The Magnus Archives (all my TMA fics go here! UPDATED: 20-07-26)

[VoOs]

EDIT: I will be posting all of my TMA nonsense in this thread from now on, just to have it all easily accessible in one place! 👁️

 

PICNIC

taking place somewhere during the happy honeymoon safehouse part of episode 160, this fic features two soft idiots being in love and Exploring things. Martin has hayfever, Jon has the kink. Gentle teasing and cuddles ensue. 

there’s a tiny bit of mess in there, but it’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of thing.

no actual sneezing until the very end I’m afraid. this is like… 94% teasing and build-up.  ❀◝(⁰▿⁰)◜❀

———————————

It starts with Martin finding a large, tartan blanket tucked away inside a cupboard. He declares it the perfect picnic cloth and Jon’s halfhearted protests about staying inside and keeping a low profile falls on patient but ultimately deaf ears.

“You said it yourself: if Elias wants to find us he probably could, and if there are other things out there looking for us, I mean… if they’re close enough to spot us in a field, it’s not like our chimney smoke would be that much easier to miss? Or they could just ask around the village. I haven’t exactly been a ninja about my trips to the store. If something shows up, we deal with it then. Let’s try to relax in the meantime, yeah? It’s beautiful outside.”

Jon lets himself be persuaded. Martin’s right: it is beautiful outside, and he supposes he can always keep an Eye out (or several) for anything approaching with ill intent. They pack a lunch of sandwiches and a thermos of tea and head out into the pleasantly mild summer’s day, finding a good spot about half a mile south of their cabin, halfway down a green hillside with a rather spectacular view of the Scottish landscape rising and falling around them. The light breeze makes the stretches of grass bow and ripple like waves on a surface of water. A clump of highland cows graze nearby. 

“I’m gonna go say hello”, Martin announces brightly, as soon as he’s laid down the blanket on the grass. 

Jon quirks a skeptical eyebrow toward the shaggy beasts and their not-inconsiderable horns.

“Are you sure that’s… wise?” he asks.

Martin huffs: “Obviously I’m not going to be an idiot about it and scare them. I just want a closer… ooh, look, there’s a calf!” Annnd he’s gone. 

Jon settles down on the blanket with a contented grunt, watching Martin - his boyfriend, how about that? - practically bounce down the grassy slope toward the little herd, and he feels a jolt of joy at the sight, the feeling still so new and unfamiliar and precious he scarcely dares to examine it head-on. Something to keep in the corner of his eye for now, letting it warm him as he slowly allows himself to grow accustomed to its presence. 

Cows sufficiently marveled at, Martin soon comes back up the hill again, a beaming grin on his face even as the climb makes him huff and puff a little with the exertion. Jon can’t help but smile back, patting the spot to the right side of him on the blanket and making room.

“What is it with you and unnecessarily hairy animals anyway?” he asks as Martin plops down cross-legged beside him.  “Spiders, highland cattle…”

“I just think they’re cute”, Martin says, reaching over to ruffle his fingers through Jon’s own - admittedly fairly shaggy - mane.

“Oh, please,” Jon snorts, but leans into the touch just the same. “Drink your tea before it gets cold.”

After they’ve finished their tea and sandwiches, Martin lies down on his back and rests his head in Jon’s lap while Jon brings out one of the half dozen paperback novels he bought at a petrol station on their long drive to Scotland. He begins to read silently to himself, but before long is interrupted by a hand tugging gently at his sleeve, Martin’s up-side-down expression open and hopeful:

“Read to me?” A pause, then adding: “…it’s not a horror, is it?”

Jon laughs, and maybe the laugh is just a little bit grim, but he doubts Martin will hold that against him. 

“It is not. Some kind of Nordic noir, I think? I didn’t really look too closely, I just grabbed a bunch of them on a whim.” 

“Sounds good to me. Take it away.”

Jon does. At first it feels odd (tastes bland?) to read something aloud and not fall into that trance-like state he’s come to associate with reading statements; there’s no sense of feeding or being fed upon, no disconcerting, intoxicating blurring between his self and the person whose words he’s lending his voice to. Just a story of a jaded Norwegian detective (whose name Jon is pretty sure he is butchering, polyglot Beholding powers or no), struggling to balance her troubled family life whilst investigating a string of bestial murders. Your standard crime fiction fair. Despite this, and to his surprise, Jon soon finds himself relaxing into the narration, settling comfortably into the voices and flow of the text.  

That is, until he notices Martin starting to sniffle softly every minute or so, and suddenly it’s taking all of Jon’s concentration not to stumble over his words, let alone register what it is he is reading. 

Martin, meanwhile, appears completely oblivious to his boyfriend’s plight. Apart from the occasional sniffle and crinkling of his nose he seems perfectly content and relaxed where he lies, eyes closed, hands resting with fingers interlaced on his belly. Jon finishes the first chapter and, with a quick glance down, decides not to tempt his fate any further. He closes the book.

“To be continued.”

Hearing this, Martin opens one eye and peers up at him.

“You’re really good at reading aloud,” he says, and Jon isn’t sure what makes him blush more: the earnest admiration in Martin’s voice, or the hint of growing congestion accompanying it.

“Th-thank you. I’ve had a lot of practice of course. Comes w… hrm. Came with the job.”

“Well, yeah, but I mean, you’re amazing at doing the voices. You make them sound so natural, and easy to tell apart.”

“I, um… I used to do a bit of am-dram at Oxford,” Jon admits, cringing slightly at the memory.

A disbelieving, laughing exhale: “You’re kidding?”

“Afraid not. If I’m honest I was pretty rubbish at it, but it was a surprisingly effective way to blow off some pre-exam tension. Incidentally that’s also where I first met Georgie. We, uh…” Jon trails off, tensing and staring straight ahead as the sound of Martin sniffling and fussing with his nose drifts up from his lap once again. 

“Ah, sorry. -snff!-  Got a bit distracted there. You were saying?” 

Jon forces himself to meet Martin’s gaze, petrifying embarrassment and warm, glowing affection both fighting to stick his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Once he manages to pry it loose, what comes out is:

“I… I can’t remember what I was saying.” Let’s hear it for honesty! 

“What, seriously? I know you got this whole ‘old man’ image going on, but… ” Martin starts to laugh, then a dawning understanding makes his eyes go round and he stops. Knuckled forefinger still pressed to his septum, he looks up at Jon, blinks twice, and lowers his hand slowly, revealing a smile that’s hesitant at first but quickly widens into something more mischievous. 

“Oh. Ohh. I see. Sorry. I forgot.”

“It’s fine, I didn’t mean to… Never mind. It’s fine. Ignore me, please.” Jon hides his face in his hands, as if that’s going to help anything. 

“Well, I guess I could do that, if that’s what you really want,” Martin begins, his eyes twinkling in a way that’s somehow both kind and distinctly worrisome at the same time. “But I mean, it just seems like a bit of a waste? I honestly thought I’d be okay coming out here since my allergies have been pretty mild today, but maybe spending an hour downwind of a massive grassy field wasn’t the… -snf- …w-wisest choice ever.”

“You think?” Jon groans, but can’t resist peering between his fingers as Martin scrubs the palm of his hand against his nose with quick, urgent little movements, a subtle pink hue already noticeable around the rims of his nostrils. 

“Ihh-it’s becoming clearer by the minute.” The last word comes out as “bidute” and in that moment Jon isn’t sure whether he’d rather sink beneath the earth Buried-style or just fall into the sky and revisit the Vast.

“We can go back inside,” he offers weakly. “You still got your meds back at the cabin, right? This was supposed to be a pleasant picnic, not… I don’t want to see you uncomfortable. It looks… uncomfortable.”

“I’ll be fine,” Martin assures him. “It’s really not as bad as it looks. Just very… -snff!- …tickly.” 

“You will tell me if it gets too much?” 

“Promise.” A reassuring smile, turned slightly crooked as Martin wiggles his nose again, nostrils flexing with yet another sniffle, decidedly wetter than before. “I can’t promise for certain that I’m actually going to sneeze though. I get like this sometimes, when everything just itches like crazy but it’s as if my nose has gone on strike or something? Really annoying. Oh, and I guess it’s going to be doubly as annoying now, with the two us waiting instead of just me, huh?”

It really isn’t fair, Jon thinks, that Martin should be able to talk about these things in such a casual, carefree manner. As for Jon himself, he’s fairly certain he’s more blush than man at this point. He sneaks a look at Martin again and catches the other man grinning up at him, blue eyes red-rimmed and damp but twinkling more than ever.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Jon grumbles, and immediately he can feel Martin’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter against his thigh.

“Nooo, how’d you figure that? Of course I am! I thought that was rather the point.” 

“I… I just… hrm.” So eloquent. 

“This is what you get, you know. You can’t just hand me a nugget of knowledge like that and then expect me not to use it.”

“Alright. Alright. Point made.”

“At least now I doh - h! - hhon’t have to suffer alone.” Another sniff and nose scrunch, followed by more vigorous rubbing. “-snrf!- Thought I had it for a second there. No…? H-hang on, maybehh… heh…hh…!?” One, two, three seconds pass, and then - “…ugh. Nope. Lost it. Sorry.” Sighing in frustration, Martin plucks his glasses off his face so that he can reach to wipe the tears that have started to gather in the corners of his eyes. His fingertips linger for a moment, pressing on his closed eyelids in an attempt to soothe the stinging irritation there.

“Don’t. You’ll hurt your eyes,” Jon mumbles, clumsily grasping Martin’s wrist and pulling the hand away. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s a bit, ‘damned if you do, damned if you don’t’. Sometimes, when it’s really bad, I have to literally sit on my hands to stop myself from rubbing. Which is really inconvenient when you’re supposed to be doing admin. It’s really… q-quite… hh- ihh- …hihh - ! “

Again, Jon can feel Martin’s shoulders shudder against the side of his leg, this time with a string of shallow, quivering gasps that seem to rise in pitch and urgency with each new inhalation. Heartbeat hammering away, toes curling on their own volition inside his hiking boots, Jon tears his eyes away from Martin’s flushed, increasingly desperate features to stare out across the valley instead, but it’s no use, he can still See it clear as day, and what’s worse, he Knows what it feels like, and his own sinuses ache faintly in sympathy. 

“hh’h - h-h-hh—! …”  Annnd again, it peters out into nothing. Martin lets out his gathered breath in a rush of air, part laugh, part groan, and proceeds to pinch his nose between both hands, hard enough to leave pale, fading finger marks on the otherwise angry red skin. 

“Ugghhh. Help.”

“Y-you okay? Maybe we should go back. It’s only going to get worse if you…”

“Jon? I said I’m fine.” Martin’s voice is patient but firm, even with his n’s and m’s eroded beyond recognition. Sniffling uselessly against thickening congestion, he blinks the latest flood of tears from his eyes and reaches up to cup Jon’s jaw, running a thumb through the Archivist’s dark beard. “I’m enjoying this, believe it or not. I haven’t seen you this red since I accidentally walked in on you in the office without my trousers on. It’s very cute.”

“If you say so.” More grumbling. 

“I do. I really could use some help though.”

“What?”

“Some help. With this.” And with that, Martin moves from cupping Jon’s face to grasping his hand instead, guiding it down, first to his lips for a light kiss on the burn-scarred knuckles, and then - What? What? - a fraction higher to nudge his nose against Jon’s suddenly rigid fingertips.

“Sorry, is this…” Martin pulls back, hesitates for a moment, “is this okay? I’ll stop if you’re not…”

“N-no, it’s -” Christ, is that his voice? That pubescent piping squawk? Jon clears his throat with some difficulty and tries again, admittedly with only marginal improvement: “It’s fine. It’s - it’s good. You can keep… going.” Famous last words, he thinks dizzily, and focuses on controlling his breathing as Martin proceeds to nuzzle his nose into Jon’s hand once again. Gentle at first, the soft, round tip bumping and brushing against the palm in an almost cat-like manner. Each touch sends a ripple of goosebumps up Jon’s arm, a buzzing electric current of sensation effectively short-circuiting his brain. 

“Martin…” It’s little more than a breathless whisper.

“Hmm?” At least that’s the sound Jon assumes Martin intended to make; trying to hum through a solidly blocked nose doesn’t exactly… work. What it does do, is make Martin pause in his nuzzling for a moment, turn his head to the side with a small cough, snuffle ineffectively, then turn back with a somewhat sheepish expression, eyes heavy-lidded and vaguely glazed over. “Sorry. Wow, I really can’t breathe through my nose at all.”

“You don’t have trouble breathing, getting enough air I mean?”

“Nah, I’m good. Thank you for checking though.” 

“S-sure.”

Martin makes another frustrated little noise, almost a whimper, and scrunches his face up in an itchy grimace, eyes squeezed tightly shut, upper lip pulled down and around to stretch his nostrils wide for a second. Jon swallows, then sucks in a hissing breath as Martin brings both of their hands back to resume where they left off, no gentle prodding this time around but purposefully and repeatedly working the warm bulb of his nose against the bony ridge of Jon’s knuckle. Jon can feel the faintest trace of cool dampness being left on his skin and for a flashing, white-hot moment he completely forgets how to breathe.

“Oh god, no, that’s… -snf- sorry. That’s gross. Juhh - j-just give me a sec,” Martin mutters, pushing himself up into a sitting position and fishing a travel packet of tissues out of the front pocket of his hoodie. He clamps two of them over his nose, blows with a tight, wetly crackling sound. As if pulled magnetically, Jon finds himself practically melting forward and sideways so that he ends up leaning against Martin’s back, one arm going around his boyfriend’s middle, the other reaching up to plunge greedy fingers into the soft curls of his hair. 

“Not gross,” is all he can think to say, muffled into Martin’s shoulder blade.  

“Look at you all clingy all of a sudden,” Martin laughs. He gives his nose a final swipe with the tissues before pocketing them and turning back to Jon, expression way too smug for someone who, by the looks of things, is getting his arse soundly handed to him by a field of highland flora. 

“Oh shut up.”

“I think you’ll hahh–hhave to make me.” 

Okay, that is it. 

“Fine. Have it your way.”

Jon kisses him. For all his teasing up to this point, Martin actually gives a small “mph?!” of surprise at this and Jon can’t stop a pleased grin tugging at his mouth as he presses closer. Closer. Arms around him. Warm. Soft. Smell of tea. Taste of salt -

“Jon, please, I cad’t… -hff-, -hhf-, …you gotta give beh sobe breathi’g roob here…” 

“Oh, right.” Jon pulls away again, but only so far that the tips of their noses still brush against each other. Just the lightest of touches. Still he Knows it’s more than enough to make the itch in Martin’s sinuses spark to life with renewed fierceness. Oh dear. Time they actually did something about that. Jon might have to tap into some of that less-than-impressive drama experience and step into the role of a more confident man (or at least a less cripplingly embarrassed one), but if that’s what it’s going to take to finally snap them both out of this torturous limbo, so be it. 

“You still want my help with that?” Jon asks, voice as low as it will go. He sits back on his knees and plucks a long blade of grass from the ground beside the picnic blanket. Holds it up, slowly twists the light green stem between thumb and forefinger. Looks down at it briefly, inspecting the sharply pointed tip, then back up at Martin again. Raises his eyebrows in a silent how about it? 

Martin hesitates for a second, then nods:

“O-okay. Yehh-yeah. Go for it.” Finally that nervous little laugh is back, the one Jon can remember grating on his nerves back when Martin first joined the Institute. Somewhere along the way that laugh stopped being annoying. Became something familiar. Comforting. Endearing. So much has changed since then, most of it not for the better, but that laugh… these days it never fails to make Jon’s heart feel all tender, fluttering against his ribs like a caged bird. Speaking of which…

Jon curls his free hand around the back of Martin’s neck and slowly, experimentally lets the blade of grass trace the outer edge of one pink nostril, then the other. Martin sinks his teeth into his lower lip, hard, clearly biting back a groan as his nose gives a pronounced twitch, nostrils flaring into perfect, circular o’s. “Jon, please…!”, he gasps, and Jon neither has the heart nor the patience to drag things out any longer. He knows it won’t take much, not with Martin’s control already balanced on a hair’s breadth.

Fingers trembling just slightly, breath withheld, Jon slips the tip of the blade of grass up and out of sight, gives it a twirl just around the inner rim of Martin’s right nostril. The reaction is immediate. Martin’s eyelids drift closed, eyebrows arching high, mouth falling open:

“- h - ! “

Just one short, sharp intake of breath, unmistakably laden with near-panicked, ticklish need, and Jon barely has time to withdraw his hand before Martin snaps forward into their half-embrace, making it a full one as he buries his face in the curve between Jon’s shoulder and neck.

“hd’tshTshTshh!”

The first three sneezes, long-delayed and all the more desperate for it, follow so fast on each other’s heels it’s like they’ve been strung together into one single release. They don’t sound nearly forceful enough to bring any sort of relief though, and sure enough, Jon can feel Martin’s arms tighten around him as he shivers with another, equally frantic triple mere seconds later, sound dampened by Jon’s shirt.

“heh’dshiuh! hptSChih! …hh! -hH’TSCHiuh!”

Three short blasts of hot, damp breath against his skin through the fabric. It tickles, and Jon gives a hissing (possibly slightly deranged) giggle, hugging his boyfriend even closer, head swimming with endorphins. So ridiculous. So wonderful. Ridiculously wonderful.

“Oh, yhh-you think this is… hh - ! -dtSCHih! …this is funny, do you? heh’PSCHiew! -tshiuh!”

“Yes.” Still giggling.

“You’re ah - ah-ahh– aaTSCHiuh! …a strange man, Jonathan Sims.” Relaxing his bear hug grip, Martin raises his head and draws back to give himself room to wipe his nose on the back of his hand, expression still flickering between fondness and hazy, allergic anticipation.

Now there’s an understatement.

“Lucky for me you like me anyway,” Jon says, and Martin’s laugh once again dissolves into wildly hitching gasps, his sweet, round face tear-streaked and flushed, tilted back toward the midday sun, pudgy button nose bright red and quivering like that of an anxious rabbit.

“hhih… hh’h’h’h -?” To Jon’s ears, those stuttering breaths sound suspiciously shallow and indecisive, as though Martin’s nose it about to go on another unhelpful strike. Not on his watch. Pulling Martin closer again, Jon presses a kiss to the tip of his nose, quick but firm. It works like a charm. Or, indeed, like pushing a button -  

“Oh, that w- ah-! HAH’TSCHiuh! -ptSHHIWH! -dtSHIEW! -tdjSCHiu!”

This goes on for a good while. When the fit eventually slows and then stops entirely, they’ve both long since keeled over and are lying curled up on their picnic blanket, arms still around one another, Martin sniffling into a fresh handful of tissues, Jon spent and buzzing from what could only be described as a pleasurable sensory overload.

—-

“I realize this doesn’t even begin to cover it but… bless you. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“How… how are you feeling?”

“I’m good. Completely knackered, but good. I could definitely use a Claritin or two though. I don’t trust this thing -” and he rubs his nose gingerly with the crumpled ball of tissues, “- to behave itself for long otherwise.”

“Alright. Back to the cabin it is, then. I’ll make us some more tea, if you’ll entrust me with the task.”

Jon is first to his feet, holding a hand out to help Martin up.

“So,” Martin says, as they begin to walk back toward the safehouse, “how’s that for a romantic picnic?”

Instead of replying, Jon just smiles and squeezes Martin’s hand in his.

Edited July 26, 2020 by VoOs

[MusicaDiabolos]

Magnus archives yes yes yes! I have to admit Jon is a bit more of a fave for me but this is lovely xxxx

[Sophieviolet232]

Oh helllll yeah I’ve been binging TMA recently and was just looking to see if there are any fics for it. Love Jon having the fetish a lot it turns out 

[March Hare]

OH MARY OF MAGDALA ON A SCOOTER WTF THIS IS MDDRFKKN PERFECT

I'ma do a play-by-quote comment as soon as I can get coherent but for now DANG GURL THIS IS IT THIS IS THE ONE ❤️

 

 

 

[VoOs]

Thank you so much for your comments, guys! Really appreciate it. ❤️

next 👏 fic!

Interlude

Jonmartin sickficlet in transcript format. This takes place somewhere between the s5 trailer and episode 161. Just a bit of post-apocalyptic domestic fluff.

--------------------------------------------------

[INT. SCOTLAND, DAISY TONNER'S SAFEHOUSE]

 [TAPE CLICKS ON, WHIRS SOFTLY]

[THE BACKGROUND IS A CHURNING UNDERCURRENT OF HAUNTING, INDISTINCT SOUNDS, DISTANT HOWLS AND SHRIEKS, THE DISCORDANT TONES OF A GROANING, UNEARTHLY WIND OUTSIDE THE COTTAGE WALLS, MUFFLED BUT CONSTANT.]

[THE SOUND OF AN OLD SOFA CREAKING, A SOFT RUSTLE OF FABRIC AGAINST FABRIC AS SOMEONE PULLS A BLANKET TIGHTER AROUND THEIR BODY]

[WE HEAR THE ARCHIVIST BREATHING. HE SHIFTS, SWALLOWS, CLEARS HIS THROAT WITH A THICK, PAINFUL LITTLE CROAK. HE SNIFFLES DAMPLY, ONCE, THEN LETS THE BREATH OUT IN AN IMPATIENT SIGH]

ARCHIVIST: Really? Now? This? Surely there are more appetizing miseries out there for you to listen in on? No? [HE SNIFFLES AGAIN, WITH SOME EMPHASIS] Suit yourself. This is as exciting as it's going to get.

[FOOTSTEPS APPROACHING FROM ANOTHER ROOM, DOOR OPENING AS MARTIN ENTERS]

MARTIN: (tentatively cheerful) What is?

ARCHIVIST: It's really getting greedy now, if it thinks even my cold – [ANOTHER CURT SNIFF] - is worth keeping an eye on.”

MARTIN: (fondly) You're one to talk.

ARCHIVIST: (stammering, suddenly embarrassed) I-I'm not... It’s not like... Hrm. Alright. I guess that's fair.

[MARTIN WALKS FURTHER INTO THE ROOM, SITS DOWN BESIDE THE ARCHIVIST ON THE SOFA. HE PLACES SOMETHING ON THE COFFEE TABLE BEFORE THEM.]

MARTIN: I found some paper towels stored in the cleaning cupboard. I had to be quick about it because I think I saw, uh, something? Lurking behind the vacuum in there? Um. They might be a bit coarse, but if you need to...”

ARCHIVIST: Y-yes. Thank you.

MARTIN: No problem. (a breath) So. How are you doing? Feeling any better?”

[THE ARCHIVIST STIRS IN HIS BLANKET. HE HEAVES ANOTHER SIGH.]

ARCHIVIST: Not really? [HE LAUGHS WEAKLY] But I guess it's reassuring, in a way? Ironic, but reassuring. To know that I'm still... human enough to get sick. With something as mundane as a cold, nonetheless. [HIS VOICE IS GROWING MORE CONGESTED AS HE SPEAKS, THE WORD “MUNDANE” PRACTICALLY UNRECOGNIZABLE. HE SNIFFLES, ANNOYED.] I get stressed; my immune system is shot. Same as a-ah... as always... hh...! 

[TWO SHAKY GASPS, FOLLOWED BY A WRENCHING SNEEZE ENDING IN A GROAN]

MARTIN: Bless you.

ARCHIVIST: Ugh. Sorry. That’s... gross.

MARTIN: Paper towel?

[THE ARCHIVIST MAKES A GRUMBLING SORT OF NOISE, ACCEPTING THE WAD PROFFERED TO HIM. HE BLOWS HIS NOSE, WITH SOME DIFFICULTY BY THE SOUND OF IT.]

MARTIN: (concerned) You sound worse. [THEN HIS VOICE PERKS UP SOME. HE GIVES A SMALL, SHY CHUCKLE] Would’ve been better if it was me, huh?

ARCHIVIST: (instantly mortified) Oh God no! No, Martin, I... I-I’d never wish for that. I mean I... I don’t. I never actively wish that sort of thing on people. I just... I can’t help enjoying it a little when it happens to them naturally? [HIS VOICE DROPS AN OCTAVE INTO A SELF-DEPRECATING MUTTER] Which still strikes me as distinctly sadistic on my part, given how achy and utterly disgusting I feel at the moment...

MARTIN: (warmly) No you’re not. Neither sadistic nor disgusting. And I kind of wish it was me instead. [A SMILE EVIDENT IN HIS VOICE NOW] Then you’d have something else to focus on other than... all this. [TONE VAGUELY INDICATING THE WORLD AT LARGE]

ARCHIVIST: Martin, you know I wouldn’t...

MARTIN: Haha, oh, no, no, don’t worry! I wouldn’t mind at all. You know I was really happy when you told me? And relieved, I guess.

ARCHIVIST: I - I know it’s weird...

MARTIN: (laughing) Weird in comparison to what, exactly? Because I can literally think of at least twenty weirder things I’ve seen today, and it’s not even two o’clock.

ARCHIVIST: We don’t have clocks anymore.

MARTIN: (mock chiding) Oh, you know what I mean! My point is, I was glad - am glad - that you told me about it. Because it means I can still... make you feel good. 

ARCHIVIST: (quietly) You make me feel good just by being here. Being you. 

[MARTIN STUTTERS TO A HALT, FLUSTERED BY THIS SUDDEN, EARNEST DECLARATION. HE CLEARS HIS THROAT, SLIGHTLY MORE HIGH-PITCHED WHEN HE FINDS HIS VOICE AGAIN]

MARTIN: Th-thank you. Um. Then it’s just like a nice little bonus, I suppose? Being able to make you blush a little, without the whole pesky sex thing?

[THE ARCHIVIST HUFFS OUT A LAUGH THEN, TENSION MELTING AWAY EVEN AS IT MAKES HIM MUFFLE A SMALL COUGHING FIT INTO HIS BLANKET]

ARCHIVIST: (hoarsely) There’s that, at least. 

MARTIN: (clicking his tongue in sympathy) Your poor throat. I really wish I could make you some tea with honey or something... And no, before you say anything, I won’t be trying that again anytime soon! I have no wish to add any more tea-spawned creepy crawlies to this place. But it just feels... wrong. Not being able to...

ARCHIVIST: (affectionately) Dote?

MARTIN: It’s what I do! 

ARCHIVIST: Heh. Yes. 

[MARTIN SIGHS. HALF-TURNS TOWARD THE WINDOW, LISTENING TO THE EERIE SYMPHONY OF WRONGNESS SEEPING IN FROM OUTSIDE]

MARTIN: But I guess “it feels wrong” is just... the default state of things now.

ARCHIVIST: This doesn’t.

[HE SCOOTS IN CLOSER, BLANKET RUSTLING AGAIN. THE BRUSHING OF A HAND AGAINST A CHEEK, STROKING LIGHTLY.]

MARTIN: (softly) Yeah. There’s still this. Here, let me... [MORE RUSTLING AND SHIFTING OF LIMBS ON THE SOFA] There we are. Nice and snug. Hm. You’re shivering. Are you cold?

ARCHIVIST: A little. [SNIFFLE, EXHALE, SNIFFLE] You’re warm though. I think Iihh - heh? hhH -! [AND HE SNEEZES TWICE IN QUICK SUCCESSION, HARSH HALF-STIFLES INTO A HANDFUL OF FRESH PAPER TOWELS HASTILY HANDED TO HIM BY MARTIN]

ARCHIVIST: Ugh. -snrff- Christ. Apologies.

MARTIN: Bless you times two! 

ARCHIVIST: (muffled, sleepily) You know, had I been like this with literally anyone else, I’d have been so intensely uncomfortable right now. But it’s you. So I’m not. 

MARTIN: Well. Lucky for you, you’re sort of stuck with me for the time being.

ARCHIVIST: Yes. Very lucky. [HE YAWNS]

MARTIN: Try to sleep? If you’re feeling better tomo - uh, when you wake up, we can talk about what to do next. Find a way to get in touch with Basira maybe?

ARCHIVIST: Mm.

[THE SOUND OF THE TWO OF THEM BREATHING IN COMFORTABLE SILENCE. THE NOISES FROM OUTSIDE SEEM MORE DISTANT.]

[TAPE CLICKS OFF]

Edited July 27, 2020 by VoOs

[VoOs]

More kink!Jon + allergic!Martin, this time set sometime during season 3-ish:

 

Management Duties

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“…there isn’t too much follow-up to be done on this one. Miss Harris was arrested and charged with trespassing and damage to property on the 12th of august 2013, after she was found in the Dreamland Margate mirror maze after closing hours, having smashed or partially cracked a total of twenty-two mirrors with a hammer. After her arrest she was brought to Margate hospital with severe cuts on her hands and forearms. When the police found her, she was apparently trying to hack her way through the concrete wall behind one of the mirrors she’d destroyed, wielding a shard of said mirror as a carving tool. I asked Tim to look into f…”

Light footsteps hurrying past outside his office door. Jon falls silent mid-sentence, for a moment frozen solid, helplessly distracted by what he just… distinctly didn’t hear. He blinks, mouth slackly open. The footsteps fade away down the corridor. Time resumes its forward crawl.

Oh for god’s sake.

He snaps back to himself and finishes up the final notes on the Harris case with as much calm professionalism as he can muster in that moment. Which granted isn’t all that much. The second the tape clicks off he leans back in his chair with a long, exasperated exhale, raking his fingers through his hair.

Get it together, Jonathan. This is getting ridiculous.

What’s most annoying about the whole business, he suspects it wouldn’t be near as much of a problem if he didn’t Know. If the Eye hadn’t planted that particular Knowledge right there in his mind, crystal sharp and lit up like a flashing neon sign. Making it altogether impossible to ignore.

There’s a chance he wouldn’t even have noticed. Well. Probably. Martin is so painfully discreet about it. So anxiously, compulsively polite, determined not to disturb, to not be a nuisance nor a burden. Of course, now, all his hiding and tip-toeing is having the complete opposite effect of what his intentions are. But what else is new, really? 

Jon gets up from his desk and goes to stand in the doorway, peering up and out through one of the squat basement windows at the top of the opposite wall. A patch of brilliant blue sky, hazy golden sunlight trickling in from the outside. His mouth twists into a frustrated grimace at the sight. It’s a beautiful day in the middle of April, the height of a particularly vicious allergy season, and Martin is pretending that everything is fine.

Jon can faintly hear him in the staff restroom to his right. Just water splashing into a sink. Nothing more. 

Martin’s sneezes are completely silent. No sound, just a pronounced shudder of his shoulders and a quick dip of his head into his waiting hand, thumb and forefinger pinching his nostrils shut. Usually this is followed by a quiet, careful exhale, sometimes a soft sniffle so pathetically void of force it can’t possibly be doing anything to fulfill its purpose.

In fact, Jon knows it isn’t. 

He also knows that Martin’s misguided insistence on stifling his allergic reactions into nothingness only serves to make his condition far worse than it has to be. With every pinched-off, suppressed sneeze, all of the pollen he keeps breathing in is denied its intended escape route, again and again. So it just stays put. Accumulates. Until his entire nose is a bristling mass of unrelieved irritation, a constant, prickling, eye-watering distraction that causes him to squint, to scrunch and squirm his nose around in discomfort, and to rub, rub, rub at his plump, pink nostrils in frantic little bursts whenever he thinks nobody is looking.

Jon definitely hasn’t been looking. Unfortunately, he Sees it anyway. Martin is making himself miserable out of sheer, chronic politeness, and Jon is going to have to tell him to stop.

Damn it all. 

Just then, the bathroom door opens and Martin slips out, jumping and letting out a small yelp of surprise as he turns around and notices Jon standing there.

“Oh! Christ, Jon.” He clutches at the fabric of his hoodie over his chest. “You gave me a fright! Do you really have to… lurk in doorways like that?”

“I’m not lurking!” Indignant. “I’m practically standing in a puddle of sunshine here.” Something about Martin’s reaction stings in some faraway place that he’s not quite willing to examine just yet. 

“Alright. Sorry. I just… I wasn’t expecting to see you there, is all.”

Ah.

“N-no, Martin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to… er, lurk. I just came out here looking for you.”

“Oh. Well. Looks like you found me!” Martin’s wide-eyed, startled expression softens into a smile and he walks over. “Do you need anything?” Eager as ever to be helpful. Up closer like this, Jon can clearly see the tinge of redness to his assistant’s eyes and nose, the slight drooping of his eyelids and glint of wetness on his eyelashes. He looks… exhausted. Jon swallows.

“I was just wondering… are you - um. Are you feeling alright?” 

Martin blinks, smile still there but tensing slightly, turning just a bit lopsided. 

“Oh, yeah, just, y’know…” That nervous little laughter, gaze flickering away for a second. “J-just a little tired. Why?” 

Even as he says it, his nostrils give a small, spasmodic twitch. He raises his hand as if to touch his nose but catches himself in the last moment, pretends his intention was to adjust his glasses instead. His eyes behind the circular lenses are suddenly bright with a sheen of tears, blinking too rapidly even as he bravely continues to smile. 

“I just thought…“ Jon begins.

Another twitch, the smallest wrinkling of his nose. The softly rounded tip has an almost polished shine to it. It looks… acutely ticklish. Martin lets out a breath and it’s not entirely steady. 

“Ye’hh-yes?”

“…well. Um. Do you…?” Oh come on! You have to save him from himself, it’s your duty as his boss, dammit!

“Martin, do you need to take the rest of the day off? I notice you’re not feeling well.” 

“What? N-no, it’s alright, I feel fine! Besides, there are only three hours left and I told Melanie I was going to give her a hand with the follow-up to that lighthouse case. I just need…” His eyes widen in stark panic suddenly, then immediately narrow into watery crescents. “I… j-just neehh… need… hah’hh -! And he tucks his face down and in toward his chest, shoulders flinching, reddish blond curls falling in his eyes as his whole body shakes, once, twice, four times in rapid succession. Still barely a sound escapes him, save for those bitten-off “h’dh-!” consonants abruptly stopping at the back of his throat.  

“Oh. Excuse me. -snf- “ At least he has the decency to sound sheepish. 

“Bless you”, Jon says, and Martin looks back at him, teary-eyed, confused at the strange, strained tone in his boss’ voice.

“Thank you. -snff- I…“

“No, Martin. You’re clearly not ‘fine‘. You should be at home, in the shower or in bed doped out on Benadryl. You shouldn’t have come in at all today. I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s actually more pollen than air out there. And then there’s all the dust in here, on top of everything else. Hell, I’m getting itchy just looking at you… ” Is he babbling? He’s definitely babbling. 

“W-well, you’re certaidly dot helpi’g by talki’g about iih-it… hihh-”, Martin observes, his laugh and helplessly snagging breath sounding one and the same. He presses a knuckle to the underside of his nose, sniffling fitfully, somehow, absurdly, still managing a disarming (if ticklish) smile. 

Jon just stares at him, dumbfounded for a moment. He can feel the blush creeping up his neck like a warm, inevitable tide. He watches Martin’s eyes flutter shut, spilling one, fat tear down his cheek, and Jon feels a sudden, insane urge to reach out and gently wipe it away. 

Instead he manages to find his voice again:

“Be that as it may, my point still stands. Go home and get some rest. I’m sure Melanie will manage just fine without…” 

Martin gives a final, high gasp and plunges forward with another series of rapid stifles, little inward explosions with no outlet, and before Jon even realizes what he’s doing he has taken a step forward and grabbed Martin by the wrist, pulling the assistant’s hand down and away. 

“And will you please stop holding them in like that! You’re going to rupture something.” 

“hh’ptschIH?!” There’s an almost surprised pitch to that first proper sneeze, and then, desperation mixed with relief as more sneezes tumble out unhindered. “hahTSHiu! Oh. Ohh. hh‘TSCHHiu! hptSHHuh! -tshiu! -h’dschiu! ‘tsch! ‘tsh! ‘tsh! …hh! hh! hahPTSCHIH!-uhh”

As if in a daze, Jon looks down and realizes he’s still holding Martin’s hand in his, forcing the other man to twist away awkwardly to the side as he continues to sneeze, his body finally allowed to expel what appears to be a whole day’s worth of inhaled allergens and clearly making the most of it while it has the chance. The sneezes are almost starting to sound… indulgent. 

“heh’tshih! ‘tsshih! hh’TISHiuh! O-oh, that… hh! … th-that really tickles…! -snff- hh’hh! he’PPTSCHIH!”

Finally shaking himself out of his stupor, Jon lets go of Martin’s hand (curiously he has to gently pry the other man’s fingers open to do so) and starts to search in his pockets for tissues. All he comes up with is a couple of flimsy leftover paper napkins from the cafeteria, but it’s better than nothing and Martin is obviously in dire need.  

“Here you go” He pushes the napkins into Martin’s hand, distantly surprised at his own calm, steady voice. 

“Tha’k you”, Martin croaks, stumbling back and leaning against the nearest filing shelf for support as he wipes at his eyes and nose, fit seeming to be winding down at last. “Ohhh wow. That was… -snff!- …that was quite…”

“Intense?” 

“A bit, yeah. Whew.” He tilts his head back with his eyes closed, nostrils flaring with liquid little sniffles. “But I guess I had it coming, huh?”

“Martin”, deadpan, “as your boss, I hereby forbid you to stifle your sneezes due to the risk of you becoming an explosion hazard.”

That, of course, makes Martin laugh, a breathless, stuffy, hitching chuckle, and Jon really, really doesn’t know what to do about this man. He only knows that his heart is beating somewhere in the area of his Adam’s apple, his chest feels very warm, and that he now has done his duty as a boss. Oh, and that Martin is going to sneeze again.

Oh for heaven’s sake. 

“I’ll try”, Martin says, dabbing at his eyes again with a dry corner of a napkin. “I guess I’ve just gotten so used to doing it? It just seems a bit more… sanitary?“ He sniffles again, wrinkles his nose to one side, then the other, then scrubs a knuckle against it with some urgency. The angry pink of his nostrils is almost a glow, still broadcasting their allergic distress for all to see. Or See, even when they need to concentrate on other things. Ugh. “I’ll be certain t-to… oh… hah! hn’nxh! —TSCHUH!! Oh. Ow.” 

Jon decides that a raised eyebrow is the only appropriate response to give here.

“Sorry! Sorry! Force of habit. Didn’t work though, I think you’ve broken me.” 

“That makes two of us”, Jon mumbles.

“What?”

“Never mind. Bless you. Now please go home and take care of yourself? You can come back when the plants aren’t being quite as… zealous.”

“Alright. Will do. You’ll tell Melanie?”

“Sure thing.”

“O-okay then. See you Monday?”

“Yes.”

Jon watches Martin as he’s leaving, hurrying toward the stairs with that curiously light, timid step of his. There’s that fluttering warmth again. And then, the sudden Knowledge: 

“Bless you!” Jon calls after him, before he can stop himself.

“Wha - ? hhah…hah’pTSCHiu! ugh. Ok. That’s it. I’m done. Martin out.”

Jon shakes his head with a sigh, turning back to his office.

Now maybe he can finally get some work done around here.

Edited July 26, 2020 by VoOs

[Pyrus_Fangmon]

♥️♥️♥️

Martin is by far my favorite! Lovely installments!

[Tassielli]

❤️❤️❤️❤️ I’ve been so into these two lately 

[MusicaDiabolos]

Ohhhhh these are so cute, you're so good at this! Can you write more Jon, pretty please? 

[RavenWatson]

These are adorable