on his face conveys the rest of it.
It seems to do the trick though, because after some more snogging and heavy petting, Martin settles on his one elbow and knees, hovering over Jon. He uses the hand with the elbow he’s bearing his weight on to stroke the side of his ribs, grounding him, and uses his free hand to finally brush his fingers up Jon’s folds.
Jon jerks away slightly on reflex, and Martin gives him a look. “Please…” Jon whimpers, rolling his hips and assuring him yet again that he wants this.
Martin traces up and down the seam of Jon's cunt again carefully, fingers catching on the folds and gliding on the wetness, watching his face intently for any signs of discomfort. Instead, he watches in awe as Jon's face starts to slowly darken, and sees his chest hitch on his next breath as Martin circles his hole. Fuck, that's hot, and Martin notices how wet his own trousers have become. He circles just barely inside Jon, before slowly giving him what he wants. Jon is slick enough that when Martin slides his first finger in, he sinks right up to the first knuckle without much resistance. There’s some spot in the entrance that Jon can never quite seem to stimulate himself, but Martin brushes up against it again as he painstakingly slides back out to the fingertip, and then slowly twists back in a little deeper.
Jon is already shaking. Just being slowly impaled on one of Martin’s fingers, pumping back out and back in impossibly deeper every time, is enough to make him feel full. Martin finally pushes his thick finger in all the way, stretching him, and Jon lets out a strangled moan. He's taking it so slow, and Jon can really feel how rough and textured his plush fingers are like this. Martin coos and presses kisses to his face, whispering about how good he is being. How sweet of him to let Martin fuck him on his finger. How tight he feels around him. How pretty he looks, already overwhelmed like this.
Martin doesn’t shift the finger inside him, allowing Jon to get used to the girth, but instead presses his thumb softly against the head of his cock.
And like that, Jon suddenly Knows that prior to the Institute, Martin had spent high school summers doing odd landscaping jobs. He collected freckles on his shoulders from this, as well as calluses on his fingers and palms. He had also- ohh, fuck, Martin’s thumb was moving now, and all higher thoughts (and Higher Thoughts) fled Jon’s brain.
Jon doesn’t typically enjoy direct stimulation on the head of his dick. Most of the time, it’s way too sensitive to touch, and he (and previous partners) end up being too impatient to take it slow enough. Martin doesn’t seem to share these qualms though, as the whorls of Martin's thumb circles so slowly and lightly across the head of Jon’s hypersensitive cock. Jon can practically feel every ridge and valley of his dry fingerprint as he brushes across the head painstakingly slow. Martin slides his finger out of his cunt just enough to swipe some slick off of it with his thumb before pushing it back in a little rougher, and Jon chokes. Martin uses his now slicked thumb to glide smoother across the tip.
Jon whines, high and needy in the back of his throat. It feels so different than the typical brutal pace he uses around his cock; it's simultaneously incredibly overwhelming and just not enough. His muscles start to clench down rhythmically on Martin’s still finger and his brain buzzes with pleasure. He desperately does not move his hips, keeping them as still as possible to not budge Martin’s fingers painfully (or worse, buck his fingers off of him.) Jon feels a second thick finger teasing at his entrance, pressing but unable to actually fit inside yet for how blunt it is, and realizes he’s been holding his breath with the effort of not moving. He lets out a shaky exhale and relaxes minutely, and Martin seizes the opportunity to quickly slip the second finger in.
Jon comes immediately, clenching even harder on the two fingers than he was before with just one. He's so fucking full. His hips begin to seize and Martin sits back and uses his other hand to hold Jon’s hips entirely steady as the rest of his body shakes through his orgasm. Martin expertly continues his torturous light rub on Jon’s cock head throughout the entire orgasm, still ever so softly and now a little dry, without stopping. This makes Jon’s orgasm last much longer, almost forever, pulling truly embarrassing breathy moans out of his throat as Martin practically milks his orgasm out of him.
This is normally where Jon taps out. The moment his first orgasm hits he will typically feel a wave of revulsion that makes him unable to participate anymore. Much to his surprise, though, Martin’s continued light rubbing keeps his body incredibly aroused, and he finds himself actually begging for more, please give me more, please Martin, stop teasing me.
Martin switches tactics. If Jon wants more, he will get it. He lets Jon’s hips go and marvels at the marks his fingers made before they heal. They don’t have lube on hand, and Martin doesn’t want to take his fingers out of Jon, (it took so long to fit them both in, he can't lose that progress), so he lets himself stick his other hand in his pants. He gathers some slick and indulges himself in a quick rub on his poor neglected cock to alleviate how painfully turned on he is, before turning his attention back to his needy boyfriend.
He frames Jon’s tiny dick, the miracle of testosterone, pinched between his slick fingers. His other hand wiggles the fingers inside of Jon slightly, and Jon moans, eagerly spreading his legs further.
Then Martin smiles and whispers, “Go on, love.”
Jon thrusts his hips up experimentally, fucking up into Martin’s fingers, and gasps. He shifts them back down for leverage and is delighted to find the movement pushes him a little further down onto Martin’s fingers. Jon bucks into his knuckles again and then down on his fingers, the oversensitive head of his cock catching on the upstroke every time. Martin does his best to thrust his fingers in time to Jon’s hips, but they quickly devolve into a sporadic thrashing that Martin can’t seem to quite predict. Martin leans over, his face just making eye level with Jon’s small breasts. He sucks a nipple into his mouth.
For however soft Martin had been at the start, his mouth was nothing but cruel on Jon’s chest. He isn’t shy at all with his teeth, biting down on the undersides of his breast, swirling his tongue across his nipples. Jons noises gradually become higher pitched, overheating as his thrashes turned into quick, efficient rolls against Martin’s hands.
Jon starts to whine, soft and almost pained sounding noises that start to drive Martin a little crazy. He sucks down on Jon’s abused nipple, flicking his tongue across it, and Jon comes hard. Martin tightens his fingers around his cock in surprise, and Jon practically shouts as his knuckles happen to clench around the head.
Martin moves his fingers away from Jon’s poor abused cock. He’s not going to want anything to brush against it for a few days after this. As Jon floats above his body, panting after his second orgasm, Martin slips his fingers out of him. His body makes an awful squelch as Martins long fingers finally slide free, practically scooping Jon’s slick out with it. “Oh, fuck, Jon…” Martin murmurs reverently, and Jon shudders at the praise.
Martin wastes no more time shoving his underwear down with his cleaner hand. Jon rolls to his side to watch him, eyes half closed, as he watches Martin sit back and shove both slicked fingers and a third into his cunt with no preamble. Jon wrinkles his nose a little at the mess and the obscenely wet noises, but it really seems to be working for Martin. After practically no time at all, Martin slips a little bit of his pinky into his body too, shuddering as he starts to curl them roughly.
Soon, Martin is coming, and coming hard. He was already incredibly worked up by taking Jon apart, and his fingers are so hot coated in Jon’s come. Jon gets first class tickets to see his boyfriend’s bright red face screw up tight as he throws his head back, and then watches enraptured as his hips spasm and he squirts into his big hand. Jon quite enjoyed the show and would surely recommend it. He especially enjoyed the part where he heard Martin moan around the sound of his name, his other hand pressed to his mouth.
Jon belatedly remembers the unused napkins kept by the bed from breakfast, and Martin cleans them up. He avoids touching Jon’s cock, and Jon is asleep before Martin’s really even done wiping his inner thighs.
Martin curls up behind Jon, kissing smiles behind his ear and the back of his neck. He whispers how much he loves him, how good he was for him, and how lucky Martin is to be with him. His smile slacks as he falls asleep next to Jon, and wakes up with him in the morning.