Work Text:
"This is ...nice." Jon said into the cool night air. Martin smiled over at him.
"See, I told you getting out of the archives would do you good!"
"Don't push it. I said it was nice, not that I didn't want to go back to work," he laughed. It was soft, a little weak, but he did and it made Martin's heart grow a little lighter.
Jon dipped his toes into the water off the side of the dock and made some noise he would never personally describe as a squeak.
"It's freezing!"
"Yeah, Jon. It's January, of course it's freezing," Martin said.
"January?"
"What?"
"It's January?"
"Yes," Martin said, a little concerned now. "What did you think it was?"
"I dunno, October maybe?" Jon said, hesitation in his voice along with a bit of something that Martin couldn't quite discern, but it seemed almost sad.
They sat in silence for a few moments, Jon's feet still in the water, making ripples in the still lake water with every movement he made.
"I don't think I'm sane, Martin," Jon burst out, like it had been sitting in the pit of his stomach, waiting to be let out.
There was another bout of silence as Martin tried to figure out how to respond.
"Nothing feels like real life anymore and I don't know what to do about it," Jon said finally. It was quiet, an admission.
A secret.
Martin didn't say anything.
Instead, he reached out and held Jon's hand.
And he kissed him.
And it didn't feel quite right, but it was better than it had been and Jon's lips were chapped, because of course they were, and Jon had scars on his face and neck from Jane's worms and a pretty horrifying burn scar on his hand that Martin had never seen before, but didn't plan on asking about because he had just become acquainted with Jon's tongue for the first time and he prayed to whatever passed as god here that it wouldn't be the last and-
"Wait."
Jon waited, breathing a little hard.
"I'm sorry," Martin said.
"For what?"
"I don't know, for taking advantage of you when you were vulnerable?"
"I want to kiss you."
"I know, but-"
"Can I kiss you, Martin?"
"...Please."
And it happened again, hands cold against warm cheeks and necks, chilled by the January air.
And again, closer now for the sake of closeness and the cold of the night.
And it would have happened again, but Jon, clambering into Martin's lap, lost his balance, and with a terrified, useless topple, fell into the lake.
Martin couldn't stop laughing at the sight of the very cold, wet, peeved archivist pulling himself out of the water.
Mood sufficiently ruined, they made their way back to the car, Jon trying fruitlessly to wring out his locs on the way as they dripped lake water onto his already wet clothes.
"Thanks," Jon said once they got into the car, looking over at Martin from the passenger seat, fidgeting with the towel he was sitting on.
"For making out with you then throwing you in the lake? I think I should thank you for still talking to me."
Jon laughed and held his hand out for Martin to hold, then immediately yelped and yanked the hand back when Martin touched it.
"Sorry, that's the burned one," he said, as if it were a perfectly normal thing.
"When did that happen?" Martin asked now that the subject had been broached without Jon's tongue in his mouth.
"Now that's a long story."
"Well, we've got a long drive back into London."
Now when Jon looked over at him he saw a sort of something in Jon's eyes that he wasn't used to seeing in anyone's. He couldn't put a name to it, but he didn't have to, because Jon did.
"I love you, Martin."