Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jon knew he’d been working too long if only by the way that he could feel Martin’s eyes on him through his open office door. It wasn’t his fault that there was so much to do and falling into hyperfocus was so easy sometimes. He managed to find a halfway decent stopping point and started to pack everything up for the night.

“Do we finally get to go home now,” Martin ribbed affectionately.

Jon huffed, “It can’t be that late.” He pulled on his coat and checked he had everything he needed.

“Jon, it’s almost 12. I know you’ve worked later, but there’s nothing much that warrant’s it right now.”

“I know,” He sighed, “It’s just hard to put the work down sometimes. There’s so much to be done and so little time and it just makes me anxious to stop working and leave with nothing to do. It feels like I'm neglecting something important whenever I’m not working. I know logically that that’s no longer the case, but old habits are hard to kick.” Jon smiles wanly thinking of his repeatedly “kicked” smoking habit.

“That’s why I’m here. To keep you on something approaching a normal work-life balance. Work isn’t your life anymore.” Martin glanced over at Jon appraisingly, “I might know something that could help. It’s helped me in the past with anxiety and an overactive mind.”

Jon wasn’t sure what could help the unceasing chaos that was his brain, eye or no, without the kind of substances he didn’t think Martin would approve of as a coping mechanism.

Seeing the doubt on his face, Martin simply slipped his hand into Jon’s and they began their trek out of the office. “I’ll tell you more when we get home.”

“Bdsm is your solution to workaholism?” Jon’s voice was flat in disbelief.

“I mean it’s actually less uncommon than most people think,” Martin’s face was flushed, despite his lowered tendency for embarrassment as their relationship had developed on top of the kind of character development fighting an apocalypse brings. “Most kink isn’t necessarily sexual even, either. I think we’d need some better-rested negotiation for anything more than the simple scene I’m thinking of for tonight.”

“I don't know what you’re talking about. I’m perfectly rested,” Jon yawned. Martin giggled.

“Ok, so, I was thinking just a little bit of bondage and sensory deprivation on top of that. Probably some pressure from laying on you if you’re interested. You’ve seemed calmed by that before while cuddling”

This all seemed reasonable to Jon. He was willing to try new things to help him cope with everything that had happened.

“So do you have ropes or something?” he asked, fully expecting the answer to be no. Martin had said he’d engaged in BDSM some before, but he didn’t seem to be that deep into the culture.

“Yes actually. I’ve got a couple of different colors, diameters, and textures. You can help pick one out.”

Jon wasn’t sure how to feel about this. He was surprised it hadn’t come up sooner after he moved into Martin’s flat. This seemed like the kind of thing you’d mention. He wasn’t going to begrudge Martin anything. They might be dating, but there was no obligation to share everything with a partner, and he was telling Jon about it now.

Jon actually didn’t know that much about BDSM. He’d heard the basics from cultural things like 50 shades and the like, and there was a certain amount that one was exposed to sometimes in queer spaces, given the historical connections of the communities, but he was generally put off from learning more by the overt sexualness of it.

While he ruminated on this previously unknown aspect to his boyfriend, the boyfriend himself had gone to the closet and removed a surprisingly large box.

He lugged it over and onto the bed. When he opened it, it revealed a veritable horde of various sex toys and kink implements, from ball gags to a surprising range of dildos. They were organized quite well despite their cheap container.

“Okay, I know I’ve got more rope than this,” Martin muttered as he carefully dug through the bin, setting coils of rope on the bed beside the box as he went.

Jon was feeling completely out of his depth.

“There,” Martin turned to Jon, “That’s all the rope I have. You can choose one that’s sensually pleasing. I won’t be tying your wrists too tight, and the person who taught me taught me well, so you’ll be in no danger unless you thrash around extremely violently. I’ve got safety scissors as well if you have to safeword out. Do you know what that means?” Jon nodded absently, still amazed by the sheer breadth of his boyfriend’s collection and experience. “Okay, that’s good. We can go over some more specifics later.”

Jon reached out to feel the various ropes sat on their bed and was surprised by how soft some of them were, while others were surprisingly rough; how could anyone stand to have that against their skin. Jon knew he wasn’t the most sensory resilient, but this was something else.

“Do you like that one?” Martin asked. Jon had found himself simply stroking the length of one of the softest ropes. It was a muted purple, and wider than some of the others. “That’ll work perfectly, especially for what I’m hoping to do tonight.”

They ended up arranged sitting cross-legged face to face on their bed, the chosen rope, blindfold, and assorted other accessories scattered around them.

“So, this is the negotiation stage. We discuss what is planned for the scene, what is allowed, what isn’t allowed, and make sure that both of us are clear about safewords and boundaries.”

Jon nodded.

“I think for tonight we’re best off with the traffic light method. That means green is good, yellow is pause: something is either starting to go wrong or feels slightly bad, and red is stop everything and end the scene. Does that make sense?”

Jon nodded again.

“Can I get verbal confirmation? I know this is probably a lot to take in, especially as stressed as you’ve been. Don’t worry there's not much more.”

“I- uh, yeah, I understand. Green good, yellow maybe, red stop.” It was a clever system, Jon mused, the way that yellow allowed for a change without much interruption, and needs could be conveyed quickly and concisely.

“That’s good. What I plan to do tonight is to tie you to the bed by your arms spread, blindfold you, lay on you, and just talk to you some. It’s mostly intended to put you in a headspace where you don't have to think about anything but the moment and my words.”

That sounded amazing if it worked. Jon was a sucker for pressure stims and had a weighted blanket for a reason. Even if he weren’t a fan of the tying up and blindfolding, he’d probably benefit from the pressure of Martin laying on him alone.

“There’s one thing that is up to you, but I think it would be a beneficial addition to the scene.” Martin held up a thick, black leather collar. It was padded on the inside by softer leather and was obviously of a relatively high quality. “I understand if this is more than you’re comfortable with, especially for your first scene and”

“I’ll wear it,” Jon cut in.

“It's something with connota- oh you’ll wear it? Cool, great uh- yeah.” Martin seemed almost pleased that Jon was willing to wear a collar. Maybe it meant more to him than just another thing to help Jon.

Jon trusted that it didn’t have much of an ulterior motive. He also wasn’t complaining about the optics of it. Wearing a visible representation of Martin’s care for him was comforting and made his chest feel tight.

Martin’s face when he explained that was more than worth any inconvenience this could possibly cause. He just looked so adoring and soft and Jon just about had to look away before he had a heart attack from the way his heart was beating its way out of his chest.

Jon was surprised by how it felt for Martin to gently take his wrists and guide them into position and semi-intricately wrap rope around them. There wasn’t much pressure on his wrists themselves at all, and Martin made sure to check that there was room between his skin and the ropes.

When the blindfold was put on, Jon had no idea why he wasn’t freaking out. His eyes were effectively neutered, so maybe it was just a damper on his connection to the beholding, but it was also just the feeling of trust. He knew that he could trust Martin to end this at any time. He knew that he could trust Martin to take care of him like this, unable to move and unable to see. He knew that he was safe.

The collar was a different kind of sensation. It was a feeling of pressure around his neck that was so solidly there that it shorted out his brain momentarily. The perfunctory pass of a finger between his neck and the leather left a cozy haze over his thoughts.

There was no need to think about anything. He was somehow able to just float, lying limply on the bed under Martin’s protective and caring gaze.

“oh,” He hears Martin breathe, “Jon you just look. Stunning.”

Jon was no stranger to Martin's propensity for praise, especially when his self-esteem was feeling even lower than usual, but with the way he was simply spread out for Martin to admire, completely at his mercy, it just about made Jon’s eyes start to water.

He felt shifting on the bed, and Martin came to wrap around him, laying half on top of Jon.

“It’s all okay,” He whispered right into Jon’s ear, making him shudder, “I’ve got you.”

Jon went completely slack.

When Martin decided enough time had passed, and they needed to end the scene so they could get some sleep, he gently led Jon out of the surprisingly deep for a first time headspace. It made some sense. Jon was, understandably, extraordinarily on the edge a lot of the time, and the rest of it, he was half caught in his head anyway with thoughts and anxieties of the other part.

After bringing Jon mostly to the surface, Martin untied the ropes and massaged where the patterns had left beautiful marks along his dark skin. He knew they would need to have a debrief, but that could wait till the morning. Jon was already half asleep, and at this point, Martin wouldn’t begrudge him any.

Similarly, he simply left the rope and other tools on the floor to clean up the next day. His priority at this point was just to climb into bed, wrap himself around his boyfriend, and follow him into sleep.