Work Text:
Elias hadn't planned to be quiet.
In truth, he hadn't planned much of anything at all. When he'd entered the bakery to buy the small eccles cakes half an hour ago, he'd only been thinking of his new archivist, fast asleep in his office. How lovely and off-foot he would certainly feel the moment Elias stepped in unannounced. How he would fumble to explain why he was there at all, in yesterday's clothes, when it was not even 7am.
Yet now, Elias found himself pushing the door open as gently as he could, peeking in to find that yes, Jon was still sleeping, half sprawled over his desk. He would wake with a crick in his neck. It had already happened the last three times he'd done this.
There was no natural light in Jon's office, only the desk lamp, illuminating the small frown between Jon's brows, the mess of his curls, the small tremor that went through his shoulders all the way down to his fingers every few seconds. Elias felt a pang of hunger he easily repressed. There had been many men before, looking just as appetizing in their most vulnerable state. Jon though—Jon was to be a very, very special case. Elias didn't intend to ruin it with the base desires of the flesh.
He put down the cakes at the edge of the desk, alongside two cups of tea he'd prepared himself, before smiling politely at the small spider that was lovingly spinning a web over Jon's wrist.
"Better hurry off," he told the little thing in a low voice. "He'll wake up soon enough."
Jon never noticed the webs. They gleamed in his hair, ornamented his neck and wrists and fingers with precious silver jewelry that seemed to be for Elias' lingering gaze alone. Jon was all too aware of the spiders, however, and Elias didn't feel like starting a lovely Friday morning with a panicked, snippy archivist. No. Not today.
The spider disappeared under Jon's newly acquired tape recorder. Of course.
Elias waited a few seconds more, walking along the edge of Jon’s thoughts, the fuzzy dreams that were not quite nightmares but already carried the edge of them and would, hopefully soon, be nothing more than an endless stream of fear—before straightening up and clearing his throat loudly.
Jon made a quiet, sleepy noise and didn’t move at all.
" Jon."
"It's still dark," mumbled Jon, rubbing his nose against his forearm like a disgruntled cat. Elias' lips twitched.
"And I'm afraid it'll be so all day, considering where we are," he retorted mildly. "Though I do hope you're not using that as an excuse to sleep during work hours."
"I...mm...what?"
Jon's voice was lower, groggy with sleep. His confusion was as endearing as his initial reluctance, and Elias watched eagerly as Jon's eyes slowly blinked open. It took mere seconds for understanding to sink in, for the confusion to melt from embarrassment to horror. In less than a minute Jon was jerking up, a deep, dark flush growing from his collar to his cheeks.
"Elias," he said. "I— I'm really— Truly I'm, er—"
"No need to fret, Jon," Elias cut him off, enjoying the way Jon's shoulders immediately relaxed. "Did you truly think I wasn't aware you've been sleeping here since you took your new position?"
"Well I haven't every night— " Jon immediately argued.
Elias raised his eyebrows. Jon's flush, somehow, deepened further.
"There's been a lot to do here," he defended himself. "And I can't ask my assistants to stay longer, obviously, but if we hope to achieve anything before the end of the year I really need to — "
"Overwork yourself until you burn out?" Elias completed.
Jon scowled at him, the impertinent man. Elias liked it. It was good they could both enjoy the pretense that Jon had any sort of freedom here. Jon needed to feel like Elias was treating him as the competent equal he yearned to be, and Elias, well, Elias ensured Jon couldn't blame him, down the line.
"I didn't come down here to scold you," Elias told him. "You're a grown adult. I am, however, worried that if this keeps going you will end up with terrible back pain. If you insist on sleeping here, we can at least invest in a cot you could set up wherever you like."
It was so easy to surprise Jon; Elias didn't let him recover. Instead, he pushed the cakes towards him invitingly. "I'm going to assume you weren't planning on breakfast either."
"I, er — " Jon wavered a little, before looking up to Elias. "I suppose not. Thank you."
They're my favourite, he didn't say, but the thought was incredibly loud.
It was not often that Elias found himself encouraging this — the softness in Jon's dark, beautiful eyes, the warmth settling in the pit of his stomach, made of something much more gentle and naive than one would expect looking at Jonathan Sims. It'd been a game, back when Jon was merely a curious gift Elias didn't quite know what to do with yet. Now it was more of a gamble. To be too forward or too distant could have dire consequences. A fine balance had to be kept to ensure Jon would walk the path Elias wanted him to.
"You're doing a fine job," he decided to add, right as Jon bit into his breakfast. Jon almost choked. "Unfortunately, the Institute doesn't have the means to pay you more, but we are still able to afford some pastries."
"Lucky me," Jon said sarcastically, but his smile was amused now. "Wouldn't want all this gala money to go anywhere else."
"Don't be so cocky," Elias warned, indulging in one of the small cakes as well. "You're the head of the department, now. You'll be expected to be here for those galas."
Jon looked aghast. "You can't be serious."
"Am I ever not?"
"You know I am terrible with people," Jon protested.
"Once again you're selling yourself short. You're perfectly capable of being pleasant when you set your mind to it."
"I don’t — "
"This is not actually up for discussion, Jonathan." Elias offered him one of the cups of tea, sharpening his voice ever so slightly. "It is part of your new responsibilities, which I'm sure you're acutely aware of. Aren't you?"
" Right," Jon's hands tightened around the cup, and he muttered: "But I won't be responsible for any complaints afterwards."
Elias rolled his eyes fondly. "There won't be any complaints, as long as you are your lovely self."
Jon’s heart stuttered. Elias hid a satisfied smile behind his tea.
"Well. I just meant to say, I won't make any promises."
"Duly noted," Elias nodded gravely. "With that settled, let's talk about some more pressing matters. I've listened to your first tapes. How are you finding the tape recorders?"
"...Old-fashioned," Jon answered after a short, uneasy pause. ( Unsettling, he was thinking. There's something not right about— ) "But we make do. At least they don't actually need to be used that often. I dread to imagine having to record the entirety of the statements this way . "
It was fascinating to watch Jon avoid his own fear in such a direct way. Repressing it neatly with each new remark about the state of the archives and the ridiculousness of some of the statements there. It was almost like being teased. There was a bottomless pit of terror right there, hidden in the core of Jonathan Sims' chest, but he only allowed Elias a mere glance before covering it back up in superfluous chatter; a lady showing a glimpse of her bare ankle before hastily readjusting her skirts.
It made Elias crave in a way he hadn't for a very long time. It wasn't as though the Institute lacked sustenance.
From the statements, the discussion moved to statement givers and their lack of objectiveness, to the difficulty establishing what was true and what was utter nonsense. Jon pointed out he was certain he'd read a couple already that ought to be about Leitners, which frankly they had to confront, and Elias reminded him, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last that the Institute was not some sort of facade for heroes to fight off the supernatural.
"We are academics, Jon."
"We're also human beings with a duty towards unsuspecting, innocent citizens — " Jon argued back and before long the cakes were gone, their tea finished, and Elias' watch was telling him he was ten minutes away from Rosie calling him to ask him if he was sick, or dying, and if she should call off his appointments for the day.
When he pointed this out, he was surprised to realize he shared Jon's quiet disappointment at their debate being cut short. Even ignoring all his promising qualities as an Archivist, Jon was quite an interesting person to speak with. Sharp, curious, even rather funny at times. A fine conversationalist, the sort which Elias found himself missing, nowadays, as the centuries went by and his inner circle had... reduced.
"We should have lunch, next week," Elias said before he could think too deeply about it.
Jon perked up. "Yes, yes, of course. There's still a lot to oversee. I would appreciate your advice on some of the er, I think some of the statements in here actually date from the Institute's creation? And they've been left in quite a state — "
"Have they?" Elias hummed. Dear Gertrude; trying to hurt his pride, surely. "Well, I'll be happy to help. And we'll have to see about that cot, as well."
Jon coughed awkwardly. "...Right, yes."
"Unless you plan to go home at a reasonable hour from now on?" Elias asked.
"And miss out on the pastries?" Jon retorted. "I wouldn't dare."
It was almost bold, coming from him; the sort of impulsive flirting Elias really should manage better. Instead, he eyed Jon up and down indulgently:
“Well, I’m sure there’s no need to go through such lengths. Look at the state of you.”
Getting one last embarrassed flush from his Archivist was a pleasure in and of itself. Still Elias pushed the boundaries, moving into Jon’s space as Jon tried to make himself more presentable.
"Let me," he said with a low voice and lowered Jon’s hands back to his sides. Jon's breath caught in his chest.
Elias slowly pressed the creases over Jon's shoulders, and then fixed his tie, tightening it just a bit too much, before letting his fingers brush over the edge of Jon's collar.
He knew it would be easy, as his eyes met Jon's once more, to move his hand upward; to grab Jon's chin, or to cup his cheek, to angle his face just right to be able to kiss him properly. In Jon's mind, the fantasy was already playing out with such perfect clarity that Elias didn't doubt it had been practiced many times before.
Just a kiss, he thought. Truly, in the great scheme of things, what trouble could a kiss bring?
Elias had almost convinced himself before he heard the clicking heels of Sasha James coming down the corridor. He stepped away from Jon, just as Sasha knocked and poked her head in.
"Hey, Jo — Oh. Hello, Elias."
"Hello, Sasha," Elias replied, agreeably. "I hope you're well."
"Peachy as ever," Sasha said, with a cheerful voice that didn't conceal her curiosity.
"Well, Jon, I'll let you get back to it, then," Elias said. "Do not spend the weekend at the institute. That's an order."
"I won't," Jon said, a beat too late. "I promise."
"Perfect."
It was mildly amusing, to step around Sasha and hear her thoughts as she took in the state of Jon, his flush, his rumpled clothes, and the discarded leftovers of their small breakfast. It's unfair, she was thinking, darkly, jealously, despite her desire to be less bothered. It's unfair I didn't get the job just because he's sleeping with the boss—
If only she knew, Elias smiled. If only she knew.