Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It is an open secret among the staff of the Magnus Institute that Jonathan Sims is a vampire. Even if it weren’t known, it would not be very hard to guess– the man keeps impossible hours, looks as if he hasn’t seen the sunlight for many years. He also doesn’t like to be touched. This is a fact even Tim has managed to remember by now. Strangely, it has been Sasha who has been forgetting this rule recently, making Jon even more brusque than he already was.

And never seems to eat anything. At all.

Which is why Martin is worried. It would be rude to bring it up, but ever since the Prentiss-incident Jon has been looking more and more gaunt. Not that Martin has been looking, of course. Well, not more often than before. It's not just a vampire’s usual pallor, Martin is sure of it. Jon now looks almost emaciated. But talking about a vampire’s food is considered distasteful, even rude.

Rude to whom? Martin wonders quietly, as he looks through yet another box with files, hunting for the statement Jon asked him to find. A certain Terrell family, several generations of them, who had all been afflicted by different “curses” across the years. Now that he’s thinking about it, it seemed like something the human party of the conversation would find more offensive than the vampires. After all, what would a cow think, if you asked if it enjoyed being raised to become food? Martin certainly wouldn’t like to be discussed in that way.

Perhaps it’s like asking someone on a diet about what they’ve been eating, he thinks when he finally has the right statement- and really, what was Gertrude Robinson thinking, leaving the Archives in such a state? Even after a lot of hard work it was still nigh-impossible to find anything in the older parts of the Archives.

Without knocking he walks into Jon’s office. He was sent on a mission, after all, and it’s taken him long enough by now that Jon will probably be– Martin’s train of thought stops as abruptly as his feet.

Jon is asleep. At his desk. In his office, that Martin just barged into. Up until right now, Martin had been certain Jon didn’t even sleep at all. But here he is, fast asleep, and even snoring slightly.

He looks younger, like this. His hair has escaped the bun he usually keeps it in, and it curls and cascades halfway down his back like a waterfall. The lines that stress have etched into his face blended back into youthfulness by sleep. However, even asleep he looks tired. Martin wants nothing more than to look at this sleeping Jon, but that would be incredibly rude, not to mention creepy.

Instead, he tiptoes to Jon’s desk, and gently places the requested file where Jon can find it when he wakes up. Then he tiptoes right back to the door. Once there he risks a single glance back before quietly closing the door. Jon hasn’t moved at all, has not noticed a thing. 

Only when he’s closed the door does Martin stop to think. Jon, Jonathan “Suspicious” Sims (as Tim once dubbed him), didn’t notice anything? A vampire’s senses are supposed to be twice as good as any human’s– and Martin knows that Jon’s are very good. Paranoia and worm attacks have made sure that Jon is always paying attention to every detail, every sound. So for Jon not to wake before Martin even had a chance to open the door?

Something must be wrong.

Martin has to do something.

But what? He can’t very well make some soup for a vampire, that’s not going to help anything. Lost in thought, Martin wanders over to the break room upstairs. He starts making tea for himself on auto-pilot. 

Looking at the water slowly coming to a boil, Martin makes a decision. He doesn’t know if Jon likes tea, or if he could even drink it. But tea is warm, and that might be helpful too? It’s worth a try, and probably kinder than waking him up empty-handed. Because he does need to wake Jon up; Jon would hate to fall asleep at work, and even more so than he would hate being caught that way. He’s too much of a workaholic.

So instead of one mug he takes two from the cupboard, and while the tea is steeping he collects a blanket from the couch, just in case. Then, armed with a blanket and tea, he returns to Jon’s office.

If Jon has woken up in the time he’s been gone Martin doesn’t know what he’ll say. One thing at a time. He can worry about that when it happens. For now he left a clearly exhausted Jon asleep in his office, and that’s the problem he should deal with first. 

Avoiding his own office, and Tim and Sasha, Martin takes both cups of tea with him to Jon’s office. This means he must once again enter without knocking, and so Martin elbows open the door.

Jon is still where he was when Martin left, fast asleep at his desk, head resting on his arms. Martin closes the door and again makes his quiet way to the desk. He puts down both cups of tea, the stops. Why is he being quiet, when he intends to wake Jon?

Silently, he shakes his head. It would still have been rude to waltz into the office, calling for Jon to wake up. Besides, he doesn’t want to scare Jon awake. Heavens know they’ve all had enough scares to last them a lifetime. It’s better to wake Jon quietly, as well as being the nice thing to do.

Martin takes a deep breath, steeling himself for– he’s not even sure for what. But just in case. Another deep breath. Then he unfolds the blanket and wraps it around Jon, trying to tug it under his arms so that it won’t immediately slide off.

Jon moves– only barely, but Martin freezes. If he wakes now, when Martin is leaning over Jon, what will Jon say if he wakes now ? He feels the blood rush to his face. What is he even doing? Perhaps he should leave, and let Jon wake up on his own. That might be better. Yes, that is what he’ll do.

Slowly, very slowly, Martin starts moving again. Just as he’s done and the blanket is tucked in properly, an icy hand grabs his wrist. Jon’s hand has caught his, but Jon has yet to wake. Martin doesn’t know at what temperatures a vampire’s body usually operates, but this seems abnormally, unhealthily cold.

It’s probably the first time Martin has seen Jon touch anyone. People usually touch Jon, and then only if they do not know him, or forget who they’re dealing with. But Jon touching someone? It’s unheard of– and it’s something Martin knows he would never do while he’s awake. Which means that he definitely has to wake Jon up right now.

He has to, even if Jon looks like he could use about a year’s worth of sleep. Even if Martin has always wondered what Jon’s hands would feel like, slim dexterous fingers that are capable of incredible care when dealing with old documents, and can accurately aim a fire extinguisher at invading worms. Deep breaths, Martin , he admonishes himself. Waking Jon is more important than your daydreams.

“Jon? I’m so sorry to disturb you–“ Martin speaks softly, but doesn’t even manage to finish his sentence before Jon wakes. He sits up suddenly, back straight as an arrow and eyes wide open. Those eyes are fully black, black as velvet midnight, and when he yawns Martin can see fangs. Actual fangs, not those two cute teeth the movies want you to believe that vampires have. No, this is a full set of fangs, still arranged like human teeth, but far sharper and more dangerous than any movie vampire has ever looked.

Jon looks down at his hands, then follows the wrist he’s holding up it’s arm to Martin’s face. For a moment those black eyes stare into him, drawing him in, deeper and deeper until– they blink, and they look human again, and the effect is gone. He’s still holding Martin’s wrist. 

“Martin?” When Jon speaks his teeth look normal again as well. He hears the several questions Jon means to ask in his own name, and rushes to answer them all.

“I’m sorry for waking you, Jon, but you were asleep when I returned with the Terrell file, and I made tea for you and brought a blanket and…” he looks down at their hands. “And you’re still holding me. I’m sorry, Jon, I know you hate being touched.”

Jon lets go of Martin as though it burns. Martin quickly takes his hand back and takes a step back from Jon’s desk. Without meaning to, he finds his other hand holding his wrist where Jon was touching him, the cold not yet gone from his skin.

“Martin, don’t apologize, that’s not– I don’t hate being touched!” Jon scowls before continuing: “well alright, I dislike being touched carelessly, meaninglessly, but... you’ve never been careless that way.” His words trail off softly, almost becoming inaudible. Jon must still be sleepy, Martin thinks. He would never speak this candidly otherwise.

For one very long moment they stare at each other. Jon looks away first, something like a blush (do vampires blush? Martin has no idea) covering his cheeks and ears. He stands up suddenly, combing slender fingers roughly through his hair. As he reaches up, the blanket falls from his shoulders.

Jon seems to not want to talk about what happened, which is just fine by Martin. But in Martin’s head his words are spinning, swirling round and round: dislike being touched carelessly and you’ve never been careless that way . Mind still abuzz with Jon’s words (praise? He doesn’t think it’s praise, Jon said it like it was a simple truth), Martin steps closer.

Jon tenses ever so slightly, but continues mistreating his hair, directing it back into its proper place. Martin scoops the blanket from the chair and simply holds it for a moment. He gives Jon the chance to step away, to object to how close they’re now standing (very close, Martin can see the few stray grey hairs Jon has). Jon does not object. Instead he simply goes on fussing with his hair.

Slowly, very slowly, Martin extends his arms, folding the blanket once more over Jon’s shoulders. Enveloped in the soft blanket, Jon’s shoulders sag. Martin is about to take away arms and step away, to give Jon his space, when Jon relaxes further. He leans to the side, rests his weight against Martin’s chest, Martin’s arm still on his shoulders.

The blush on Jon’s face (and it is definitely a blush, Martin is sure of it now) has not yet left, and his eyes are fixed firmly on the ground. They stand there in a sort-of half-embrace, and Martin could happily stay here forever. But he would also like more. Either way, he figures they should talk about this. Preferably now, before Jon has time to close up on him, and hide himself in the Archives to do more overwork. Jon also still feels very cold, Martin can feel him even through his jumper.

“Jon?” As soon as Martin breaks the silence Jon’s eyes shoot to his face. He looks like a deer caught in headlights, or perhaps like he’s been caught committing a crime. Martin wonders why being held should be a crime, and resolves to worry about that later. 

First things first: Jon is trying to stand up straight, and leave his embrace. Martin strengthens his hold; not enough to stop Jon (Martin doubts he could actually stop the vampire if Jon really wanted to leave), but enough to let him know that Martin would like him to stay.

“You look ill, Jon,” he says. Then he adds in a rush: “I know vampires don’t get sick, Jon, but you really do look awful. When was the last time you slept properly, or ate a good meal–,“ too late, Martin realizes he’s just said what he’d been thinking all along. The same thing he knew all along he should not ask. But he did anyway.

Jon really does look like he could use a good meal though.

He’s also not broken the awkward gap in the conversation that Martin’s stupid question left. Instead he’s staring at Martin’s face like he’s lost the words to speak– like he’s a lifeline.

Unable to bear the quiet, Martin forges on: “you looked like you needed a hug. I’m sorry, Jon. None of that is any of my business, I shouldn’t have–“

“I probably did need a hug,” Jon interrupts quietly. He heaves a sigh that sounds as tired as he looks. “And sleep. And you’re right, I do need a meal.” His eyes drift down to the ground again, as though drawn by magnets. “I should be the one apologizing, Martin, not you. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

In response, Martin puts his other arm around Jon’s shoulders, and very, very gently pulls him against his chest. He feels Jon let go. Then he feels Jon wrap his arms around Martin. He hears Jon sigh again, but this sigh sounds like a release.

Jon is smaller than Martin. This isn't news, but Jon has always seemed so certain, so secure in who he is, so very unreachable, that Martin still feels surprised at being able to rest his head on top of Jon’s as they stand there. He does so, feeling Jon’s soft hair against his cheek.

They stand there like that for a long while. Martin would say he’s fantasized about this, but the truth is, he hasn’t. Jon has always been so untouchable, that Martin’s daydreams never got much further than holding hands. So this? This is a lot. It’s more than a dream come true, and he feels like the luckiest guy in London right now.

After too short a time Jon stirs. Martin lifts his head and loosens his arms so that they can look at each other without bumping noses (not that Martin would mind, but Jon might, so he doesn’t).

“Martin, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to–“

“No, Jon,” Martin says firmly. He has to be firm, he has to clear this up now, or this will be a one-time occurence, Martin just knows it. “You do not need to apologize for anything. I enjoyed hugging you a lot.” A heartbeat of silence. “I would like to hold you more often, if that’s alright with you?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Jon’s mouth, and he lets his head fall, forehead bumping against Martin’s shoulder. “I would like that, I think.”

Chapter Text

It turns out that vampires do, in fact, drink tea. Jon drank that first cup of tea Martin brought leaning against the edge of his desk, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders. It was no replacement for the sheer warmth (and closeness, and that feeling of something else, something more) that came from hugging Martin.

Martin takes to bringing him tea daily, after that. He doesn’t catch Jon asleep again, but Martin thinks he looks more rested? A little? On some days? He still looks like he could use a good meal (or five), but Martin doesn’t bring it up again.

They also do not hug again, although Martin would give a lot to be able to hold Jon in his arms again. But they do touch, hands lingering on tea mugs, or files they hand to each other. There are a few affectionate shoulder bumps, when they cross paths deep in the stacks of the archives, or the shelves of the library. It’s more than Jon allows anyone else, and he doesn’t object or pull back. But he also doesn’t initiate. So Martin does not attempt to hug him again.

This pattern holds up until one particularly cold autumn day, when Jon asks Martin to: “stay for a moment?” after he came in with the day’s tea (a lapsang souchong, something fiery against the day’s chill). The look on Jon’s face may or may not be longing ; Martin is trying not to read too much into it. So that is why Martin is drinking his own tea seated across from Jon, instead of going straight back to work.

Jon still looks tired beyond words if Martin is being completely honest, but cradling the mug of tea in both hands he almost looked content. Martin might have said he actually looked content, if not for the fact that he had seen Jon look far happier– while held in Martin’s own arms.

Martin ducks his head and hides the blush he can feel spreading across his cheeks behind a few sips of tea. He really shouldn’t still be thinking about that moment so much, but it’s very difficult to ignore. Especially here, in Jon’s office, just like back then. When he looks up he finds Jon has been staring at him. He doesn’t look away when Martin meets his gaze, but does not break the silence wrapped around them either. He seems lost in thought.

Just when Martin is about to break their staring contest, Jon finally speaks up: “Most people don’t comment on a vampire’s need for a meal.”

Martin’s blush must be flaming red judging from the way he feels his cheeks heat up, only this time he can’t hide it behind a convenient tea sip, not with the way Jon is scrutinizing him. Has he been thinking about that all these weeks, while Martin was worrying about (fantasizing about) hugging Jon?

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry, Jon– I didn’t want to– I mean I didn’t mean to–“

“It’s alright, Martin, I’m not offended,” Jon interrupts him with a growing smile. “I was just thinking out loud.” He pauses, and seems to do some not-out-loud thinking, before he says: “people are usually wary– of vampires, I mean. Or our reputation, I suppose. They think a vampire might attack them at any time. Really, the fact that I can work here at all is because people at the Institute are used to seeing weird things at least twice a week. A co-worker with weird dietary needs is hardly worth noticing.”

Weird dietary needs is certainly one way to describe vampires, Martin supposes.

“And, well, I’ve been thinking about it and– and I was wondering if you’d like to have dinner with me sometime,” Jon is no longer smiling by the end, and just looks… Nervous? Martin isn’t sure. He’s never seen Jon look like this before. If he’s completely honest it’s kind of adorable.

And if he’s completely completely honest he’s avoiding thinking about The Obvious. Dinner. With Jon. Who is a vampire. Jon having dinner with Martin.  At least, that’s what it sounds like he’s asking. Except that seems like something Jon would never ask. He’d probably think it was rude.

Martin can’t deny that he’s… had thoughts about it. He’d definitely been curious about it before meeting Jon. It’s not something anyone talks about, so the rumours tend to run very wild, and popular media have definitely used it to their advantage. What would it feel like, he’d wonder. Was it really as swoon-worthy, or intoxicating or any of the other things (Scary? Painful? Addictive?) the movies made it seem?

Working at the Institute and meeting Jon has not dampened that curiosity in the slightest. And now he’s apparently one of the only people allowed to touch Jon (perhaps the only one? Who even knows what Jon gets up to outside work; Martin has trouble even connecting the phrases “Jonathan Sims” and “outside of work”). Annnd Jon is starting to look even more nervous now. Martin should maybe answer his question.

“I– well. I can’t say I haven’t thought about it,“ that damned blush is back, and Martin drops his eyes to the mug he’s still holding onto, wishing again to hide. “So err, yes? I’ll let you drink my blood?” Martin didn’t mean for it to sound like a question, but somehow this situation, being asked point blank like this is a lot scarier than it ever seemed in the stories.

“What??” Martin’s gaze is abruptly dragged back to Jon, just in time to see that his eyes have gone comically round. “I didn’t mean– Martin, I don’t want to– I wanted to ask you out. Gods, I’m sorry, I don’t know why this is so hard, I–“

While Jon continues to apologize, Martin can only sit there, petrified. Jon wants to go on a date with him? Jonathan “untouchable” Sims, asked him out? It’s baffling, mind-blowing, and yet it is exactly what just happened. And Martin said that. Why would he say that?? He needs to fix this; he has to speak up right now, because he really, really, wants to go on this date. If he hasn’t blown his chance already.

Jon is still rambling apologies: “...I would never harm you Martin, please believe that. I do not want to drink your blood–“

“–Why, what’s wrong with my blood?” is what Martin says, instead of the intended ‘no, I’d love to go on a date with you Jon’. He immediately clamps his mouth shut, and puts his hand over it for good measure. Can’t he get anything right today?

Jon blinks, stuck halfway between apology and shock. “There’s nothing wrong with your blood, Martin, I just meant… Never mind. It’s alright. I shouldn’t have asked.” To Martin’s eyes Jon almost seems to be wilting. He’s hunching his shoulders, retreating into himself, trying to hide the same way Martin tried to hide behind his tea mug. He steps backwards, moving back around the desk– a strategic retreat; perhaps they can pretend none of this happened.

Martin will be damned if he lets Jon do that. He’s messed this up, so now it’s also up to Martin to fix this. He gets up, and follows Jon before he can retreat completely to the safety of the desk, and takes his hand. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

Jon’s stare is disbelieving, both hopeful and cynical at once: “You do? Despite the fact that you’ve thought about me drinking your blood? You’re a braver man than people give you credit for if that’s true, Martin Blackwood.”

“It is!” Martin exclaims, before his brain catches up to wonder whether he's admitting to ‘yes he wants to go on a date with Jon’ or ‘yes he wants Jon to drink his blood’. Because the honest answer is both but that's also the weird answer. The look on Jon’s face has been tilting from a fine balance towards entirely hopeful, while still appearing disbelieving.

“You do?” he repeats the question, softer this time.

“Yes, I do want to go on a date with you, Jon,” His blush feels so deep that it may never leave his face, but Martin figures it’s best to be clear about this now. “But err, I didn’t know vampires could eat normal food? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you eat anything…”

The sentence trails off at Jon’s raised eyebrow. “I can drink tea just fine, why wouldn’t you assume I could eat food too? You do know that most vampire movies are a pile of nonsense, right?”

“Of course I know that!” Martin finally lets go of Jon’s hand but doesn’t step away. To Martin’s surprise Jon reaches back and takes his hand in both of his own. “Of course, I didn’t mean to assume– perhaps I can answer some questions? Now, before we try to plan any hypothetical dates? It’s only fair if you know what you’re getting into, after all.”

“They’re not hypothetical, Jon, we will be going on that date,” It comes out more sternly than he meant to, but Jon only laughs. “Very well, definitely a date– but you must have questions?”

Martin stares at Jon’s hands folded around his own, up at Jon’s face, and then down at their hands again. He opens and closes his mouth. Where do you start with an opening like that? He could ask whether there’s any truth to what the movies and the stories claim, but there’s so many things they proclaim, so many different untruths and maybe-truths, they could be talking for hours. Which Martin wouldn’t mind, but doesn’t seem like something Jon would want, in the middle of their workday.

What then? Martin would like to ask about Jon, but that feels too personal? He wants, more than anything, to know why his eyes were black upon waking, wants to know why he still remembers them so vividly, still feels the magnetism of that stare as he thinks about it, as though those night-black eyes are looking at him right now… It appears he hesitates for long enough that Jon simply decides to start... talking? Or info-dumping, Martin supposes? 

“Well, since you asked about the food I can explain that, at least. Like I said, we can eat human food but it’s… insufficient. Like a tiger living on vegetables? We could survive on it, if we had to, but it wouldn’t be enough in the long run. And our long run is pretty long, I suppose. Not as seeming-immortal as movies makes us out to be, but… long. To be honest, I suspect the immortality part was caused more by how hard it is to truly, permanently kill a vampire, than by how old we can become.” Martin pales at these words.

“Jon?”

Jon blinks in surprise, waking from his own story. “Yes?”

Frantically searching for the right words, Martin settles on: “Are you alright?” He quickly amends this with: “in general, I mean. How do you feel about being a vampire?”

“Well, there isn’t a lot I can do about it– but yes, I’m alright with it. Took some getting used to at first, to be sure, but I’m alright.”

Martin nods, more to himself than as a response. “You scared me there for a moment, Jon talking about how vampires… well, about death.”

“Ah,” now it is Jon’s turn to look at their hands to avoid Martin’s eyes. “It is perhaps… not something I would ever have chosen, if I’d had a choice. It’s certainly made many things harder than they had to be. But,” and here he looks up at Martin again, straight at him, and Martin can, see the steadfastness behind his eyes, can feel Jon’s determination to not let this get into his way. “But the reason I did become a vampire is because I’ve been fascinated with the supernatural for a long time. And though that fascination has… not always led me true, it has also allowed me to work here, where people don’t mind what I am.”

“I’m glad you work here, Jon,” Martin says. It sounds weird even to his own ears, but it’s not the strangest thing he’s said today. It’s fine. Probably.

Their first date is a success, if slightly more awkward than it really had to be, caused by Martin suggesting first a steakhouse and then a vegetarian restaurant. They settle on sushi, in the end. This has the marvelous side-effect of allowing Martin to watch his vampire-coworker/date try and figure out how to operate chopsticks. By the end of the evening the conclusion is “needs more practice with chopsticks”. They decide to go to a Chinese restaurant for their next date. For practice.

Their next dates are less awkward, and definitely also successes. It takes until the third date for Martin to muster up enough courage (or to stop fighting his own urges) to kiss Jon.

They stand on the pavement just outside the restaurant and Jon freezes for a moment as Martin presses their lips together. The few people outside in the wintery weather pass around them like the flow of a river around rocks. Then Jon leans into him, into the warmth of the kiss, and Martin can taste the wine they shared on Jon’s lips, and knows Jon must taste the same on his.

They break apart, and their breaths fog together. For the briefest of moments, Martin thinks Jon’s eyes have changed colour again, to that same, endless dark. Then he blinks, and they’re Jon’s eyes again, but they’re still staring into his soul, just a little.

“Alright?” He asks tentatively.

“Hm, very,” Jon humms, as he stands up on his toes to press another short, wine-tinged kiss against Martin’s lips.

“Good, great, because I’d like to do that more,” Martin laughs. Then he is pulled a step further by his already gathered courage to ask: “Would you like to come back to my place?”

Jon freezes again, only this time he doesn’t unfreeze, doesn’t melt the way he did when Martin kissed him. “God, I’m sorry, we just kissed for the first time, that was way too fast wasn’t it?”

Jon takes a small step back– not away completely, but only far enough that he’s no longer leaning against Martin.

“It’s– probably? I’m not a– a good judge of such things.” Jon is still staring into Martin’s soul just a little, or at least it feels that way. Then he looks away, a sideways glance,one that speaks of bad news maybe, or something Jon thinks Martin won’t like. “I should probably– well. It feels only fair to warn you that I’m asexual?”

That’s not what Martin was expecting. He was almost waiting to here an it’s not you it’s me kind of thing, or… To be honest Martin isn’t sure what he was expecting. But this? This he can work with. 

He reaches for Jon’s shoulders, purposefully crossing Jon’s field of vision where he was looking away from Martin. Martin speaks: “Thank you for telling me.” That’s all he says, and yet those simple words light up Jon’s face like a child finding a Christmas present. It hurts Martin to see that hope flare so brightly, and suddenly feels the need to shout at whoever caused Jon to think that might be a problem in the first place; whether they be one specific person, or the world they live in.

“So just to check: you are okay with kissing?” Jon had already said he was, but it still feels like the polite thing, the best thing to do.

Jon still seems to be marvelling at– Martin isn’t entirely sure what. He’s looking at Martin like Christmas came early, and Martin isn’t sure what to do with that. Then Jon surges up, pressing his lips first to Martin’s cheek and then to his lips, and wrapping his arms around his neck in a way that says he never wants to let go.

Martin catches him and responds in kind, in kisses and in arms wrapped around Jon. Eventually it is Martin who breaks for breath, and they stay close enough that their noses are still touching. “So I take it that’s a yes to kissing then?” He asks breathlessly.

“It is,” Jon’s smile is positively radiant, even though Martin feels like he’s done nothing special.

“And how do you feel about cuddling?”

“Entirely positive,” is the radiant reply, and Martin feels his own smile brightening in return.

“Then how would you like to come and– I don’t know, watch a movie at my place? My couch is very well-suited to cuddling,” Martin promises.

“I’d love that,” Jon tells him.

They walk to the nearest tube station, Jon’s hand in Martin’s, held inside Martin’s coat pocket for warmth, stealing kisses from each other along the way.

Chapter Text

They’ve been spending more time together than apart, lately, what with them working together, and the two of them going to either Jon’s or Martin’s place after work. Martin has seen Jon both eat and sleep now, quite regularly even. But he still remembers what Jon explained, about how a tiger can survive on vegetables, but not thrive. The words keep echoing round and round Martin’s head ‘survive, not thrive’, whenever he’s not paying attention.

It is a saturday evening, and Martin arrives at Jon’s place with the Thai take out he’d promised to bring. It’s from a tiny place closer to Martin’s than it is to Jon’s apartment, but they had found out that Jon’s couch was even better for cuddling than Martin’s, so movie nights happen at his place.

They eat first, as Jon’s journey to mastering chopsticks is an ongoing one, and he refuses to miss half a movie or drop bits of dinner all over his couch, which Martin cannot argue with. While Jon is struggling to pick up the last few bites of vegetables left on his plate Martin hears those words again: survive, not thrive. And somehow, in the pre-movie quiet, tonight feels like the right time to discuss that with Jon.

Not that this night is any different from previous movie nights. They’ve been very comfortable around each other for a while, both physically and in conversation. There’s even a few coworkers who know they’re dating now. Tim had punched the air, high fived a confused Martin, and claimed he’d won a bet with Sasha. Sasha, upon being asked, denied making any bets, but paid up anyway.

Despite the fact that tonight is the same as many previous nights (and hopefully many future ones too, Martin thinks) despite the warm comfort, and good food, or perhaps because of those, this feels like a good time. Martin breaks the silence that fell over dinner with a simple question: “Can I ask about a vampire-thing, Jon?”

Jon looks up from chasing a particularly stubborn piece of carrot: “Of course! You know you can ask anything, Martin.”

Martin looks down at his own plate, his own meal already finished, then back at Jon: “Are these meals enough for you? I know– I know you said it’s fine, but… well.”

“Well, what?” Jon asks, not unkindly. “They are enough, I’ll be just fine Martin. I wish I could make you stop worrying for me, you really don’t have to.”

“Well, what if I wanted to?” Martin asks, his plate suddenly seeming very important despite the fact that it is empty.

“Why would you want to worry? Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s because you care, and please believe me when I say that both baffles and amazes me still, but–“ “No, Jon, I mean…” Martin interrupts Jon, only to find that he cannot say what he meant to, the words getting lost somewhere en route between his brain and his mouth.

When he looks up it is to see Jon staring at him quietly, his head cocked to the side. There is a question on his face, but instead of asking it he waits for Martin to find the words he lost. Martin takes a deep breath, and wills the sentence back into line. It shouldn’t be this hard. He’s been thinking about it for so long that it's more a miracle that the words haven’t escaped by accident before today.

“I mean, what if I wanted you to– to drink blood? My blood?”

Carrot forgotten, Jon abandons his plate on the table and twists around on the couch to face Martin, his back to the armrest, his knees drawn up. His voice is very quiet when he says: “Because I do not ever want to hurt you, Martin.”

Martin opens his mouth, but Jon continues talking before he can reply: “I’m sure you believe I wouldn’t hurt you, but you cannot know that. There is no way for you to know whether or not it will feel bad, or– or for you to know if I’ll even be able to stop before I take too much blood and…” he doesn’t complete the sentence, but Martin can guess where it’s going. Jon’s knees between them are like ramparts, like stony fortifications, and though Martin could reach over, it feels like a bad idea. It feels like that would be an invasion. Because he can tell Jon has thought about it, worried about it, fretted over it.

“I mean, yeah, I don’t know what it’d feel like. Every movie out there seems to have a different theory, and relying on them for facts seems stupid anyway. But Jon,” Martin reaches out a hand, not quite into Jon’s space, not quite an intrusion. 

“I know you, Jon. I know you’re clever, and stubborn, and quite reserved most of the time. I don’t believe you could ever lose control the way you said– haven’t you been saying that vampires aren’t wild animals for years? Haven’t you proved everyone who doubted you at the Institute wrong?” Jon is nodding along with what he’s saying, but has not yet reached out to Martin’s hand.

“To steal your metaphor: a tiger can survive on vegetables, even if it cannot thrive. But if I had to look after a tiger, I wouldn’t just feed it greens. So I don’t see why I should ask the same thing of you.”

“Martin…,” Jon reaches out one cold hand from behind his knees to squeeze Martin’s hand. “Thank you, for caring, and for your trust, but it’s not the same–“

“I know, Jon, don’t worry, I do know. I know you’re not an animal, and I absolutely don’t consider you to be a– a pet to be looked after. But I don’t want you to starve, Jon. Because yes, you’re eating meals, but not getting all the… the nutrients your body needs is still starvation,” Martin looks at Jon, a plea in his eyes, in his voice. He can tell it’s not quite enough.

“It’s also… Ever since you asked me out, and I… misunderstood you? Well, I’ve been thinking about what it might be like since then? And sort of also before then, but in a more general way, I suppose. It’s only after you asked me out that I considered– well, you drinking my blood.”

“You have?” Jon’s question is shocked, surprise audible, but Martin hears no disgust, so he forges on.

“And– this is going to sound a bit weird, but I’m going to tell you how this goes, in my head? My fantasy of it, I suppose. It’s not a fantasy of the sexual variant, though, I promise,” he waits for Jon to nod in agreement before continuing. He does, although he is still hiding behind his knees.

“Okay. So. In my head the bite feels… I don’t know, sometimes just painless, sometimes pleasant? A bit like getting drunk, as well. You bite into my neck, which is probably dangerous, but uhm… it’s also a way for you to be very close to me? Especially if we were lying on your couch, our bodies pressed close together, and– anyway” Martin feels like drawing up his own knees to hide now, and his blush must be flaming red. It is one thing to think about it, but quite another to tell the person involved exactly what you’ve been daydreaming about.

“And then uhm… a combination of blood loss and vampire magic–,” Jon’s arched eyebrow is cynical at best, but he doesn’t interrupt Martin. “–leaves me feeling sort of weak and floating. And then, when I can’t protect myself– yes, I know how that sounds, Jon, but just, let me explain?” Jon remains silent, even though he looks like he wants to protest. Martin takes a deep breath, and continues.

“Well, while I can’t protect myself, you’d be there to protect me? Like, help me into bed, and feed me snacks and bring tea and make me nap half a day, and you’d stay there with me for cuddles the whole time.” Martin can see the protest flood away from Jon, and in its place something soft grows.

“So, I’ve probably watched too many sappy movies? But that’s how it plays out in my head. Feel free to tell me where I’m wrong though, I don’t mind.”

A very soft reply comes from the other side of the couch: “I’d also look after you without drinking your blood.”

Martin isn’t quite sure he’s heard that right, but doesn’t need to ask, because Jon repeats it, a little louder, but very shyly: “I’d like that– the looking after you part. Will you let me think about the blood drinking part?”

Martin agrees, and Jon unfolds his knees and joins Martin’s side of the couch for the movie they had planned to watch.

It takes a week. That seems like a short time, but Martin can tell by the tiny frown Jon wears that he’s been thinking about it quite literally all the time. That Friday during dinner, Jon brings it up himself: “I’ve been considering what you asked.” 

There’s no need for Martin to ask Jon to specify. Martin has been thinking about it all of last week as well. 

“That thing you said, about– about starvation. Not getting the right nutrients. You may not be entirely wrong,” Jon puts down his fork and knife, focusing all his attention on Martin. “You’ve probably noticed how cold I feel, compared to your body temperature?”

“Yeah? I figured that was a vampire thing, though. Is it not?”

“It is, but… Well. It’s a defense mechanism. The body trying to preserve energy for surviving, instead of comfort. Very low, or very high temperatures won’t hurt a vampire, we apparently cannot get hypo- or hyperthermia, I’ve been reading up on it this past week. It cannot hurt, but it is a definite sign that a vampire needs to– to feed.” Jon takes a deep breath, stealing himself before he continues: “So… what I’m trying to say is: I’ll do it, but I have some conditions first,” Jon says. Martin nods in surprise, not entirely happy at the new information, but definitely glad that Jon isn’t just going along with this for Martin’s sake.

“If we’re doing this,” Jon emphasizes the ‘if’ more than Martin thinks is required. “Then we’re doing this at your place, so that you won’t need to travel home alone, even after you’ve had time to recover.” That’s easy enough to agree to. The suggestion makes sense, even though Martin’s fantasy has taken place in Jon’s apartment ever since he saw the place.

“If either of us wants to stop, for any reason at all, we will,” Jon continues, looking a little bit like he’s rehearsed this speech. Martin agrees to this one as well. “That includes any possible future… attempts… at this. Only if we both agree we want to.” Martin agrees again.

“I’ll make sure you have a proper first aid kit–“ Martin tries to object, but Jon raises a hand, asking for silence without words. “You will let me do this because I’m the one making you bleed, Martin.” He sighs. “Please think of it as me looking after you?” That Martin can get behind. He tells Jon so, who nods, and continues: “And lastly you will let me explain what I think this might feel like, before we both agree to do this. I want you to make an informed decision on this, not one based on fantasies, or movie magic.”

This Martin agrees to as well. Jon has clearly put a lot of thought into this, and though every precaution makes sense, it still warms Martin to hear how much Jon cares.

Over the course of dinner, Jon explains what he knows about having one's blood drunk by a vampire. He doesn’t remember his own experience of being turned into one, so he can only describe what he has noticed himself. The times when he has drunk blood seem to be exceedingly rare, to the point where Martin wonders if Jon really is as “okay” as he claims just eating human meals.

The bite itself, Jon explains, should only hurt for a short time, before the vampire’s saliva numbs it. Jon looks so very serious when he says this that Martin cannot laugh about it, but honestly? Numbing saliva? He’s seen likelier theories on tv. Jon carries on talking like he hasn’t just said something ridiculous, and explains that his eyes will go black, and that Martin might think this scary for a short moment.

“Oh! Yeah, your eyes did that that day in the office as well,” Martin exclaims. “I forgot about it what with the hug that followed it but uhm– it was kind of fascinating to see?”

“Fascinating. Right,” Jon passes a hand across his face suddenly looking twice as tired. “The eyes thing? That’s where every theory about vampire-hypnosis or mesmer or whatever you want to call it comes from. As you say, people find it fascinating. It’s to distract… Well. Our victims, for lack of a better word.”

They stare across the table at each other for a moment. “Jon, you know I’m not–“

“Yes, I know, Martin. I just–,” Jon waves his hand vaguely between them. “–Don’t know a better word for whatever this is.”

“Your boyfriend? I think that term works just as well,” Martin tries not to sound too smug. He’s not sure he has succeeded. “I thought it was very fascinating, like I could stare into your eyes for hours. Although I could also do that right now, without the vampire superpowers.”

Jon huffs a laugh: “Very well. Something to distract boyfriends with, I suppose.”

He goes on to explain where he intends to bite Martin– definitely, absolutely, not ever the neck. There are far too many critical arteries there for the amount of teeth involved. Instead, Jon would be using the inside of Martin’s elbow, for the same reason doctors draw blood there: easy access with little enough risk. Plus easier to hide the bandages, Jon points out, which Martin had not considered. He supposes people at the Institute would be less kind to Jon if the vampire’s boyfriend shows up to work with bandages around his neck.

Jon will only be taking about half a pint of blood, he says. Up to a pint might be safe, but would take Martin far too long to recover, according to Jon, and he is not willing to risk that much blood loss. Something about a vampire’s bite makes even this relatively small blood loss quite tiring, although Jon’s research hasn’t come up with any good reason as to why that might be.

Beyond that, the explanation turns to practicalities. It’s going to be after a full dinner, when Martin’s body has already got new nutrients to start restoring his blood supply.  The first aid required (already bought by Jon), will be kept close to hand, as will snacks, and tea, and blankets, and– at this point Martin starts wondering if Jon hasn’t been overthinking this, and asks him as much.

“I could never overthink your safety, Martin,” is Jon’s steady reply, and really, what is a man supposed to say to that?

“So if you also agree to all of that, the precautions, and the… event itself?” Jon asks hesitantly.

“I do,” Martin nods.

“Then I was thinking, maybe tomorrow? Unless you think that’s too soon, which is–“

“Tomorrow sounds like a great plan, Jon,” Martin interrupts, trying not to sound too eager.

“Then tomorrow it is,” Jon agrees.

For someone who doesn’t technically require this kind of food, Jon is an unfairly skilled cook, Martin decides. He’s been banned from helping– Jon had mumbled something about how he should feed Martin, if Martin is going to let Jon feed on him, before ending the debate with a kiss. Then he had pressed a glass of cold water into Martin’s hand with the instruction to “hydrate himself.” Which is why Martin is now sitting at his own kitchen table, and has so far watched Jon make an amazing-smelling sauce, and somehow magic up fresh pasta at the same time. Jon has tied his long hair into a bun to keep it out of the way, and it’s taking all Martin’s willpower not to go over and kiss the exposed bit of skin at his neck.

During dinner they talk of everything and nothing, and afterwards they prepare to move to the living room. Martin is instructed to make tea, and Jon gathers the snacks he brought (some of which Martin suspects to be homemade cookies, which is even more unfair than Jon’s skill at pasta-making, in Martin’s opinion). The first aid kit is already stationed beside the sofa, which is covered in old towels. Martin had joked about Jon being a messy eater when Jon mentioned it, and though Jon pretended to be offended, Martin had agreed he didn’t want bloodstains on the couch, no matter how small.

“Wouldn’t it be better to make tea after, Jon? It’ll only go cold this way,” Martin asks, already making tea anyway. Tea, at least, he is better at than Jon. Somehow, despite being a very good cook, any tea Jon made turned into “hot leaf water” as Jon himself terms it.

“Don’t worry, it won’t have time to go cold, Martin. This really doesn’t take very long at all,”Jon replies from the living room.

“Oh,” is all Martin says, more to himself than to Jon.

Quick footsteps from the living room herald Jon’s arrival as Martin busies himself with the tea. Waiting till the boiling water is safely steeping into tea, Jon pulls Martin’s hands away from the pot and kettle, turning Martin to face him. “You can say no any time, Martin. Any time at all, I promise you I don’t mind,” Jon says softly, as if trying not to startle him.

“No, I– It’s fine,” Martin says, but judging by the look on Jon’s face ‘fine’ isn’t good enough. Which makes sense, Martin supposes. He really does want to do this. “I think I blew it up onto something… bigger? longer? I don’t know. But I do want this Jon, I really do,” Martin takes a breath and leans in to kiss Jon’s forehead. “So please stop asking me? I promise I know what I want, and I really will tell you to stop if I change my mind, but I haven’t, I want…” he waves a vague hand, still held by one of Jon’s. “This. You. I want to look after you, and I want to be looked after by you in return.”

“Martin…,” Jon seems lost for words, and instead simply kisses Martin’s hand in response. “I’d like that too, Martin.”

Together they carry the tea to the living room. There doesn’t seem to be any reason for it, but as soon as he sits down Martin feels his thoughts go into overdrive. What if something goes wrong, or Jon thinks it goes wrong and stops this, or… The thought of Jon hurting him doesn’t surface in the whirlpool of thoughts at all. Despite the fact that that has been Jon’s main concern the whole time, Martin’s thoughts turn to other things. The ‘what if’s file past, round and round, but Jon hurting him? Never. Still, he hunches in on himself a little, like a teenager on a first date, despite the fact this this is his boyfriend, and they’re sitting exactly where they’ve sat dozens of times before, on his own sofa, in his own house. Somehow, despite all of that, it feels awkward.

Then Jon flops down on the couch beside him, in the exact same way he always does for their movie nights: shoulder to shoulder and leaning against Martin as though he is Jon’s personal space heater. And all thoughts of how awkward this is, or what could go wrong vanish from Martin’s mind. He is doing this for Jon, and okay, he’s also doing this because he is curious. And he’s certain that between the two of them, together, everything will be fine.

“Are you feeling okay? Are you ready?” Jon asks, and he sounds nervous, despite how casually he’s leaning against Martin.

“Yes, Jon, I am,” Martin feels like he should be exasperated with how often Jon keeps asking the same things, but he feels touched more than anything else.

“Alright,” Jon stretches up and kisses Martin, even though he has to lean over his shoulder to do so from where he’s seated now. As Jon leans back, he blinks, and to Martin it feels like slow-motion, like a tiger is blinking at him. Isn’t that a sign of trust, is all he has time to think before he is… distracted. Absorbed. Fascinated.

Jon’s eyes seem like oceans at night, so dark are they. The light doesn’t seem to reach them at all, they could be pools of black ink, or solid stone, or thunder-black clouds– Martin wouldn’t be able to tell any difference at all.

Through obsidian eyes, words reach him, but Jon’s mouth never moves. “You will tell me the moment you feel uncomfortable?” Martin nods as Jon’s question fills his thoughts. He will, he’s sure of that. Just as he is certain of how much he cares for Jon.

Then a memory comes back to him, of that day when he brought Jon tea and found him fast asleep. Teeth? Martin thinks, and a question must be visible on his face, because Jon speaks, but this time his mouth moves with the words.

“I cannot actually hear your thoughts Martin,” His eyes are still dark as starless night, but there is mirth in them nonetheless.

Martin thinks he might’ve blushed, if he hadn’t been so immersed, so distracted by everything that Jon here before him is. That he is willing to indulge Martin’s fantasies. And even more than that: that Jon is willing to indulge himself, to stop denying his body the nutrients it needs? That means more to Martin than he could ever say. The certainty of it, the vastness of that feeling makes him wish he really could send Jon his thoughts. Jon is wonderous, beautiful, and somehow, some time when those eyes like night and dreams aren’t staring through him, he will find a way to express those feelings to Jon.

For now, all he does is voice his question: “Can I see your teeth?”

Jon blinks, this time not in slow-motion, and his eyes do not change, though the look on his face does. He opens his mouth slowly, as though he is expecting Martin to be scared. His teeth are nothing short of fangs. Each one takes the place where a normal tooth should be, but is far sharper than any human tooth ever needs to be. Somehow they seem made for ripping, and tearing; not for drinking. Martin reaches out, eyes switching between those very sharp teeth and the pull of fascination that Jon’s eyes still hold.

Before he can reach all the way up, Jon catches his hand. “Best not to touch them, Martin. They really are as sharp as they look,” he pauses to search Martin’s eyes. “They don’t bother you?”

Now that the teeth are out of view Martin returns to losing himself in Jon’s eyes. “They don’t bother me,” he replies. His voice feels distant from him, as though another Martin were speaking. Still, the voice says what he thinks: “Nothing about you could ever scare me, Jon.”

Jon blushes then, and Martin finds himself thinking how well that colour goes with his eyes. He should make Jon blush more often. Jon busies himself with rolling up Martin’s sleeve instead of replying. When he is done he looks at Martin one more time, waiting, asking for permission. Martin nods.

Jon leans down then, and all of a sudden Martin cannot see his eyes anymore. The loss of them feels hollow, and distant, but he feels it keenly even so; as if clouds have come to cover the sky. Then he feels the pain, sudden sharp points digging into the softest part of his arm, and he almost jerks his arm away from Jon. But he doesn’t, and just about manages to hold it still. 

This is what he wanted to experience, after all. He’s wanted to know what this might be like for ages, and he isn’t going to spoil that just because of… because of pain? Even as he is thinking it, the sensation melts: sharp, piercing and digging changing into a warm, wet, softness, until it feels like taking a hot bath. It travels up his arm, now pleasant instead of painful, and he feels tension he hadn’t realised he was holding drain from his arm, his shoulders, his whole body.

Martin simply floats on the feeling for a time. It might be very long indeed, except in the time he’s relaxed he’s only taken a few breaths. That means it hasn’t been long at all, right? It’s almost-too-warm, and he would move to take off his sweater, except that means disturbing Jon. Jon has latched himself onto his arm, and Martin isn’t sure if it’s because of the numbness, but it doesn’t feel like Jon is drinking his blood at all. There’s no sucking or draining feeling that Martin was half expecting. Now that the pain is gone Jon might be kissing him for all Martin feels of it. Except that would be a bit weird, to kiss someone’s elbow for that long, wouldn’t it?

Martin giggles at the thought, and then laughs out loud at the way his giggling breaks the silence in the room. Jon releases his elbow, and reaching behind himself for the first aid supplies, he says: “That’s not the reaction I was expecting, but I’m glad you’re having a good time, Martin.”

His elbow sports a neat half-circle of red pin-pricks from which drops of blood are welling up. For a moment they remind Martin of plants sprouting, before Jon wipes the blood away and starts cleaning and bandaging his elbow. Looking at Jon, Martin sees his eyes have gone back to their human appearance. Briefly he mourns the loss of their beauty, but maybe, hopefully, they could do this again? Martin would definitely like that. 

A single drop of his own blood has made its way down Jon’s chin, but beside that not a drop has spilled. On impulse Martin leans in and kisses the drop of blood off Jon’s chin. Between the fleeting, floating relaxation he still feels and the scent of Jon being close mingled with tea it barely tastes like blood at all.

When he leans back Jon is staring at him with a hunger on his face, even though his eyes remain completely normal. Martin is beginning to wake from the flooding warmth and his elbow is beginning to sting, but this look. This is something else. Jon surges up to kiss him and licks into his mouth, and an entirely different heat rushes through Martin. He’s definitely feeling too warm now, and the metal tang of his own blood on Jon’s tongue should probably bother him more than it does. He kisses back, and though he wants to respond, to be as hungry, and as eager as Jon, he feels his kisses turn languid instead. It appears Jon was right about how exhausting this would be.

Martin pulls back the tiniest amount, not wanting to lose Jon’s presence at all but having to speak: “You weren’t kidding about this being tiring.” His smile is crooked, halfway between apologies for breaking the kiss and amusement at Jon’s eagerness. For a moment they sit in silence, Jon basically seated in Martin’s lap at this point, breathing each other’s air and noses almost touching. Then Jon gets up with one final, small kiss.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have– I knew you’d be tired–“ “No apologising Jon,” Martin interrupts him. “I liked it. The biting and the kissing. And I wouldn’t mind doing either of those again, but just…”

“Not right now,” Jon completes the sentence for him. He reaches over to the coffee table and hands Martin his tea, before grabbing a blanket and a plate of cookies and returning to the sofa. The tea has indeed not had time to go cold, Martin notices as he wraps his hands around the mug. He doesn’t exactly feel cold, but after the warmth earlier he still feels like something is missing.

Jon quickly wraps a blanket around Martin, balances the plate of cookies on the back of the sofa and grabs a second blanket to wrap around both himself and Martin. Thus cocooned they share the cookies until they’re all gone. After the amount of pasta they’ve already eaten Martin thought they’d never finish all these as well, but they taste entirely too good not to polish them off. Jon is very warm beside him, and wrapped in blankets and boyfriend Martin feels himself begin to drift off. Until the feeling registers properly. Jon is warm. Jon has never felt warm to Martin, who runs quite hot. 

“Jon, you don’t feel cold anymore,” his words sound sleepy even to himself, but Martin presses on. This is important, they should discuss this now. “That’s good, right?”

“Hmm, yeah,” Jon simply hums in reply, apparently not bothered by that at all.

“Sooo is this something we should do more often?” Martin says, trying, and failing, to suppress a grin.

Jon’s answering smile is almost apologetic. “I would like that, but like I said, only if we both want to. Did this feel alright for you?”

“It wasn’t just ‘alright’, Jon,” Martin kisses Jon’s brow, just a peck. “It felt very good. A little floaty? It was very nice.” He blushes thinking about Jon’s first reaction, then decides to hell with it and mentions it too. “And I liked your enthusiasm after it, as well.”

Now it’s Jon’s turn to blush, and he attempts to hide it by resting his head against Martin’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. I knew you’d be tired, but then you kissed your own blood off of my lips and I– I couldn’t contain myself.”

Martin extracts a hand from the cocoon of blankets and tilts Jon’s head back up to face Martin: “Hey, no hiding. I said I liked it, didn’t I? You’re absolutely allowed to do that again. I’d just like to be able to keep up, next time.”

Jon’s eyes light up at the mention of next time, and he nods, eager: “Deal.” They seal their deal with a slow, deep kiss that makes Martin melt all over again. That is, until the need for oxygen and the strange exhaustion combine to make him yawn.

“Time for sleep, I think,” Jon grins. He gets, and tugs Martin up, off the couch, and to his bedroom.

Later, Martin barely remembers lying down, falling asleep almost as soon as he hits the bed. He does distantly remember Jon wrapping himself around Martin. They’re still lying like that, entangled in a nest of blankets, when he wakes up late the next morning. Jon is still asleep beside him, his warmth more comfortable than it has any right to be. Martin looks at him, long hair still in a bun from yesterday, and fast asleep and decides to join him in sleeping some more.