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Chapter Text

When Gerry catches sight of one Jonathan Sims for the first time in almost a decade, his hair is dyed black and grown out almost half, dark blonde roots standing out starkly against the long length of it.

There is also paint staining his hands and he’s standing in the Young Adult section of the library, but it’s the hair situation that almost holds him back from going over to talk to Jon.

Never one to be locked in image anxiety, he slaps on his best Devil-may-care smile and wanders over to flirt.

"Why, Jon Sims, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" Jon looked so startled for a moment, that Gerry starts to worry that he won’t recognize him. Bit of a blow to his regard of early romantic exploits. Then Jon's eyes light with familiar warmth. "Gerard Keay! How are you? It's been years."

Gerry's stomach sinks and he feels a ghost stir in the back of his mind. "It's Gerry Delano now, actually!" He cocks his smile just right to brush it away, and Jon rounds the table between them to bring Gerry into a hug full of odd teen familiarity.

They sit at a library table and talk for almost an hour. Gerry blushes and stutters when Jon asks him if his name change was due to an ill-advised marriage and Gerry teases Jon about still looking like a student at 29, sitting in the library surrounded by stacks of books and two laptops.

"I work here," Jon reassures him, chuckling. "What's your excuse for wandering around the teenage girl zone?"

"Well excuse me, your eminence, I didn't realize that there was an age restriction on a chosen one defeating unreasonable odds while looking spectacular and undertaking a slow burn romance!" 

Jon looks stunned for a moment before he shakes his head and grins, "I wouldn't even be surprised to hear you enjoy teen fantasy romance. You always could find fun in the weirdest places."

"Well, I pulled a lot of fun out of you, as I recall." Gerry offers back. "In fact, I'd like to repeat the experience. Let's grab a drink sometime."

Which is how, when Gerry strolls out of the library 15 minutes later, he has a grin on his face, a new number on his phone, and a plan in his head... But none of the books he had gone in for.

Chapter Text

Gerry doesn't even regret showing up to a first date with dye-stained hands. After all, stained by hair dye, stained by paint. Much of a muchness.

He sincerely hopes between his height and new shock of bright green hair, Jon will be able to spot him through the modest Wednesday crowd. 

(Jon had pleaded that they were too old to brave the London weekend crowd that starts on Thursdays, Gerry had simply grinned and said he knew a great place to go).

And he certainly can. By the time Gerry spots Jon sitting in a corner booth, Jon is already watching him intently. Jon doesn’t yet have a drink, so Gerry throws him a grin and tilts his head towards the bar. 

"I pegged you for more of a whiskey, neat man," Jon tells Gerry when he arrives at the table, frowning dubiously at his selection of a strawberry daiquiri, two shots of vodka, and a jug of margaritas. 

Gerry takes the opportunity afforded by his distraction and picks up Jon's hand to press a kiss to the center of his palm. "I'm a man of diverse tastes Mr. Sims. You should never try to predict what I might be tempted to put into my mouth."

Between the kiss and the ribbing, Jon is broken out of his consternation, and he stands to greet Gerry with a familiar hug. "Maybe so, Mr. Delano, but just how drunk are you planning to get on a work night?" 

"That is still to be determined, but considering my workday normally starts at about 3 A.M., this is just breakfast." 

By the time all the drinks are gone, Jon having happily participated in all of them, despite his initial grousing ("But why did they have to be pink, Gerard?"), they're both warm, and open, and things are easy with them in a way even Gerry couldn't have predicted. 

After all, two closeted teen boys from strict homes don't really make for the smoothest of teen relationships. Nevermind the pair of them trying to navigate barely understood sexualities. Asexual was the word Gerry had offered Jon, laying together in Jon's cramped teen bed. Biromantic was one he had arrived at all on his own in the years since. Gerry simply uses the word queer now, and people rarely bother him about it. 

"Quite a lot of people recognize you here." Jon finally notices as the fourth person in an hour greets Gerry in the easy way of affectionate drunks. 

"Never fear, old chap," Gerry intones, briefly stealing Jon's Oxbridge accent, "I'm not a raging alcoholic artist, only a bartender."

"You work here?" 

"Yup," Gerry confirms, cheerfully popping the 'p'. "Thursday through Sunday graveyard shifts."

"And you felt an all-encompassing desire to attend on your day off?" Jon asks, one eyebrow quirked. 

Gerry shrugs, smiling and leaning over the table meaningfully, "Starving artist, employee discount, close to both our flats. Seems perfectly logical to me. Besides, a man should be able to rely on the quality of first date alcohol." 

"It's hardly a first date, Gerry! We've seen one another naked." Jon sounds rather scandalised, as if he suspects Gerry has forgotten. Which he certainly has not. 

"I rather think the quality of our nudity has improved enough over the years that it merits rediscovery." Gerry shoots back, and Jon blushes hard enough to melt the remains of their ice. 

"Well, regardless. How's the food? You should probably eat something solid if this is actually your breakfast." Gerry has to chuckle that it's taken so much alcohol for Jon's natural mothering instincts to finally emerge. Regardless, he flags down a waitress and she gets Jon a menu. 

Hiding partially behind it, Jon frowns. "I do think I should mention that I've been seeing someone for a few weeks now. We're not exclusive at this point, though." 

Gerry, somewhat delighted by this new development, having imagined that Jon was something of a spinster, chuckles and asks, "Oh yeah, do tell?" 

He's donned his most winning smile and gently nudges the menu so he can see Jon's face better. 

"You want to hear about the other man I'm dating on our first date in almost a decade?" 

"Obviously," Gerry scoffs, adopting a long-suffering attitude. "I might decide I prefer him." 

"Of course you might." There's a bit of lovely bite in his voice, and Gerry begins to truly enjoy himself. 

"He used to work with Sasha and me at the library." Gerry hums in acknowledgment. "He was one of the assistants when I was promoted to Head Librarian. We didn't get along very well in the beginning." 

Jon's stormy expression tips Gerry off to the fact that this is a gross oversimplification. 

"With you, that could mean anything from a small tiff over the proper use of the Dewy Decimal system to attempted murder." 

"Hrmph. If you must know, it means that I treated him very poorly for several months because of my own glaring insecurities." Jon's words are guilty, and he stares intently at an empty glass while he speaks, as if Gerry is less likely to judge him if eye contact is avoided. "Eventually I realized what a twat I had been and apologized, but it wasn't too much later that he quit." 

"Because of you?" Gerry huffs, although he does know Jon can have a razor-sharp tongue, and it doesn't take all that much to inspire it. 

"Oh! No, he says not. He had put together a great business plan and even managed to get a partial investment, on top of a loan. He's opened a bookstore with a little tearoom inside of it. Even took one of the other assistants with him." Past the painful part of his small tale, Jon's expression has lightened and he seemed quite delighted by the end. "When I went in to offer some support, Martin was actually happy to see me. He asked me out for dinner practically before I could finish taking my coat off." 

Gerry was hardly ever possessive, and generously tactile with almost everyone, and seeing the open affection in Jon's typically closed-off expression warms his gothic little heart. He decides he can appreciate anyone who takes the time and (sometimes monumental) effort it requires to make Jonathan Sims happy, instantly opening a special place in his heart for one Martin Blackwood. 

They end the evening with gloriously good fried food and laughing themselves giddy over tales from their teen years. Including the time Jon's Gran caught them smoking weed on the roof (Gerry shirtless, obviously) and had almost taken one of Jon's eyes out with the book she threw at his head.

By the time Jon realizes that he hasn't been allowed to pay for a single thing, he's been bundled into a cab and is on the way home. He knows he should feel indignant at being so smartly handled, but all he can muster is the warm, satisfied sleepiness of someone shown a very good time, and halfway to being back in love already.

Chapter Text

In the following weeks, as he sees Jon a few more times, Gerry's hair fades out and he looks rather more 'forest nymph' than 'American Gothic'. 

So it's not much of a shock when the next time Jon catches sight of Gerry striding through the library stacks, his hair has been re-coloured. This time it's a smooth buttery yellow and Jon is struck by how young the warm, bright colour makes him look.

Gerry doesn't feel young though, he feels tired and bored and wrung out, and he wishes he had never agreed to take art commissions.

"It's only the one time!" Gertrude had insisted to a very put upon Gerry, very early in the morning. "And if he puts in a good word for you in his circles, your name will really be on the map in the art world."

Gerry wasn't particularly interested in being put on any maps, or being picked apart by rich, stuck up strangers, but he had agreed to try, mostly because Gertrude had put a lot of effort into making his passion for art an actual career and he felt like he owed her. 

(He forgets, frequently, just how much of a commission she takes on the sales of his paintings). 

So there he was, striding around the library at 7 am and desperately looking for exactly the right reference book. Unfortunately, it has been out of print for years, and Gerry can't seem to find a copy anywhere that won't cost him half a liver. He has the money now, but he refuses to pay half a month's rent to a second-hand retailer on principle. 

Jon watches him skulk around for so long, (apparently forgetting that he is, in fact, a librarian) that Sasha comes out from her desk to ask Gerry if he's looking for something specific. She's wearing her big round glasses today and even indulged herself in her favorite waistcoat to beat the Monday blues. 

"Why, yes." At this, Gerry looks directly up at Jon, where he is standing and watching him from the upper balcony level. Jon's face burns, and he ducks out of sight, but not earshot. "I do actually come here to borrow books, not boys." And he smartly feeds her the name of the reference book he has been hunting for almost an hour. 

Sasha giggles at his antics, "We do have a copy of that, actually, but it's very popular. There's a waitlist; also it's checked out right now." 

Gerry's whole demeanor sags and he sighs in defeat. "Guess I really will just have to order it off the internet, then." He eyes the stacks of books, old and new, looking vaguely betrayed.

"No!" Sasha's exclamation takes everyone a bit aback, being that they are in a library and all. "You know, my mate has this sweet little bookstore, and he loves hunting down rare copies of older books, he might have a copy?" She wrings her hands, eyebrows raised in question.

Gerry beams down at her, causing even stoic Sasha to blush and scurry off to get a piece of paper for the address. 

They're already most of the way to the front desk by the time Jon realizes just which bookstore Sasha is busy recommending to the man he is dating , and just who owns that particular establishment. 

By the time he manages to get downstairs to try to deflect the situation, Gerry is out the door, nothing left but the faint scent of oil paints and leather from his jacket. 

Tim Stoker leaves Gerry feeling faintly dazed. By the time he stumbles out of the bookstore and into the tea room, elusive book in hand, he's forgotten everything he has ever known in the face of such intense flirting. And Gerry thought he was bad. 

Throughout the whole episode at the library, the walk through Chelsea, and the exchange with Tim, Gerry had never once taken a moment to consider that Sasha's friend with a bookstore and Jon's Martin with a bookstore might be the same person. 

He chooses to blame the lack of sleep and general disarray that is his life for the oversight. 

Which is how, 9:30 in the morning, having been awake for almost 24 hours and completely finished, Gerry walks up to Martin in his tea room and says, "I'll have whatever is pink and in that jug, please. The biggest you've got."

Martin, of course, recognized him immediately. He would have recognized Jon's gothic childhood boyfriend from his social media stalking alone, but Jon's frantic texting was also a pretty big giveaway. 

Martin: Relax, I don't bite clients this early in the morning. He's in safe hands with me. 

Jon: HE KNOWS THINGS ABOUT ME. Besides, who's gonna stop him from biting you? 

Martin: Whatever he has to tell me can’t possibly be worse than the office gossip I heard about you before we even meet. 

Jon: W H A T 

Now, here Gerry is before him, and he’s quite pleased with what he sees. Even tired and vaguely dazed, his presence in the little room carries a certain energy that Martin enjoys. 

"Right away. Take a seat and I'll call you with it." Martin's voice is sweet, but gentle and firm, in a comforting sort of way. Through Gerry's sleepy haze, the instruction makes perfect sense, although he has neither paid nor offered a call name. 

Gerry considers taking a seat on the plush bench that occupies one wall, before deciding that he desperately needs a cigarette, and wandering outside. 

Technically he is only supposed to smoke at night when he's painting and needs just the right kind of boost, but he decides to call this one since he's on a painting-based errand when he's supposed to be sleeping. 

"Gerry?" He turns toward the sound of his name, to find the barista offering him a large to-go cup of what he assumes is fruit ice tea. He frowns at having his name known (his new, much-preferred name, no less) and then frowns at a blonde, bespectacled man in a tea room attached to a bookstore. 

His brain finally takes a moment to function, and he puts all the pieces together in an avalanche. 

"Martin?" Far from his usual self-confident tone, the single word comes out in a squeak that would make even a toddler wince. 

"Yes?" Martin returns the single word in the same solidly reassuring way, and even offers a happy smile. 

"I didn't... I didn't recognize you."

"Would be pretty hard for you, considering this is the first we've ever met." Martin's voice is calming in a way that eases Gerry a bit, teasing and all. 

"Thank you. For the tea, I mean." Gerry closes his eyes and desperately begs his shit to pull together for him, just this one time. "It's nice to finally meet you." 

His hands are fully occupied with a book, a cup of tea, and a cigarette, but Martin doesn't seem particularly bothered by the lack of a hand to shake. "It's nice to meet you too. We're giving Jon a heart attack by doing it without him."

"That is the lawful good," Gerry says, after a long drag of his smoke. "A panicked Jon is a happy Jon, after all. Whatever would he do with himself without a situation to unnecessarily complicate?"

"Yes, the man does seem to thrive on anxiety, doesn't he?" Martin asks warmly, eyes crinkling around a fond smile. "Speaking of, you seem pretty wrecked yourself. Good party, I hope."

Gerry's answering laugh has a razor edge, "Not hardly. This fucking painting I'm working on will be the death of me." Gerry lifts the reference book as proof of trauma and stabs out his cigarette viciously. 

"Hmm, sounds like a pain. I hope you typically find art a more enjoyable career?" Martin asks, tilting his head inquisitively. His curly hair moves fetchingly and Gerry catches himself tracking the movement. 

"Mostly, yes. Although I keep the bartending gig for variety. You'd be amazed at the sort of inspiration someone can find in the right drunk crowd." Gerry grins, thinking of all the ridiculous things he’d seen walk in and out of the bar in his run there. 

"I'd be very interested to see what kind of art you can turn that into. Maybe you'd like to show me sometime?" Martin's words are open and friendly. 

Gerry eyes him for a minute, hiding behind a long taste of his drink. He's trying to suss out Martin's motivations, for his kindness and general geniality. The drink is good and it tips Gerry's mood far enough back into cheerfulness that he shrugs off his considerations for the time being. 

"You know what," Gerry quips back. "I think I would like to show you sometime. How 'bout tonight." 

It's not a question really, with Gerry's typical force of personality behind it, and he leaves the shop with Martin holding an address in his hand and a time to drag Jon over for dinner that evening. 

Gerry does not make a big deal of Martin coming over. He acts as if any other friend is coming over for dinner. 

He tidies, a little. Lights a few candles. Wears pants. The bare minimum really. 

He isn't trying to impress anyone, he tells himself sternly. 

Except he is, obviously. He doesn't know Martin very well yet, but he does want to keep Jon around, and they are a packaged deal these days. Which he was happy with, truly. 

In their limited interaction, Martin had been sweet and put Gerry instantly at ease. He knows, from many years of working a bar, how to spot a dipshit, and feels confident in his assessment of Martin's character. 

But, it's his own character that concerns him. People don't always like Gerry past surface interactions. He can be tempestuous and moody, and catching him tired is a pretty bad idea. The combination of artist and mommy issues can be jarring. 

He desperately wants those things to not bother Martin though. He wants Martin to like him, and he's not interested in putting on a show to make it happen. 

It occurs to Gerry an hour before they're due that he doesn't even remotely know what takeout to order for dinner. 

(He knows what Jon will eat, and he obviously knows what he likes, but what about Martin? Why didn't he ask this morning? Why didn't he ask Jon earlier?) 

Gerry is just starting to really panic about all the life choices leading up to this moment, when he gets a text from an unknown number, instantly filling him with relief. 

Martin: Since you're hosting this time, I'll grab the take-out. Jon says you like Thai, I'll bring that. You got the drinks covered? 

Gerry: As long as you drink either coffee, vodka, or water, yes.

Martin: I'm sorry, I subsist only on the blood of virgins. 

Gerry: Oh dear. I couldn't tempt you to settle for Earl Grey? 

Martin: Hmmm, yes, I'll accept your offerings this time. 

The first knock comes right on time. Gerry, dressed in his best paint-stained jeans and cherry blossom kimono, opens the door with a flourish. 

Martin allows himself to be welcomed in and hands the food off to the dramatic artist, who deposits it on the table where he has already set the tea tray. 

"No Jon? Not that I mind quality ‘us’ time, of course." 

Martin is busy taking in the rambling studio space and barely spares the attention to respond, although he manages a blush at the flirty tone. "He's, uh, running late. Work stuff. You know Jon."

Gerry smirks at that. "I do indeed. Is it a 'stumble in at 3am' late, or 'we could probably wait to eat' late?" 

"Hmmm? Oh, let's wait a bit? If you don't mind." Martin seems equally taken with his painting wall and his book wall and keeps trading his attention between the two. The paintings, being the larger attraction, eventually win, and he meanders over to study them closer. 

"Do you keep all the completed paintings around?" His voice is soft and reverent, and Gerry feels a rush of pride for his work. 

"For a while. I like to make sure they're in their final forms before I release them into the wild." Martin blinks big brown eyes at him, before grinning and giggling slightly.

"You're very talented. Jon said as much, showed me the pictures, but words and photos are nothing compared to seeing the real thing." Martin really regards his paintings as if they're special, and rather than the prickly feeling of appraisal he feels during gallery nights, it fills Gerry with warmth.

He turns to examine the wall himself. It's filled with an eclectic group at the moment. Large abstracts made by pouring paint and then layering designs over, three-dimensional pieces painted and then embroidered or quilled over in select places, including a particularly wild eye design. Surreal faces and scenes that seem realistic except for the wild subject matter of planets in meadows and chimeras going to battle.

"Is this what comes from your adventures in bartending?" Martin asks Gerry, turning from the wall and towards the slightly taller man. 

"That, and my traumatic childhood." Gerry makes sure to laugh at the last, taking the edge off the small confession. 

"Obviously." Martin offers. 

"Obviously." Gerry accepts. 

Gerry and Martin drink tea on the floor while they wait for Jon. Gerry gently prods Martin through the story of how he came to open the bookstore. The blonde man even softly confessing that he had to lie on his CV to get the librarian gig at Magnus.

"How old are you? How did you convince them you had a Master's degree?" Gerry is incredulous. Not that he doesn't think Martin could have an advanced degree. But in paranormal research? Gerry hadn't even known that was an option.

"That's the thing! I'm only 29 now . I worked there for five years!" Martin's voice pitches up in disbelief. "I'm still in shock that anyone ever brought it. Desperate times, desperate measures, you know?"

"I do, actually." Gerry shifts slightly, adjusting his balance with the long remembered urge to flee from those desperate times. He fiddles with his teacup to distract himself. He brought this particular set from a pawn shop because the filigree and florals appealed to his love of colour theory. Soft pinks and corals warm against the cool aqua background. 

"Jon says you wanted to go to art school when you two were younger." 

It's not a question, but merely Martin offering the same space for openness that Gerry had given him.

"I never went. After my A-levels, I had to get away, and I never really stopped moving for long enough to go to uni when I was younger. Now I'm settled and it's not important to me anymore. Besides, no one asks for a copy of my phantom degree when I sell a painting. So I'm happy with how things turned out for the most part." He stops to consider the outline of a possible past for a moment, one where he didn't have to skip college and go ten years without seeing Jon. "Besides, can you imagine a 27-year-old in art school? The young ones would sacrifice me for more creative talent."

Their eyes meet for a moment, and then they laugh easily and move on to different topics, sliding through the easy stages of getting to know each other.

Jon does eventually arrive, looking panicked and harried. He de-ages 10 years when he finds them laughing and relaxed instead of tense and awkward. 

So, the three of them eat cold Thai take out on the floor of Gerry's loft, leaning against the perfectly good couch. They share the odd intimacy of people who have known each other for very disjointed amounts of time but like each other just the same.

Chapter Text

Gerry leans out his window one early, early morning as summer dies in a crushing heatwave. Even at 4 A.M. the humidity presses against him, and his cigarette does nothing to soothe it. 

He smiles as a bird begins its first song somewhere nearby and moves back inside. 

He glares at the half-completed commission painting on his main easel, petulantly flipping it off as he walks past to get to the painting he's actually been working on. 

The painting shows Frankenstein's monster in a white dress and a flower crown, walking through a library, barefoot and beaming. It's a small one, nothing like the monster in the other corner, but he thinks Martin will like it and plans to give it to him to hang in the bookstore. 

Martin had cooed over the sketch, and suggested that they should name the painting so people finally had something to call it other than 'Frankenstein' or 'Monster.'

"Everyone deserves to have their own name, Gerry," Martin had told him firmly, "Even if they have to pick it themselves." 

Both intimately familiar with the concept, they had exchanged a significant look over those words. 

"Not spiders," Jon stated firmly from nearby. 

"Yes, spiders." Martin had whispered into Gerry's ear, and they had dissolved into secretive laughter. 

Gerry had painted a small spider and cobweb into the corner of the final piece, hoping Jon would notice and shudder every time he noticed the little guy. If Martin saw it and thought of their sweet camaraderie, then that was all the better. 

He signs his artist's mark into one corner and considers it a job well done. 

Martin's eyes fill with tears when Gerry takes it over to the store to give it to him later that week, when it has dried and he can wrap it in soft tissue paper to deliver it.

The weather is still oppressive outside, and Gerry orders something icy while Martin looks it over.

"You shouldn't have." He tells Gerry weepily, dragging his eyes away from it. 

"Why not?" Gerry shoots back, leaning over and tucking a piece of wavy blonde hair behind Martin's ear, tactile as ever. "It makes you happy, and art is meant for enjoying, not sitting in sketchbooks." 

Martin comes around the counter and pulls Gerry into his arms. He hugs him back, absorbing the sweetness in the embrace. 

"Thank you, Gerry." 

"You're very welcome, Martin."

Gerry texts them all at 3 in the morning to invite them to the park the next afternoon. Martin replies immediately that he would love to, Jon replies the next morning grousing about being texted in the middle of the night. Gerry and Martin both understand that it's because he had probably only just gone to sleep when it arrived, but they say nothing. 

When they arrive, Martin goes immediately over to coo and feed bread to the local ducks, while Jon and Gerry settle nearby. 

Martin glances over at one point to find them looking at him with identical looks of adoration on their faces and feels all the blood rush into his face. 

Gerry is leaning against a big tree that they chose to set up under, trying to escape the afternoon sunshine. Jon is laying with his head on Gerry’s lap, uncharacteristically relaxed and amicable as he smokes an indulgent cigarette. Nearby, Gerry’s sketchbook is laying open, but his pencil lies abandoned as he plays with Jon’s hair instead. 

Martin wasn't sure what he thought was going to happen when Jon told him about Gerry. Honestly, he had supposed that Jon would simply prefer to be with his previous lover and that would be that. And yet somehow Martin found himself courted by both of them, and it fills him with pleased warmth every time he allows himself to think about it. Being wanted and pursued was a feeling that Martin had never let himself bask in, preferring to ignore the idea that he was desired in any way, rather than risk the crushing rejection that he so feared if he wasn’t. 

He had let himself go after Jon anyway, so hopelessly enamored with him that Martin had been willing to risk any dismissal, even the razor-sharp one he was convinced would be the only result of his rushed date offer. 

Jon’s enthusiastic acceptance was the biggest shock of his life, and each small way he showed Martin that he cared for him was like opening the curtains in a dark room; bright, unexpected and so beautiful it hurt just a bit.

Martin wanted to default to the assumption that Gerry was only playing along to benefit his relationship with Jon, but with Gerry, it's hard to deny that he is actually interested, his attention so focused and his flirtation so palpable. 

Now they're on a date in the park, and things are so easy and affectionate between them, and Martin can't help but let himself feel a fond hope in that place that he hasn't ever allowed himself to feel before. 

It turns out Gerry's idea of a picnic is just junk food and pink lemonade from Martin's bookstore, but he gets no complaints as they lie together in the dying light of afternoon and toss candy and chocolate between them. 

Jon migrates from his lap to lie between Martin's legs eventually and Gerry takes the opportunity to sketch them together. The light shifts in Martin's blonde hair, gilding it golden, and Jon's smile shines out of his mossy green eyes as he tips his head back to look up into Martin's face. 

Gerry hopes he has the adequate talent to capture the magic that moves between them, that he feels moving between all of them. 

When the sketch is finished, Jon demands it, obviously enamored. 

"Ask nicely," Gerry replies tartly, holding the sketchbook to his chest protectively. 

Jon narrows his eyes at the sass and rolls up to his knees to shuffle towards him. His eyes are narrowed rather intimidatingly, but Gerry knows it's more of a face of consideration than an actual threat. 

"Gerry." Jon takes his head into his long-fingered hands and tilts his face upwards. "Please." He presses a kiss to Gerry's mouth and punctuates each successive word with another. "Can. I. Have. That. Sketch."

Trying to appear unmoved by the display, Gerry responds with a dispassionate, "Why should I?" 

"Because," he leans down to whisper, "My heart shall break without it."

"Well, I suppose we can't have that," Gerry tells him dryly, handing it over. 

"Thank you," Jon says, offering him another kiss as payment. Gerry leans into this one, sliding his hand up into Jon's hair and pulling them closer together. 

When they separate and Jon flops down next to Martin again, his attention has been captured by something across the park. 

“Martin?” Gerry nudges him with a foot. 

Martin’s attention snaps back towards him, a grin spreading across his face. “Can we get ice cream?”

They do go get ice cream. They pack up their things, and meander across the park with only a vague sense of urgency as the sun sets around them. 

In the ice cream parlour, they stand in a line before the freezer window and consider their options as a bored-looking clerk eyes them. 

"Really, Gerry?" Jon asks in disbelief as Gerry orders the black charcoal flavor. 

"Obviously. Have you met me?" He gestures at the length of himself. His hair is dyed a violent shade of blood orange, and his piercings glint in the light of the setting sun. He's wearing combat boots and black skinny jeans, and the tattoos on his hands and arms stand out starkly against his pale skin. His black tank top has a Metallica album cover on it, and he's wearing enough black eyeliner to put an over-dramatic teenager to shame. The ice cream will certainly fit with his aesthetic. 

"But what if it doesn't taste good?" Martin asks, sounding genuinely concerned. 

"And what happened to your obsession with drinking pink things?" Jon adds triumphantly. 

Gerry just shoots Jon an offended look. "You don't drink ice cream, Jonathan. Get a grip. Besides, it's lemonade flavored, it'll be just as good as if it were yellow." 

Martin giggles, although it's not clear if it's at Jon's flushed embarrassment or Gerry's firm opinion on the matter. “I’ll have the strawberry,” Martin tells the server, who then looks to Jon for his order. Sensing his distraction, Martin adds, “He’ll have mint chocolate chip.” 

Jon, chastised, doesn’t even argue.

They sit outside on a bench, the air finally cool enough for them to brave sitting in the open for a few minutes, side by side, Jon in the middle. One hand occupied by his ice cream, he can hardly link hands with both of them, but Gerry takes his left hand, and Martin reaches across his lap to hold both their hands in one of his. It’s a bit tangled, but all of them are happy. 

Jon, always a speedy eater, practically inhales his cone and sits looking very satisfied indeed. Martin also appears content and at ease as he eats at a far more reasonable pace, savouring a rare indulgence. 

Gerry faces twists at the first taste of his own ice cream, but he says nothing, resolutely working his way through it. 

“No good, Ger?” Martin asks, looking over Jon's head at him. 

“It’s fine,” he mutters, although his expressiveness calls him a liar. 

“That bad, huh?” Jon crows, voice filled with triumph. 

“Bite me,” is Gerry’s only response, eyes rolling sullenly. 

“Can I try it?” Martin asks earnestly, reaching a hand out. Gerry hands it over, nose wrinkling. Martin secretly thinks the expression makes him look quite adorable, but would never mention that to Gerry. He tastes it and makes a face. “It’s weird. Too sweet, probably to overcompensate for the taste of charcoal. And not lemony enough.” 

Gerry grunts in agreement. Jon, overcome with curiosity, slips it away from Martin as he attempts to pass it back to Gerry. 

“That's just rude, Jon.” Martin pronounces, scandalised. He pinches Jon just above the knee for good measure, but he simply accepts it as his due and takes a big bite of the pilfered dessert. 

Jon sits up straight, eyes lighting up. 

“Really?” Gerry grouses, “After the shit you gave me for ordering it?” 

“Yes, actually. It’s good!” Jon’s voice is filled with rare animation, and Gerry waves him away as he tries to hand it back. 

“Someone should enjoy it. I wouldn’t want to deprive the ice cream of its purpose in life,” Gerry’s expression lightens. “Besides, I’ll probably get more satisfaction from watching you eat it than by eating it myself.” 

Jon blushes at the suggestive comment but doesn’t let it deter him, finishing the ice cream almost as fast as he did the first one, sitting between his two favourite people in the world.

Chapter Text

"A kiss is a secret told to the mouth instead of the ear."

*******

Gerry has always thought it was very appropriate that his first kiss (with Jon, and overall) happened in the forgotten stacks of a local library. The scents of books and ink had surrounded them, something he still associates with Jon and youthful adoration to this day. 

He was seventeen and desperately trying to pass his A-levels in the crumbling ruins of his fucked up life. Jon was nineteen and ready to have a breakdown and drop out of second-year uni. Their messes had conveniently lined up enough to give them space to fall in love. It was a messy, chaotic type of relationship, but that was who they were and it suited them just fine. 

They somehow ended up as unlikely study partners after trying to check out the same book for their respective English classes, and then, almost without even noticing, they were inseparable.

Gerry was drawn to Jon because he was steady but in a frenetic, rebellious kind of way. His eyebrow piercing and painted nails also helped. 

Jon was enamored with Gerry because he flirted and held his hand and accepted him for exactly what he was and nothing else mattered.

One night, after admittedly too little sleep and too much caffeine, Jon decided he wanted to try something new. It was impulsive. He should have asked first, but instead, he moved without thinking, and somehow Gerry was pushed back against a bookshelf, their lips pressed together in a rather forceful way. 

Gerry laughed at him.

"Not exactly the reaction I was hoping for," Jon pouted, drawing away, but not so far that Gerry wasn't able to draw him back with his hands on Jon's hips. Jon's hands, previously bracketing Gerry's face, slipped up to tangle in Gerry's soft, badly dyed black hair. 

Fortunately for Gerry, Jon was exactly the right height for Gerry to draw him close and press a kiss to his temple. "You just surprised me, is all. I wasn't expecting you to do that. Like, maybe ever?" He laughed softly, again, an incredulous well of hot affection opening in his chest. 

"I was curious," he replied, shrugging. His face burned, with both embarrassment and sappy pleasure. "I thought maybe it would be nice."

"Oooooh." Gerry grinned wickedly, "We'll have to keep trying, then. You know, for investigative purposes. We can't leave a hypothesis improperly explored."

Jon silenced his nonsense by drawing their lips back together, and Gerry happily obliged him. At that moment, Gerry decided to make every kiss better than the one before, so Jon would always feel the need to come back for more. 

It turned out they enjoyed kissing one another very, very much. Gerry still appreciated everything Jon offered him and never pressured him for anything more, or extra, or too much. Jon was still steady but wild. Gerry always seemed to end up shirtless. Young infatuation was a beautiful thing, both to behold and to endure. 

*******

By the time Jon meets Martin, he's kissed a few more people. 

Georgie, for two dizzy years in grad school. Tim, on one memorable and drunken misadventure. A few others sprinkled here and there. 

But he couldn't remember ever feeling that same reckless drive to push himself into someone else's space and live in their gravity, the way it had been during those breathless months with Gerry. 

As soon as he lets his unfounded anger for Martin's mere presence in his orbit fade, Jon feels himself drawn to Martin's magnetism. His kindness, his gentleness, his constant awareness of Jon's mood and wellbeing. 

The way he brings him tea even though he would have insisted he didn't like it and didn't want it. Martin did it anyway because Jon could let it cool or drink it, but the gesture behind it stood all the same. 

Jon doesn't imagine that Martin could ever forgive his months of snide remarks and cold disregard, but he does, and Martin somehow manages to like him anyway. Because that's just who Martin is, always finding something to love in even the most desolate places. 

"Let me get you a taxi." Martin presses after a dinner date. 

"Let me get you a taxi." Jon presses back. 

"I live one block away!" Martin laughs and can't resist pulling Jon towards him by the elbows. Jon grabs his lapels with sloppy confidence born of laughter and wine. 

The air is full of gentle moisture, not quite raining, just blanketing the world enough that they feel locked away in their own world for the moment. Nevermind that they live in one of the most populous cities in the world. At that moment there is nothing but Jon and Martin and the warmth between them, forging an intoxicating attachment to rattle the stars. 

"I want to kiss you," Martin whispers the confession into the space between them, pressing their foreheads together and breathing Jon's air. 

"I really wish you would," Jon offers him in return. 

Their lips press together gently, deliberately. Martin is taller than Jon by enough that he gets the supreme satisfaction of dragging him slightly up towards him, crowding into his normally sacred personal space. 

For a moment, they feel airborne, standing in their huddle of space and time. Their lips move together, dragging and drugging them. 

Martin gasps softly as they pull apart to breathe, all their emotion pouring out into the space between them. 

"Come home with me," Martin pleads softly. "Just- for time together. I don't want this to end." 

"Yes," Jon whispers back, "I think I would like that very much." 

It is only one block away, and they walk hand in hand, pausing occasionally to press soft lips together again and again. 

*******

Gerry tries to keep a balance of spending time with both Martin and Jon and seeing them separately. He also makes sure to give them space to be together on their own, and never inserts himself between them. 

Even after several months, he feels like a guest in their relationship, and for the time being, he doesn't mind existing in that space. He finally knows he wants to keep them both, and he is willing to wait for the natural progression of their relationship to carry them along. 

He is still willing to do his part in it, of course. 

Gerry likes to go into the bookstore, get flirted with by Tim, flirt with Martin in return. Drink tea or coffee and read books on the comfortable couch in the corner, all the while watching Martin brew drinks and care for his customers. 

Martin works 5 or 6 days most weeks, often helping man the counter himself, between the admin of running the place and herding Tim and various baristas. So Gerry is quite taken aback when he goes in early one Monday afternoon to find Martin nowhere in sight. 

After a quick check with Jon to make sure it's not a normal absence, Gerry makes his way the short walk to Martin's flat. 

At first, there's no answer to his knock. He knocks again. He texts Martin's cell. He calls it too. A pit settles into his stomach, although he knows it's far too early to panic. 

He knocks one more time and even calls out for Martin through the door, before going quiet to listen. 

After a few nerve-wracking moments, Martin does actually open the door a crack, peering out at Gerry with red, tear-stained eyes. 

"Martin? Are you okay, love?" Gerry tries to push forward, but the door doesn't open any further. "I brought you tea. From the shop, even, so it's definitely good."

"Why?" Martin asks in such a bleak voice that Gerry is taken aback. 

"I-" He starts, mouth gaping at Martin's completely alien manner. "I thought you might like it. That it would bring you some comfort if you were sick or something."

"Or something," Martin says, the total blank sadness in his voice filling Gerry with biting concern. 

"Please let me in." He presses his hand more firmly into the door, and Martin eventually yields, although Gerry knows from unfortunate personal experience that it's more from lack of caring than anything. 

"Make yourself at home, I guess." Martin offers the space ahead of him as he moves further into his flat. He collapses on the couch, curling into a fetal position on the cushions. 

Gerry's heart burns, both with sympathy and empathy. He has an idea of what might be causing such a bad relapse of Martin's depression, although the topic of mothers is always carefully danced around between the three of them. He puts the tea down in grabbing distance and he goes to Martin's wardrobe to fetch his favorite fluffy blanket. 

"You don't have to tell me what's wrong. But I want to be here for you." Gerry tells him firmly as he wraps Martin up in it. "Is there anything specific I can do for you or do you want me to suggest some stuff?" 

Martin blinks up at him. "I don't know…"

"I can put the TV on and sit nearby. I know I don't have Jon's voice, but I could read to you. Put on a podcast?" Gerry throws out the suggestions, keeping his tone gentle and neutral. He doesn't want Martin to sense that this is difficult for him in any way. He can process his own emotions later.

"Anything." Martin shifts over onto his side as silent tears resume a steady trail down his face. Gerry walks over to the bookcase and selects a book he has seen Martin reading a dozen times, the spine well broken and the pages yellowing. 

He sits on the floor in front of Martin, near enough for him to hopefully be able to absorb some of the goth's errant body heat. He starts reading, keeping his cadence slow and steady, hoping to provide comfort and grounding. 

He reads for almost an hour, and he thinks Martin actually sleeps through most of it. He drinks the tea, although it's already cold. 

Eventually, he slows to a stop and closes the book, but doesn't move, hoping Martin will stay sleeping. 

"I'm sorry." Gerry is startled by Martin's croaky voice and turns to look at him. 

"You have nothing to apologize for."

"I do," Martin starts, rubbing at his checks and sitting up against the armrest. "I'm a disaster and you had to come all this way and waste all this time just because I can't get my shit together."

Gerry's eyes narrow at this nonsense, but his tone remains gentle. "None of the time I spend with you is ever wasted. I care about you and I want to be here for you. I wish you had called me or Jon so that we could have come sooner." 

Martin's face falls at the mention of their mutual boyfriend's name. "Of course. You came for Jon. It would have been pretty bad if he had seen this mess."

"That is not what I said, and it's not what I meant." Gerry's voice rises, from hurt at Martin's words, at the way his mental state twists Gerry's heart in his chest. He pulls himself up onto his knees, putting himself firmly in Martin's personal space and leaning in close so Martin can't avoid his eyes or his words. "Martin, allow me to make myself completely clear. Because I won't allow you for one second longer to believe that you are some kind of consolation prize for me, that I tolerate your presence because I feel like you and Jon are a package deal. That anything I do to show you affection or effort is for Jon's benefit. You are a gift to me. The way I feel for you is completely independent of my feelings for Jon. I love us all together, but you. You fill me with hope and laughter and the warmth of a perfectly brewed cup of tea. I want you just as much as I want Jon, and my heart will never be the same if you were to walk away from me. Please don't push me away because you think I only feel this way about Jon. Because that is the furthest thing from my truth."

His declaration sits heavy in the air between them for a moment, almost shimmering where Gerry can practically see it hanging in the air. 

"But, I-" 

"No, no buts. I'll accept 'thank you, Gerry, you light up my life too, Gerry.' No arguments. No buts. This is a space where we can accept that people love us." 

"Thank you, Gerry," Martin says slowly, pulling Gerry closer to hold the sides of their faces together. Gerry wraps his arms around Martin and rocks them gently. "You fill life with colour, my Gerry." 

"Much better, love. I'd really like to kiss you now, if you-" Gerry breaks off as Martin pulls him closer and slots their lips together. The kiss is full of desperate desire to bring Martin closer to Gerry and further from his forsaken loneliness. 

Gerry slides himself up off the floor, not breaking contact, and sits astride Martin's lap. Martin sneaks his hands up the back of his shirt, hands confident and familiar from months of tactile flirting and easy affection. 

Gerry anchors himself to Martin, and Martin anchors himself to Gerry, and at that moment they feel the nexus of their relationship, both with each other and with Jon, lock firmly into place.

Chapter Text

"Do you really hate Keats that much?" Martin asks Jon, sounding faintly betrayed. They're sitting on a pile of cushions in front of Gerry's big window, while the man himself stands painting nearby. 

There has been no previous mention of Keats since they arrived several hours ago, nor in the entire course of Gerry knowing them together. 

Granted, he had barely been awake when they had arrived, having rolled out of bed just seconds before the knock came, but Gerry thought he had been keeping fairly decent track of the overall conversation.

He had thought Sunday brunch was a great idea when Jon suggested it during the week. Only remembering half-way through his shift the previous night that he was normally dead asleep during that time on a Sunday. But needs must, and after coffee and food, he was feeling downright perky at having two cute boys in his apartment. 

Jon and Martin had settled into the pillow pile to occupy themselves while Gerry wandered off to paint, and they had spent several hours each engaged in their own artistic endeavors, simply enjoying the energy of one another's company. 

Jon had started out reading but kept getting distracted by the way the light in the studio catches in Gerry's dark red hair, tied up in a chaotic messy bun, and had idly been strumming Gerry's old acoustic guitar for a while instead. Martin had been writing in a notebook, tongue often caught between his teeth in contemplation, glasses pushed up onto the top of his hair. 

Jon stops playing abruptly and Gerry winces at the discordant note the guitar lets out in protest.

"I think Keats is pretty cool," offers Gerry cheerfully.

"Thank you, Gerard, very helpful," grouses Jon in return, glaring at him. Gerry blows him a kiss and returns to his canvas. 

"I don't hate Keats, Martin." Jon's voice is slow and soft in the way that indicates that he's actually trying to be sensitive, "I just think he's overrated. After spending so much time in uni pouring over his boring symbolism, I'm just sick of him."

Jon's English literature degree, which Gerry remembers with some humour does not qualify him for a job at a library, had been a pain to get, and he doesn't always remember that part of his life with any great fondness.

"I know, but-" Martin cuts off abruptly and there's unexpected silence for a moment.

"Gerry, do you have a cat?" Jon's voice is incredulous and somewhat delighted at the new development.

"Yes," Gerry replies, very casually. He looks around to find that the cat has indeed wandered in and is sitting in a shaft of sunlight, black fur shining. "Jon, Martin, meet Saturn. Saturn, this is Jon and Martin."

Saturn blinks at them, before abruptly standing, showing them his butt, and then walking over to twine between Gerry's legs. Gerry deposits his painting supplies nearby and reaches down to scoop Saturn up, before carrying him over to sit with the others.

"He's not always great with new people, but hopefully he'll warm up to you. He can be a great cuddler when he wants to be." Saturn eyes them all speculatively before sitting on his own cushion and curling up in a fluffy ball. 

"So he's like the Jon cat?" Martin asks, sneaking out a finger to scratch Saturn's fluffy little ears. He purrs lightly and Gerry grins to see them getting along. 

"Well-" Jon splutters indignantly, face warming beneath his tan. 

They both laugh and Gerry leans towards Martin to whisper conspiratorially, "He's not even embarrassed about being bad with new people. He's shy that we know how good of a cuddler he is." 

Jon presses his lips together with a long-suffering expression, also reaching out a hand to pet the purring feline. Saturn rolls over towards him and gets a belly rub for his efforts. 

"There we go," Gerry mutters happily. "All my favorite boys, getting along so well." 

There's more sputtering from both Jon and Martin at that, but Gerry only laughs and leans over to kiss the tops of their heads. 

Jon sighs and rubs the back of his neck, trying to release the burning tension sitting in all the joints of his spine. 

It's 1 A.M. and the library is long, long closed, doors locked and lights turned out. He doesn't know how he gets here sometimes. Elias has certainly never overtly demanded he work overtime, and yet Jon always feels the need to push a little harder, do more than anyone would consider even remotely reasonable. 

He accepted a while ago, that his irrational drive for perfection in this job stems from his self-doubt and fear of inadequacy. 

And yet, that understanding does nothing to get him home at a reasonable hour, even when he remembers the two men who always seem to be around when he needs them. 

It's unfathomable to Jon how he managed to find himself in a relationship with not one but two incredibly understanding and supportive men who love him. He considers it a downright miracle that they also seemed to be finding their way towards loving one another. Although, who wouldn't love Martin and Gerry? 

He checks his watch again. Martin is definitely asleep, and even just stumbling in to lie in bed with him would disturb him. He knows the sweet man would say he doesn't mind, but he feels like if he can't get back at a reasonable hour, he doesn't deserve to sleep next to him at all. 

Gerry, on the other hand, is mostly nocturnal. A quick check of his phone shows that it's actually Friday, and he is working at the bar for another hour or so. 

While Jon has his phone in his hand, he opens up their text chain. 

Gerry: Don't work too late. Martin and I want you functional so that we can drag you out to that street market this weekend. 

Jon: I won't.  

Gerry: Yes, you will. But try to keep it pre-midnight ;) 

'He's awake,' Jon tells himself firmly. 'He'll be happy to see you, even if you did work even later than he predicted.' 

So Jon packs up his stuff and leaves the library. He considers a cab, but it's only a few blocks and he thinks the fresh air and exercise will unlock the tension in his poor abused spine. 

He arrives at the bar just before closing. Gerry is busy charming a few drunk regulars out the door with promises of undying love and that the bar will be back tomorrow afternoon. After they stumble off, he turns to find Jon walking slowly towards him. Gerry is wearing combat boots, dark jeans, and a loose leather tank top, over a lace undershirt. He has his favorite hoop in his nose, and the light glints off the many piercings in his ears. 

"Why, Gerry Delano, aren't you a sight for sore eyes." Gerry grins at Jon's teasing tone and echoed words, no sign of recrimination about him. 

"I always am." Jon reaches Gerry at that, and they draw together, pressing tired lips against each other gently. 

Gerry's hair has faded out a bit from the moody red, and Jon slips his hands into his hair to hold him close for a moment longer. They rock together on the street for a long, frozen moment. 

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Gerry asks, pulling away and sliding his hands down Jon's arms to connect their fingers. 

"I missed you," Jon confesses shakily, emotion spilling out of his voice. 

"Good, I missed you too." Gerry drags him into the bar and fills the air with stories from his shift while he and his colleagues clean for the evening, closing up the bar. 

They walk home arm in arm, Gerry flirting with him mercilessly. Jon sheds the day's tension as they go, and by the time they arrive at Gerry's loft, he's warm and relaxed. 

He supposes he should probably go back to his own flat, but it's not a place he spends the night very often anymore, and he fears the creeping insomnia that will take him without Martin and Gerry around to soothe him into sleep. Besides, Gerry is right here with him, and he seems so pleased to have him around. 

"Are you going to paint now?" Jon asks as they shed their work clothes. Jon is sorry to see the lace shirt go, but Gerry makes up for it by simply throwing a kimono over his bare chest. He throws him a T-shirt, so Jon wears that and his boxers as they settle on the couch. Gerry is still wearing his jeans, but both their feet are bare as they tangle on the coffee table. 

"I'm not sure, do you want to?" Gerry asks as he lights a cigarette and offers Jon one. 

"What? Do I want to paint?" Jon's voice is taken aback. He takes the cigarette and lights it. 

Gerry shrugs as if it's obvious. "Sure, you used to draw with me when we were younger."

"Yes, but…" 

"But what, Jonathon? You're too old to paint now? Too proper and straight-laced to get charcoal under your nails? No more piercings, no more creativity?" Gerry sways into his shoulder, drawing smoke into his lungs and letting it out as he speaks. 

"No, it's not that." Jon grouses back. Gerry hums derisively in return. "I just don't see the point of wasting your drawing paper when you can do that." Jon gestures wildly towards Gerry's most recently completed painting. 

Gerry eyes it critically. It's the commission that he's been slogging over petulantly. It's large and impressively done, he can accept that, but he doesn't like it very much. He hates the subject and composition Peter Lukas has demanded and compensated by pouring all his best technique into it. It makes him sad and sullen to look at, and Gerry will be relieved when it's finally gone. 

"For every painting like that I've ever done, Jon," Gerry spills all his affection into the name, and Jon can feel it, "I've done a thousand ridiculous sketches and colour studies. Art is time, and diligence and joy as much as it ever is masterpieces. You don't sit down one day and magically just know how to be a maestro." 

Jon looks over and up at him with big green eyes. Gerry can't help but lean over and slide his hand into Jon's hair, pressing their lips together for a moment. "So Mr. Sims. Can I tempt you to make some art with me?"

What they create in those soft early morning hours can only generously be called art, even Gerry's efforts. But they laugh and kiss and somehow get covered in charcoal and acrylic paint. Gerry even allows Jon to choose the Spotify playlist. Slow piano music with nature sounds play softly in the background of their impromptu art party, reminding Gerry of nothing so much as Jon himself. 

The dawn is just breaking through Gerry's massive bank of windows when he allows Jon to drag him off to bed, and they collapse together in the soft morning light. 

Late the next morning, Martin lets himself into the flat and bounces down onto the bed between them, sending Saturn flying off in a huff. 

"So, I heard there was a slumber party. I brought breakfast."

"Fuck off," Gerry slurs, but rather undermines his own point when he pulls Martin down and tucks himself around him. Jon does the same from the other side, and Martin finds himself in the middle of a very sleepy man sandwich. 

Gerry seems to instantly fall back asleep, but Jon eventually drags himself to consciousness, even buried in Martin's neck. "What's time?" 

"Almost ten," he responds, very cheerfully. 

"WHAT-" Jon flies out of bed in a blind panic, desperately looking for his phone, which is dead when he finds it anyway. "I'm already so fucking late!" 

Gerry groans. 

"Relax Jon." Martin tries to soothe him but is hindered by the fact that Gerry is still clinging to him in a very enjoyable way. "Gerry, love, let me go. Jon is having a meltdown."

"How unusual," Gerry mutters very unsupportively, Jon manages to notice. He flops over onto his other side and attempts to bury himself in pillows instead of Martin. 

"Jon, breathe." Swinging up to sit on the edge of the bed, Martin uses his best man-disaster steadying tone. Gerry has come to realize what that tone is, but he doesn't mention it to anyone. "It's Saturday." 

Jon slumps and drops the pants he was desperately trying to wrangle himself into. 

"It's Saturday?" He asks. 

"It's Saturday," Gerry confirms from the pillow fort. 

Jon glares at Martin in a very put upon way. Martin smiles at him brightly. 

He turns and wanders off to the bathroom in an effort to collect himself. Martin resumes his spot in the middle of the bed, and drags Gerry towards him, tucking himself into his back. 

"Hmmm. So much noise on a weekend." The goth mutters as he attempts to resettle himself in Martin's arms. 

"I'll make it up to you later," Martin promises, pressing a kiss behind his ear. 

"You let that happen on purpose, didn't you." It's not a question. "Just to see that look on his face." 

"Yes," Martin says, chuckling into Gerry's pillow. 

"Very good, sir." 

Chapter Text

They are absolutely trashing Martin's bathroom, but he can't bring himself to mind. Not even if it costs him the security deposit on his ridiculous, tiny flat. 

Gerry is sitting in the empty bathtub, stripped to his briefs, laughing so hard that tears roll down his checks, tracking black eyeliner with them, and Jon is sitting on the edge of the tub and trying to keep track of which pieces of hair have been dyed while Gerry refuses to keep his head still. Martin is sitting on the floor next to them and holding the bowls of varying shades of purple dye. 

The dye itself is flying everywhere, between four hands attempting to apply it and Gerry's apparent inability to keep stationary and stop laughing for even one second. 

"Gerry! Keep still," Jon yells in his best teacher voice. His imperious tone is demanding, but the grin on his face rather undercuts it. 

"Can't," Gerry insists, pulling his head down (with dye covered hands) to press their lips together. The kiss is sweet, but Jon doesn't appreciate all the new places it covers him in hair dye. 

"Gerry, it might all go more smoothly if you just let Jon and I do it for you." Martin advises him. 

Gerry pouts, "Letting the men in my life just do things without my participation wouldn't be a very 'strong independent woman' move on my part."

"You're not a woman," Jon points out drolly, "Besides, what does that say about me, with the way you two are always arranging to pay for everything we do and everywhere we go?"

"It says you have two incredibly attractive men who like to do nice things for you." Martin tells him firmly, as he always does when the topic arises. They all hear Jon's eyes roll. 

"Gerry," Martin starts in the voice he knows gets just the right response from him. "Stop being a brat and. Sit. Still." 

Gerry sits still. Martin kisses him to inspire continued good behavior, and Gerry's teal eyes practically glow in a way that fills Martin with supreme satisfaction. 

With their target stationary, Martin and Jon make quick work of Gerry's remaining hair. 

He is ordered to stay put in the bathtub while it sits, and Martin starts cleaning up the bathroom. Jon heads into the shower to avoid being dyed in a plethora of bizarre places. 

Martin goes to return the dye to Gerry's hair product box, and pauses with his hand in it. 

Gerry, sensing Martin's distraction, jumps up to go over and stand behind him. Martin settles back into the warmth of his chest, and Gerry's arms snake around him. 

"You would look very fetching in that colour," Gerry whispers enticingly in Martin's ear. 

"You think?" Martin murmurs back, eyebrows rising in consideration. 

"Yes," he replies, leaning forward to bite Martin's ear lightly. "Please." 

"Whatever might you two be consorting about over there," Jon demands cheerily, emerging from the shower wrapped in his towel.

"Martin was just about to agree to become the next hair dying victim." Gerry informs him confidently, snaking an arm around Jon's shoulders and bringing him in close so he too can see the bottle sitting in Martin's hand. 

"Oh." Jon says in a reverent sort of voice. "Yes, I think that's a very good idea indeed."

***

Martin sits still much better than Gerry did, and Gerry does his hair himself, Jon having already rid himself of persistent stains and wandered off to make something for lunch. 

Gerry pushes Martin in front of a mirror (not Martin’s favourite pastime, but for Gerry, he suffers it) and they both look at him. Gerry grins. “It’ll look better in the end obviously, but what do you think, love?”

“I like it, actually.” Martin whispers, like a confession.

“Actually? I expect more self-confidence than that from my masterpieces, babe.” They laugh and sway together in front of the mirror. 

“I love it, thank you.” Martin turns in Gerry’s arms and they kiss slowly and thoroughly. 

Martin presses his hands along Gerry’s bare sides and up along his spine, where he knows a line of eyes is inked along each vertebrae. 

Gerry keeps his hands on Martin’s chest, in an effort to keep their respective hair dye where it belongs, although his hands cling to Martin's shoulders and push and pull in response to their movements. 

“Really you two? I leave you alone for 5 minutes and you’re both half naked and making out?” Jon interrupts them from the doorway, his words soft and appreciative. 

“We could be even more naked, if you're interested in that?” Gerry offers, winking at him. 

“Could we?” Martin asks, apparently just wondering out loud. 

Gerry raises a suggestive eyebrow at him. “We definitely could be.” Gerry smirks, "You are familiar with how nudity works, yes?" He illustrates his point by pulling at the waistband of Martin's briefs and letting them snap back into his hip. 

"Yes, I am familiar." Martin growls into his mouth, biting his lip for good measure. "Care to join, Jon?" 

"Maybe when there's less hair dye on the table, so to speak. Ger, your timer went off, you'd better jump into the shower and wash off." 

"Yes, sir." Gerry pecks Martin one last time, salutes Jon and strips off to hop into the shower. 

Martin flushes at his casual nudity, and a heavy look passes between him and Jon. 

Taken with Martin's pink laden head, Jon can't resist going over and pressing just one kiss to Martin's soft lips. 

**

Later, when the bathroom is clean and everyone has washed, dry hair, they all pile around Martin's sitting room, a documentary playing softly in the background. Martin's new soft pink hair looks even better dry and Jon had whispered to Gerry conspiratorially that it reminded him of Martin's sweet early morning blush. 

Martin is braiding Gerry's now wildly purple hair, and Gerry has convinced a reluctant Jon to let him paint his nails. 

"We really shouldn't." Jon protests, even as Gerry paints on the base coat. His own nails are painted black, of course. His artist's eye appreciates Jon's neat, smooth nails, and he considers what kind of tiny designs he might be able to sneak onto them at some point. 

"Why not? I used to paint your nails all the time when we were younger. That's where I got most of my early practice." 

"I'm not a teenager anymore, Gerard. I have a professional job!" Jon complains, but Gerry knows these are only nerves, not lack of desire. 

"Oooh, Gerard!" Martin coos, before tumbling into a laugh. "There's nothing in the dress code that says you can't have painted nails, Jon. And we all know you like having them done." 

"That's meant for women, and you know it, Martin." Jon protests. 

Gerry and Martin both stop their tasks abruptly to stare at him. "Jon, babe," Gerry can barely contain himself. "You are wearing a skirt. Martin has pink hair. I'm getting my absurdly long hair braided - into pigtails. I don't think any of us are exactly paragons of toxic masculine stereotypes."

"Besides," Martin adds, when he can speak calmly without tumbling into hysterical laughter, "there's no gender specific dress code at the library. All it says is 'If nails are painted, they must be neat and unchipped.'" 

Jon looks askance at both of them, crossing his skirt clad legs primly. 

"Come on," Gerry encourages gently, "It's just this one time. If you don't like it, we can take it off before you go to work on Monday morning. Or while you're at work on Monday. Or in an hour. Or anytime at all. It's just one small adventure."

"I know it's been a while, love." Martin pitches in, "But, don't worry, Gerry will be gentle." 

Jon ends up with green nails, which he likes very much. Gerry is enamored with his braids, and begs Martin to teach him to do it himself. Martin is simply delighted to have a house full of laughter and colour for the first time in his life. 

Chapter Text

“We shouldn’t go in,” Jon tells his giggling partners very firmly, but they pay him no mind, and he gets dragged by the hand into the storefront. 

The girl working the front desk looks up with a vaguely alarmed look on her face, probably because Gerry and Martin look drunk, despite it being 11 A.M. on a Sunday. They are not, although Jon can understand why someone would think that, as they march right up to the desk, faces flushed, still laughing boisterously.  

“Is Melanie in? She’s a good mate of mine.” Gerry tells the receptionist. 

“Yes, I’ll check with her if she has a second for you.” And she scuttles off to the back. 

“It’s Gerry!” He calls off behind her, before turning to grin at Jon. “Don’t hover in the doorway, babe, Melanie doesn’t bite.”

“Melanie is in fact, perfectly capable of biting,” Jon mutters petulantly, as he moves further into the room to eye the art on the walls. “Especially when you used to date her girlfriend.” 

“Oh look, my favorite emo goth boy!” Melanie yells, exploding out the back of the store, all 5 feet of her filled with frenzied energy. Her face immediately sours when she catches sight of Jon, hiding behind Martin. “And my least favourite douche bag.” 

“Now, now firecracker, be nice to my boyfriend.” Gerry pulls her into a hug, which leads to a headlock and a swift jab to his ribs. 

“I’m very happy to be nice to Martin,” She responds sweetly, blowing him a kiss. “What brings you lot over to darken my doorstep?”

“Piercings,” Gerry tells her with an unnatural amount of glee. 

“Jon agreed to let me pierce him?” Melanie asks, perking right up at the idea of causing Jon pain. 

“No!” Jon exclaims.

At the same time, Gerry says, “Nah, he’s not interested, but Martin and I were wanting something each.” 

“Martin?” Melanie asks dubiously, eyeing up sweet-looking, pink-haired, cardigan-clad Martin. 

“Yes,” Martin confirms with false solemnity. “Boyfriends who bleed together stay together.” 

“You know,” Melanie remarks, grinning at them, “I have heard about that Pagan ritual.” 

Jon has slunk over to a wall of healed artwork and concept designs, managing to avoid Melanie's barbs.  As far as he is concerned, the art isn’t as interesting as Gerry’s work. Although, he supposes that what you can make beautiful on a canvas is very different from what you can make beautiful on someone's skin. 

“I’ve got a bit of an opening now, what do you want to get?” She asks Gerry. 

“Well, you know I’ve been wanting to have my nipples done.” He offers, teal eyes looking slightly wild. 

“Yeah?” She grins in triumph, “I’ve been waiting for this day.” 

“Yup and Martin has been considering something for his ears.” 

“Hmmm,” She wanders over to Martin to examine him. “Open for suggestions?” 

“Maybe.” 

“They’re a good shape. Double helix?” She looks to Gerry for affirmation.

“Definitely.” He smirks, eyes lighting up with satisfaction. 

"Two?" Martin looks slightly dubious.

"If you do them together, the pain is only a tiny bit more, and the healing time is two-for-one," Melanie reassures him, and Jon thinks it's the nicest she's ever sounded. "It's up to you though, of course."

Jon steals himself to brave the fray, going over to take Martin's hand. It's slightly clammy with the nerves that Gerry's enthusiasm has prevented up until this point. 

"It won't be so bad, love." He presses a kiss to Martin's cheek, offering his support. "Just a small jab, then it's done." 

"Let's do it." 

There's a brief fuss with consent forms, aftercare instructions, and payment. 

"I don't know what you lot," Melanie instructs Gerry firmly, gesturing between them, "get up to in the bedroom, but no twisting, no pulling, no biting, no sucking your nipples for 12 weeks."

Jon blushes, but Gerry and Martin aren't bothered. "Yeah, firecracker, I know the drill. This isn't my first circus."

"Kinky little shit," Jon mutters under his breath, but the goth only winks at him. 

Martin's care instructions are less suggestive, and Gerry and Jon both promise to help him with it. 

“Martin should go first,” Melanie pronounces, patting the piercing chair as she disinfects her hands and gloves up. 

“Me?” Martin asks. 

“Yup, yours will be a lot simpler, and I don’t want to traumatise you by making you watch nipple piercings before your turn.” 

Martin climbs on the chair, looking a little pale, but resolute. Jon stands on the side not occupied by Melanie, gripping his hand reassuringly. Gerry stands slightly behind the chair, hand on Martin's shoulder. 

The ear piercings are almost comically quick and easy. Two quick pinches, less painful than bee stings, and then Martin's ear is pierced and adorned with small hoops. 

He sighs with relief and oh's with delight when Gerry hands him a mirror to check them out. 

"I love it!" He exclaims, beaming at Jon and Gerry. They smile back at him, each taking a turn to kiss him on the cheek or forehead, their own relief palpable. 

"It's just you and me now," Melanie grins at Gerry and gestures for him to strip. 

He shucks off his trench coat and black t-shirt, and stands in front of her, completely at ease. 

Jon takes a moment to wonder if he has managed to get himself into a relationship with a masochist. Not because of the piercings, but because Gerry seems to genuinely enjoy being friends with Melanie. 

The nipple piercings seem to be a much more complicated process, with markings and adjustments, but several rounds of cleaning and disinfecting later, Melanie runs a metal piercing bar through first one nipple and then the other. Gerry hisses with discomfort but stands carefully steady. 

She steps back to make sure they look straight and even, before declaring it a success. 

"Nice," Gerry says succinctly, looking in the large upright mirror, nodding his head enthusiastically. He and Melanie high five, and she condescends to grip him in a firm hug from the side. 

"You sure I can't tempt you, Jon?" Melanie asks him sweetly as she starts to clean up her station, Gerry putting his clothes back on close by. 

Knowing she just wants to cause him pain, Jon tells her firmly, "No, thank you."

He is over by the wall again, looking at different art this time, including a picture of a tattoo that catches his focus. It's a playing card amid a complex arm sleeve, an Ace of diamonds, and despite a lifelong disinterest in tattoos, it speaks to him. 

"I think you'd look better with a spade, love.” Gerry manages to startle Jon slightly, appearing beside him and wrapping an arm around his waist. Jon marvels at his apparent ability to read his mind. 

 “You think so?” Jon queries, softly. Gerry hums his affirmation. “It's a bit much though, don't you think?”

"You don't need the whole card, for what you want. Just the A and the spade. Small and bold." He picks up Jon's hand, indicating the spot below his thumb on his wrist. 

Gently releasing it, Gerry grabs a pen and scrap of paper and rapidly draws out a solid, simple design. 

Jon glances over at Melanie, extremely dubious. "Maybe we can go somewhere else to get it?" He whispers. 

Gerry laughs warmly, tapping the small piece of paper. "I could do it for you myself."

Jon blinks at him, rather owlishly. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean, I can give you the tattoo. I'm probably a bit rusty, but I did survive a full tattoo apprenticeship. I’ve done about a million over the years, although I had to give up my machine when I moved to London." 

"You did a tattoo apprenticeship?" Martin asks from nearby, tone skeptical. 

"Yup, when I was living in Edinburgh. All three years." Gerry tells them casually. "That's where I met Melanie, actually." 

Jon and Martin exchange a baffled look, but choose to simply file it under 'Things Gerry tells us out of order.' 

“Well, if you can do it...” Jon sounds a bit floaty but he is staring at the design yearningly, which Gerry knows is a good sign. 

"Firecracker," Gerry yells over to Melanie, "Can I borrow your machine?" 

Melanie makes the stencil while Gerry reacquaints himself with the tattoo gun, setting everything up and getting used to the weight of it in his hand again. The rhythm is always the same with tattooing and he feels himself fall into the past a bit. 

When everything is ready, he gestures Jon over to sit in the chair, smiling beatifically. 

Jon is shaking a little as he slides up onto it, and Gerry presses a reassuring kiss to his hand before he starts the prep. 

"You ready?" 

Jon gulps. "Yes."

Martin comes over to take Jon's other hand and Melanie hovers nearby, wanting to watch Gerry like a hawk the entire time he's handling her machine. ("It's the true love of her life," Gerry had confessed to Martin earlier. "Don't tell Georgie.") 

Gerry follows the same procedure with any tattoo: cleanse, shave, cleanse again. Numbing cream, in this case, to prevent nerve twitches, then alcohol rub down. Eventually, he applies the stencil carefully, making sure to get it straight and in the correct place. 

He checks with Jon, making sure that it is where he wants it. Jon confirms, smiling to see the design on his skin for the very first time. 

As the buzz of the machine fills the space, Jon and Gerry make eye contact for a moment. Jon's earthy green eyes are wide, and Gerry can almost see where his pulse pounds through his jaguar vein. He stills a moment, really checking Jon's energy. 

He's nervous, it's obvious to see, but Gerry can also see the real desire in him, and with a wink, turns to look down at his new canvas. He sets to work, the buzzing of the needle filling the air. 

"I love it," Jon whispers to Gerry later, lying in the circle of his arms, Martin's warm weight at his back. 

"I love it too." Gerry kisses his forehead sweetly, almost asleep. "Martin, what do you think of your ear?" 

"I think boyfriends who commit to pain together stay together," Martin mutters drowsily, repeating his sentiment from earlier. 

"Ah, yes," Jon mutters, "The great cosmic bond of suffering."

They laugh easily, the hot excitement of the day echoing within them, yet another thread in the colourful tapestry of their relationship. 

Chapter Text

On a Tuesday in the middle of November, not long after Gerry's 28th birthday, the three of them eat dinner at Gerry's flat, as they often do these days. Jon cooks for them and after, Martin and Gerry wash the dishes and debate the book they both just finished reading.

Jon has been twitchy all evening, so they leave him to read his own book in peace. 

He wanders in at one point, leaning against the counter. "Gerry, do you know what day it is?" 

Gerry looks over at him in such a way as to indicate that he really doesn't. 

"Our six-month anniversary?" He tries. 

"No," Martin pipes up, "That's not for weeks yet."

Jon and Gerry both look at him askance. "What? Your boyfriend starts dating another man, you remember the date. I can't believe you two don't know." Martin says as if that about covers it. 

"Nevermind that." Jon snaps, and even with his previous moodiness, the others are taken aback at his blunt words and even harsher tone.

"Something wrong, Jon?" Gerry asks quietly, leaning against the opposite counter to Jon and crossing his arms. His tone suggests what he actually wanted to say was 'Do we have a problem here, bitch?' but he manages to reign the actual words in. 

"I want to know why you left without saying goodbye." Jon's words are filled with a multitude of frustrations, none of which are actually conveyed in his limited words. 

"Yesterday?" Gerry asks, incredulous. "You were asleep!" 

"No! Not yesterday." Jon snaps back. "When we were younger. It's been ten years today since you disappeared off the face of the planet." 

"Oh," Gerry responds quietly, his defensive posture dropping. He leans his hands back on the table behind him, bringing his shoulders up around his ears. It’s a rare display of confident, edgy Gerry trying to shrink himself. 

"I thought we were, you know. Together. Then one day you were just gone! As if you had never existed. Your mother wouldn't tell me anything at all, just sat there smirking at me, said that you were gone and she didn't know when you were coming back, or if you were ever coming back. Which you never did, actually." Jon has been pacing, his voice rising with each new word until the final words are shouted accusatorily into the space between them. 

Gerry knew Jon had wanted to talk about this since the day he walked in the library and back into his life. He had waited, been patient, and Gerry had put it off in the hopes that he would never have to choke the words out. Now, that patience was obviously over, and he knew he owed Jon this explanation. 

"We were together Jon. I loved you." 

"So why? What did I do so wrong, that I got to wake up one day and find you gone ?" Jon's voice has become desperate, and they can all hear the tears that he is trying to hold back. 

"Don't say that. You didn't do anything wrong. We weren't perfect, but we were always so good together. I... I had to get out of there. And I couldn't leave any clues behind, so I couldn't tell you anything, because it wouldn't have been safe for either of us." Gerry reaches towards Jon to soothe him, but he flinches away and Gerry doesn't pursue him. 

"I don't understand." The tears have come, and Gerry desperately tries to hold back his own when he sees them. 

Martin had up until that point been standing resolutely in the corner, trying not to interfere in their pre-Martin argument. At the advent of tears, Martin moves to stand at Jon's back, gripping his shoulder for comfort. Gerry looks bereft and Martin holds out a hand to get him to come closer as well. They huddle all together, both Jon and Gerry taking comfort in Martin's steadiness. 

Gerry leans into Jon, sliding his hand around his neck and pressing their foreheads together. "I'm so sorry, love. I've never forgiven myself for just disappearing on you. I thought about you every day." 

"I love you," Jon whispers as Martin rocks them both gently. "But I need to know."

"I love you too." Gerry shuts his eyes and wishes more than ever to erase his shitty legacy of pain and blood. 

Martin drags them to bed and offers to leave them alone to their talk. 

"Please stay," Gerry says, grasping his hand. "You both need to know, and I don't want to have to talk through this twice."

So they all pile into Gerry's bed together, sitting in a vague circle like teenagers at a slumber party. 

As Gerry starts to talk, Martin drags him over toward him and begins braiding his dark blue hair. It's both an offer of physical comfort and affection (easily Gerry's main love language) and a simple way of letting him off the hook for eye contact. 

With Jon staring at him quite intently, Martin doesn't think he needs any further pressure. 

"Jon, you-" He starts and then halts abruptly. Jon reaches over and grasps his hand, attempting to further ground him. "You remember my mother. I know you saw how, how just off she was. Manipulative and controlling. By turns demanding and completely uninterested in me. One day I would be free to run wild for weeks at a time, the next she would have a meltdown if I wasn't exactly where she wanted me, every second of the day and night." Gerry blows a breath out, shuddering at the memory of a particularly bad incident with a vase that had left him needing several stitches over his left eye. 

"Well, she wasn't always like that. I remember her being a pretty good mom when I was young, if distant. She was always far more interested in being a wife than a mother, and she loved the way my father adored her. 

“When I was 7, my father was blinded in an accident at work. I remember the day the phone call came. She spoke very calmly to the hospital, before hanging up the phone and shattering every picture frame in the house." Martin is finished with Gerry's hair and simply leans into him, offering silent comfort. "He coped okay with his new disability actually, and I liked helping him learn the world again with no sight. My mother never recovered from her initial breakdown though. She was angry and petulant that she needed to help and support him for the first time in their entire relationship and became more and more unhinged over the course of a year.

"One day I came home from school to find a puddle of blood soaked into the floor of the living room. She said there had been an accident and my father wasn't coming back. She hit me for the first time when I cried. She told me that I was a man now, and tears were for useless girls and disgusting… Well, you get the picture."

Gerry pauses and glances between them. A few tears have started to run down his face, but he doesn't seem to even notice them. 

"We moved a few days later, and that was all I ever knew about my father's death until I was eighteen, almost ten years later. I'll spare you the horrid details, but as I'm sure you've already guessed, she murdered him. She explained very, very graphically what she had done with the body, and that she would never be caught, no one would ever think to blame her, even if anyone could ever prove that he was dead at all."

The words hang heavy in the air between the three of them. Gerry feels the comfort of their touches, but can hardly stand the affection anymore. He gets up off the bed and goes to look out the bedroom window, arms crossed and posture hard. 

"Then she looked me right in the eye. And she told me that was exactly what would happen to Jon if she ever caught me with him again." 

Dead, cold silence fills the room. 

Gerry turns back around to find them both watching him. "So, I packed whatever I could fit into my duffle bag, and I got the hell out of dodge. I ran. I ran because I couldn't close my eyes at night with seeing your face white and cold and covered in blood and," he breaks off and takes a shuddering breath, covering his eyes and sinking to his knees. "And I couldn't stand that she would hurt you because of me. That all your light and potential would be ripped away from you in blood and pain and nothing I felt for you could make even the risk of that worthwhile." 

He lifts his head to look up at them, where they’ve moved to the side of the bed towards him. “And do you want to know what the worst part is, actually? I can’t get over the idea that even though I haven’t seen Mary Keay in 10 years, the ghost of her demons lives inside of me. That I'm really just… Her. That one day my mind will snap and I'll be a danger to you both and I'll be the one hurting you, just like she hurt him. And then I'll just be the same monster who has always haunted my dreams."

Martin and Jon exchange a heavy look. They can scarcely believe that Gerry had endured so much and yet is still… Gerry. Happy, flirtatious, loving Gerry. Gerry, who fills their lives with colour and spontaneity, always showing up when they least expected him, pushing himself into their gravity and asking for space in their lives. 

Despite the rather violent nature of Gerry's confession, it doesn't change anything for either of them. Things are not yet settled between them, but they curl around Gerry on the floor and they cry together over shattered innocence and sacrificed futures, and Jon promises himself that he will never let Mary Keay come between him and Gerry ever again.

Chapter Text

"When was the last time we saw Gerry?" Jon asks in a panic. Martin looks up from the other side of the dinner table. The pair of them are at their typical Thursday night date, in Jon’s favourite Italian restaurant. 

They had previously been studying their menus, but Martin had felt Jon’s tension from the moment they met outside the library. It wasn't exactly surprising, considering the recent developments in their relationship, but he was still acutely aware of it. 

“You saw him yesterday morning before work, and I saw him today when he came into the bookstore to drink tea and read an entire book without buying it.” Martin reminds him. He’s already told Jon about seeing Gerry today, and he was there when they had all said goodbye the previous morning. 

Martin is fairly sure that Jon’s issue is more with the fact that Gerry was pale and tear-soaked as Martin had kissed him goodbye, and that Gerry had clung to Jon like an oversized barnacle as they rocked together for a final moment before they both left him alone to his thoughts. Martin knew he had slept and painted, or at least, that was what Gerry had told him in the quiet moments Martin had taken to spend with him in between the aisles of books that morning.

“You should go over and see him if you’re concerned. We could go to the bar after we eat, and then you can go stay the night with him.” Martin tells him gently, nudging his foot under the table. 

"Maybe it would be better for Gerry if you go alone," Jon replies quietly, staring at his menu and refusing to make any kind of eye contact. 

Martin closes and sets aside his own menu, leaning forward on the table to focus his full attention on the idiot love of his life.

"Why? Because he and I sleep together and you think that makes our intimacy more important? Or because you perceive it's your fault that his heart is broken and because of that you think you don't deserve to feel any comfort you might get from seeing him?" Jon goes shock still at Martin's words, eyes simply downcast now, instead of pretending to read the menu they both have memorized. "Or was it both at the same time?" 

"Yellow," Jon says unhappily.

Only Jonothan Sims could safeword out of a conversation. Martin thinks tartly. I bet he learnt that from Gerry. 

Martin sighs and leans back, out of Jon's atmosphere. "I won't push a conversation you don't want to have, love, but you have to know that neither of those things is true."

"No?" Jon snaps, finally jerking his head up to look at Martin. "Not even you can deny that I demanded that confession. I don't know what I expected him to say-" Jon cuts off, words choked off. "But not… Not that. Not those awful, horrifying things. All that trauma dragged out and put on display like some kind of, of-" Jon stutters to a halt, pressing his eyes tightly closed as if to escape the thought that anyone had ever laid hands on their bright, beautiful boy. 

"Like some kind of bloody museum exhibit? You couldn't have guessed. And you have a right to closure as much as anyone." Martin says emphatically. He reaches out to clasp their hands together, and Jon thankfully allows the contact. "No one could ever look at Gerry and guess that those skeletons live in his closet. That he hides those scars behind his sweet smiles and paint-stained hands." 

"I was there, Martin. I was with him the night before he ran away. He already knew, had already decided to go, and I didn't notice." Jon bites out the final words, bringing his hand down on the table in frustration. It's the ultimate recrimination in his own mind. 

"You can't know what you've never been told Jon, you aren't omniscient. You can't know what Gerry and I are thinking and feeling unless we tell you. Just like Gerry and I can't know what you're feeling when you avoid telling us things." Martin sighs, the exhaustion of several days of tears and worry dragging down on him. "We can pick up on it sometimes though, and we aren't scared teenagers anymore. Gerry will know you're avoiding him if you send me to check on him tonight and it will hurt him. If you're committed to him, and I know you are, then you owe him your bravery now. We all have to overcome our insecurities if we want to make this work."

Jon and Martin sit looking at each other for a few heavy seconds. 

"I don't feel brave," Jon whispers across the space between them. 

"I know, my love. Neither do I. But we are." Martin lifts Jon's hand to press a kiss to Jon's palm, just as Gerry had on their initial date in the bar. "We can be brave together, the three of us."

Gerry is not at work. They share a look of sinking fear when they don't find him working his shift at the bar. 

He is at home when they let themselves into his loft, much to their relief. His posture and the general disarray fills Jon, especially, with fresh anxiety. 

He leans against his art table, smoking a cigarette and looking up at the most jarring painting Jon and Martin have ever seen him create. If the angry swirls of color and violent-looking paint slashes even constitute a painting. 

Gerry is wearing the same going-out clothes he had been wearing when Martin had seen him earlier, rather than his typical comfortable home clothes. He is covered in paint, and his makeup is smeared across his eyes from repeated rubbing. 

Martin nudges Jon in Gerry's direction and moves off towards the kitchen. 

"I do not want tea, Martin." Gerry's quiet voice manages to fill the space, hollow and empty, much like his facial expression. 

"Good," He responds, hardly missing a beat. "I was going to look for the whiskey." 

"Stop looking like a kicked puppy Jon, you didn't do anything wrong," Gerry says to him, offering his cigarette. Jon eyes the doorway that Martin just disappeared through, but ultimately goes over and takes it. They lean together, shoulder to shoulder, smoking and each trying to draw warmth from the other. 

"Do you know what I thought about for years after you left?" Jon eventually whispers softly. 

"What?" 

"That last night we were together. Do you remember?"  

Gerry laughs breathlessly at the question, pressing his eyes shut and curling slightly in on himself. "Yes Jon, I remember. How could I ever forget." 

"That was the last time I had sex." Gerry finally looks over at him, no shock, no visible reaction at all really, but his attention focuses on him. Jon focuses his own attention on the painting, which is easier to look at than Gerry's face right now, despite its discordant energy. "I could never let go of that feeling I had after; like we were one soul separated by our ridiculous bodies. Like our intimacy, however desperate and hormonal, brought us closer together than anything else we could ever do together in this life." 

Jon releases the confession into the room around them, finally releasing himself from the weight of it. 

"And then I was gone," Gerry whispers back, voice small. 

"And then you were gone. I was never very interested in sex as it was, and then even when I was in relationships after that, I never wanted to risk lying in someone's arms and finding a hole where that feeling should have been. Or maybe even worse, finding it there again, as if what we had wasn't as special as I had thought, and that was why you had just been able to walk away so easily."

"It wasn't. It was the worst thing I ever did." 

"I know that now," Jon says, taking a long, grounding drag of his cigarette, "But that was the fear that sat in my chest and kept that wound bleeding, right up until the day that I watched you walk out of my library stacks, like some kind of literary saviour, reborn from my desire and ink and old parchment paper." 

Gerry pushes off from the table they are perching on. "I understand if you don't want this anymore. I wouldn't want to be with me, either, if I were you." 

"Gerry-" Jon tries to cut him off, but he plows on ahead, apparently deciding to just get the words out from where they've been suffocating him. 

"You can keep Martin, obviously, you knew him first. You two were happy together before I plowed into your lives like a fucking freight train." 

Martin himself, listening in the other room, doesn't particularly appreciate Gerry attempting to hand him off like a negotiating chip, but keeps his opinions to himself for the time being, in the hopes that Jon will handle the situation. 

Jon watches Gerry for a moment as he starts moving things around, shoulders tense and movements aggressive. He rolls his next words very carefully around his mouth before he allows himself to speak. 

"You did plow into our lives like a freight train." Gerry releases a sound of distress at the repeated words, and Jon slowly walks up to him and takes his shaking hands, turning Gerry towards him and hoping to finally encourage eye contact between them. "But we don't think that's a bad thing. We love you, Gerry Delano. I love you. I loved you when you were Gerard Keay, and I love you now and I loved you in a tiny box in my heart for all the years we were apart. I would be an idiot if I let this hurt between us keep us apart for any longer than it already has, and the last thing I could ever want is to watch you walk out of my life again."

Tears slip down Gerry's messy cheeks and Jon reaches up to brush them gently away. 

"Please," Jon begs him, voice hoarse. "Please stay with me, please keep us here in your loft and teach me to paint my nails and be brave. Let Martin braid your hair and keep going into his store to read his books without buying them."

For a moment they simply stand, tears pouring from Gerry's tightly shut eyes while Jon clings to him and tries desperately to occupy the same space in the universe as Gerry does. 

Gerry's eyes open slowly, teal irises only enhanced by the brightness of his tears. 

"Yes," he tells Jon. 

"Yes? You'll stay with us?" 

"Yes. Always." Gerry pulls Jon further into his embrace and they cling together, crying quietly. 

"Thank God," Martin mutters in the next room, running his hands up his face and through his hair in relief. Shaking it out and releasing the tension that had wound itself up in his gut, he gets up and starts moving about with purpose. 

"Is Martin cooking?" Gerry asks incredulously as the scent of frying bacon reaches them through their tearful haze. 

"Oh," Jon says, glancing up at the kitchen doorway. "I guess so. We never ate any dinner." 

"Why not?" Gerry asks, sniffling. 

Jon sighs, full of gratitude and long-suffering. "Because Martin wouldn't stop emotionally stripping me naked in public." 

Gerry laughs wetly, imagination running wild. 

"Also," he says, full of exhausted affection. "Because we love you."

"Oh." Gerry curls around Jon even more. "I'm glad."

Martin feeds them, and sends Gerry to shower, and puts on a movie for Jon to start. He doesn't touch any of the art things, but he tidies a little as he hovers around, waiting for him to emerge from the bathroom. 

When he does, Gerry looks much, much better. The smudged makeup and paint are washed away, and his hair is wet. It all combines to make Gerry look very young, and Martin is reminded that he is actually the youngest of them, despite always seeming so settled into his life. 

Martin takes his hand and tugs him towards the lounge section of the big main space. 

"Martin, I-" Gerry starts. 

"Not now, love. You and I will sort things out later when you've slept and had time to process everything else." Martin's tone doesn't invite any argument, and Gerry's teeth snap together as he closes his mouth. 

The movie plays, but Gerry sleeps through it and so does Jon, mostly. 

As the credits roll, Martin giggles to find himself somewhat drowning in sleeping men, despite the quiet heaviness still hanging in the air. Jon wakes at the motion, since Martin is almost directly beneath him, and yawns and stretches. 

"How are we going to get our lumberjack to bed?" Jon asks, eyeing Gerry's long form with some trepidation. 

"I could carry him, probably," Martin says, with no real confidence. 

"Please don't," Gerry mutters into the side of Martin's neck, where his face is buried. 

"Ah, problem solved," Jon says, leaning over Martin to kiss Gerry. 

Martin hopes they wake each enough to walk to bed, lacking the desire to carry anyone anywhere at this time of night. Especially up the stairs to Gerry's loft, where the bed lives. 

They make it up to the bedroom eventually, and collapse together, sleeping soundly through the night. 

Gerry doesn't always like lying in the middle when all three of them are in bed together, being the warmest and the longest of the three of them, but the next morning that's where he finds himself. 

The window lets in the cool, gentle light of pre-dawn, and Gerry shifts around, trying to orientate himself. 

Jon is lying right on his edge, on his stomach, absolutely dead to the world, a halo of wavy black and silver hair surrounding him chaotically.

Martin is lying on his back, one arm threaded through Gerry's, the other thrown over his head. He breathes deeply, but shifts periodically, as if unsettled. Gerry turns towards Martin, bare chest pressing against his shoulder and feels dread settle into his stomach as he watches his partner sleep fitfully.

Gerry knows he won't be going back to sleep, but doesn't even consider getting up and moving away from the men in his bed. 

Martin stirs at his movement, moving his arm to curl around his waist and draw him in close. Gerry buries his face in Martin's shoulder, arm thrown across his waist. 

"What’s the time, Ger?" He mutters. 

"Early still. Almost six." He whispers in return, peering over Martin to check the bedside clock. 

He groans. "You alright?" 

Gerry hums back, pressing a kiss to Martin's chest since it's so conveniently close by. 

They lie together for a while, cuddled up close, sharing body heat and gentle comfort, until eventually, Martin surfaces properly, mostly to use the bathroom. 

He comes back with a glass of water, which Gerry shares with him before they settle back as they were before. 

Martin runs his fingers through Gerry's hair and Gerry traces patterns along Martin's chest through his shirt. 

"I'm sorry," Gerry whispers into the cool semi-darkness. 

"For having a breakdown?" Martin's tone is carefully even, although he continues to hold Gerry close. 

"No, not that." 

"You mean the part where you assured Jon he could keep me as if I were an unwanted child in a divorce. A feeling I'm plenty familiar with, actually." The carefully natural tone continues, and Gerry presses his fingers into Martin's side, hurt sliding through him at his own stupidity. His heart breaks to imagine how the careless words had made Martin feel. 

"That's not what I meant." His voice is small and he hates the useless words, but he can't push any others out. 

"Don't worry about it. I'll admit, I do normally prefer to be involved in the plans for my own future, but I'll let it slide this time." Martin smiles just a little, an edge of bitterness creeping in. “On the grounds of emotional distress.”

"Martin…" Gerry presses the word into his skin, curling even closer. 

"I'll ask you this though. Did you really think I would just walk away with Jon after what's been between us?" Martin's voice finally, finally breaks just a little. Through the entire Mary confession, Jon's emotional struggle, their confrontations, and the oceans of tears, Martin had been completely steady, calm, logical, never falling into the erratic emotions of his partners, but this is what finally gets to him.

"I-I don't know what I thought. I guess I just couldn't fathom at that moment that you and Jon could ever want me again." Gerry slides his hand up, curling it around Martin's face and drawing it down to face him. "I'm broken, Martin, and I don't want my brokenness to break you."

Martin signs softly, turning over towards him, so they press together. Their foreheads touch and he kisses him gently, just once. 

“You are not broken. What happened to you is fucked up, and anyone can understand you being messy and volatile sometimes, especially with how balanced you normally are. Maybe next time, ask us how we feel. Instead of, you know, staying up for two days, trashing your flat, and coming to my job to say goodbye to me without actually telling me anything.”

“Noticed that, did you?” Gerry asks, flushing. 

“Yes, love. The complete lack of flirting, winking, and ass grabbing rather gave it away. You also paid for your drink. Very out of character.” 

Gerry laughs and presses closer into him. “I have to keep you in business. Got to pay for something.” 

Martin squeezes him reassuringly, rubbing their noses together.

They are quiet for a moment, and Martin frowns in consideration, before going on. “You and Jon aren't the only catalysts here. I would have fought for you if Jon wanted to pack it in and walk away. I chose you just as much as I chose Jon. Just as much as you chose me. Please remember that the next time you're tempted to treat me like a pawn in this arrangement, because I am not.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” Gerry tells him, sincerity heavy in his voice. 

“Then we'll say no more about it.”

Chapter Text

Jon has a terrible, sinking feeling about what he considers their new Mary Keay problem.

He knows Gerry feels more confident that he can deal with her now, as an adult with his own resources and a solid foundation, but Jon doesn't want her ever walking into their lives again.

He feels the threat of her existence hanging over their hard-won peace like an anvil on a lace string. 

"I think we should try to find her," Jon tells Martin one evening when they’re alone in bed. Gerry is downstairs painting, and even though he almost certainly can't hear them, Jon whispers it like a dirty secret. 

"You think-" Martin looks up from his book with an almost comically incredulous look on his face. "You think we should look for a murder who threatened your life?" 

Utterly uninterested in secrets between the three of them, Martin does not attempt to speak quietly. 

"Well, when you put it like that," Jon grumbles, returning his attention to his book and pretending to drop it. 

The next day at work, he puts his researching skills to the test. It doesn't even take very long, and in less than an hour, he has an address in Morden, where she apparently owns a bookstore of all things.

The information available is fairly spartan, updated more than a year ago, but Jon can see enough. He can see that she lives less than an hour from Gerry, and it itches at him. 

He knows he shouldn't go. Knows that Martin and Gerry will be furious if they ever find out that he snooped, nevermind if he goes there and unsettles old ghosts.. 

But still, he takes a half-day off from work and gets on a bus to Morden. 

When Jon arrives and finds the storefront boarded up, he is half reassured, half perturbed. He had felt almost relieved when he had a concrete lead to follow, but now all he has is more questions. 

"She's dead." 

Jon startles at being unexpectedly spoken to and turns towards a teen girl sitting in the storefront doorway next door. 

"She died, like a while ago? Apparently she lost her shit and cut herself up with a piece of glass. Bleed to death on the floor." She inclines her head towards the dilapidated bookstore. She seems quite taken with the gossip, as if it's the most interesting thing to ever intercept with her boring life. It probably is, Jon thinks, uncharitably. 

"When did it happen?" He prods, hoping for as many details as possible. 

"Oh, like two years ago?" She nods at herself in confirmation. "You can go in if you want. It's haunted. People are always going in to see if they can find Mary's ghost." 

Jon shudders, feeling that Mary's ghost is already plenty present enough in his life. He asks how to get in anyway. 

Jon doesn't find any obvious ghosts inside, only a lot of dust, a few vandalised books, and a trashed building. 

There's a staircase leading upwards and he stares up at the upper landing for a moment, weighing his options. Might as well , he thinks, and proceeds up it carefully. 

There's literally nothing but more dust, and Jon descends into a sneezing fit just as he is deciding to cut his losses, feeling slightly dizzy. 

The sneezing turns into coughing, and Jon takes a step back to lean against a wall. 

But the wall isn't there, and he falls. 

And falls. 

And falls. 

Jon calls Martin from the hospital. He’s down in Brighton, meeting with a business supplier, and Jon assumes this makes it a safe bet he'll arrive without Gerry. He assumes wrong. 

Gerry arrives, alone, in half the time it would take Martin to make the trip, looking flustered and scared. 

"How did you get here so fast?" Jon demands incredulously, made short by his shame and physical discomfort. 

"How did I-" Gerry pauses and takes a deep breath, but his next words are still slightly shrill. "I took a fucking Uber, Jonathan. How did you get here?"

Jon opens his mouth, but Gerry cuts him off as he goes on. 

"You went looking for Mary, didn't you?" Jon's guilty face must tip him off, because he simply goes on, pacing angrily. "Christ, Jon! What the hell were you expecting to find? And you know what, Martin didn't even sound surprised when he called me to tell me you were here. You know, I can understand this uncommunicative bullshit from you, but not Martin."

"That's not very nice," Jon grouses. 

"And do you think it was nice for me to hear from Martin that you were hurt? I'm glad to know he was your one and only phone call from an ambulance." 

"Gerry-" 

"Don't fucking Gerry me."

"I'm sorry," Jon says, looking down at his hands. 

"Are you, Jon? Because you don't even know the worst part yet. If you had asked me, I could have told you Mary was dead, and then we wouldn't be in this mess at all."

"You knew?" 

"Of course I knew! I was her next of kin!" 

Gerry stops, pressing his fingers into his eyes and blowing a hard breath out. He takes several more breaths, heart-pounding, anxiety through the roof. 

"Jon, how hurt are you?" Gerry asks quietly, coming closer to gently take a hand. 

"Just a few bruises." Gerry raises an eyebrow in disbelief. "A mild concussion." And the other. "Maybe a few broken ribs."

"Oh, my sweet, sweet idiot. How loving you makes me want to climb the walls sometimes."

"Only sometimes?" Jon fills his voice with false levity, although it comes out rather shaky. 

Gerry grunts, but leans down to kiss his forehead very gently. It's a minuscule point of contact, but Jon knows Gerry and can feel the tremble of fear (fear for him, who would have thought), and the tension of his frustration. 

"I'm going to go talk to the doctor, okay? Just- just take it easy. Everything will be fine, love." 

Jon doesn't believe him, not really, but he lets Gerry go. There's a lot of noise and movement after that, and Jon's head spins through most of it. Gerry is there, talking to doctors, querying the tests they want to run, and just generally making his opinion in regards to his partner's care very clear. 

Martin knows it's bad when he arrives at the hospital and finds Gerry chain-smoking in the parking lot. His expression mostly just looks exhausted, but in his favorite black trench coat, and most intimidating combat boots, he looks ready to burn something down. 

"That bad, huh?" Martin tries, but Gerry simply waves him towards the entrance, not making eye contact. 

Martin almost cuts his losses, wanting to deal with one idiot at a time, but doesn't want to leave Gerry to sulk. 

"How is he?" Martin asks. 

"He's in one piece. They asked me to leave so they could do the x-rays. Apparently, he fell over a banister." 

"A banister? How?" 

"Your guess is as good as mine until we can interrogate him." Gerry takes a long, contemplative drag of his cigarette. "But apparently it's not all that bad and as long as the x-rays look clear, we can take him home in a couple of hours."

"He couldn't have chosen a worse time."

Gerry grunts in agreement. "He's going to tell us he wants to go back to his own flat, but that's only because he thinks I'm angry at him."

"And why would he think that?" Martin questions. 

Gerry takes another long drag of his cigarette as if testing Martin's attention span, or patience, or both. Martin just waits, still and easy. 

Gerry explains what he knows, his earlier outburst, Jon's guilty, stupid face. 

When the cigarette is smoked and put out, Martin finally approaches Gerry all the way, and Gerry sinks into his arms gratefully. 

"Everything will be fine."

"Hardly. This is my fault to begin with, and I yelled at him. In a hospital bed!" 

"It's as good a place as any other, love. Come on, let's go get him so we can take him home." 

Martin kisses him gently, before taking his hand and dragging him off to find Jon. 

"Your partner is very loud." The blonde nurse with the buzzcut tells Jon as she wheels him to imaging. 

"In his defense, I'm an idiot." He sighs, causing his battered ribs to ache. 

She laughs heartily, wheeling him into an elevator. "Almost everyone I meet as an A&E nurse is. At least you seem like an interesting idiot."

Jon actually smiles, somehow pleased with the observation. "I'm Jon."

"Daisy Tonner." She offers a hand, which Jon shakes as firmly as he can manage. "You seem a bit old for trespassing in haunted houses, Jon."

The elevator dings and she wheels him out into the imaging wing. "I was looking for the woman who died there." Daisy gives him a skeptical look and he sighs dramatically. "I didn't know she was dead."

Daisy nods her understanding. "I remember when she died actually. They brought her here that night. Never seen someone with so much blood loss be so… Erratic. We had to strap her down." Daisy looks contemplative as she recalls the memory. 

"She was a crazy bitch to the very end, then?" Jon asks, bitterness creeping through his tone at the woman who caused Gerry (still causes Gerry,) so much pain. Jon doesn't allow himself, yet, to dwell on the heartache of the years of Gerry she took from him. 

"For sure," Daisy tells him. "What do you do for a living then?" 

"I'm a librarian?" Jon tells her, but it goes up a bit at the end, like a question. 

"Really?" Daisy asks wryly, "You don't sound very sure."

Jon considers laughing but remembers his ribs in time to settle on a tired smile. "I do work in a library but to be frank, most of the time I just feel like my boss's busy boy. Always running here and there and doing everything but what I thought I was supposed to be doing."

"Most professions aren't what we think they are when we sign up for them," Daisy observes. She parks his wheelchair outside a door and leans around to let them know a patient is waiting. 

"Do you like being a nurse?" Jon asks her when she settles against the wall beside him, looking rather more intimidating than one would expect from the average health care worker. 

"Most of the time. Sometimes it can be just exhausting and draining." She shrugs, contemplative. "Sometimes I get a patient that makes all the shit worthwhile. Mostly I just want to deck someone, though."

She cracks up at that and looks down at Jon to give him a feral grin. "Your boyfriend seems like a worthwhile candidate. Very punchable face."

"Careful, he might enjoy it," Jon warns her, deadpan. 

They exchange a pointed look for a moment, before bursting into laughter. It pains Jon significantly, but he considers it worthwhile to enjoy the moment with a strange new friend. 

By the time Daisy returns Jon to his room, both Martin and Gerry are there. Daisy looks pointedly between blue-haired, pierced, goth Gerry, and pink-haired, jumper clad, soft Martin and then eyes up 'born an 85-year old man' Jon for good measure. 

Jon just shrugs at her and she nods in acknowledgment, before helping Jon into his hospital bed. 

"As soon as the imaging comes through, it'll be checked by the surgeon on duty," Daisy informs them briskly, "then they'll come through and let you know what's happening. You'd best settle in for a bit of a wait. Buzz if you need me."

With a curt nod and a small smile for Jon, Daisy is off. 

Martin comes over and pulls Jon into his comfortable arms, pressing his lips to Jon's forehead. He sighs out in relief to have solid reassurance that Jon is alright, alive, and relatively unscathed. 

Gerry also moves over from his perch on the windowsill, and folds himself onto the bed, cross-legged in front of his errant partner. 

They settle all together, Martin beside Jon, one unwavering arm around his shoulders, Gerry in front of Jon, both of his hands holding both of Jon's. 

Jon opens his mouth to apologize. 

"I'll go first," Gerry tells him, gently. "I am sorry that I was so upset earlier and that I raised my voice. I was fucking scared and I took it out on you when you needed me to be soft and steady. I'm also sorry that I didn't tell you Mary was dead before."

Jon tries to interrupt now, but Martin silences him with a squeeze. 

"I meant to tell you, but it was all very messed up and over-wrought and I honestly forgot." Gerry looks chastised, a rare blush staining his cheeks. "I hope that we can get better at talking these things out so that this doesn't happen again."

He pauses, considering. "And I hope that if I have made you think that you can't talk to me by avoiding telling you things in the past, that you can forgive me and I will do what I need to be better." 

Jon is truly floored, and utterly speechless. The words themselves had been a little bit halting and slightly awkward, as Gerry struggled to express himself, but the earnestness proves to Jon just how much Gerry loves him.

"I- I'm sorry too." Jon stutters out. "I'm an idiot but I love you. I hope we can get better at this together." 

His words feel downright juvenile after Gerry's acknowledgement, but it's all he's got, pounding head and trapped emotions preventing similar declarations (oh and his total lack of social skills). Gerry beams at him regardless and he leans forwards to kiss Jon sweetly on the forehead. 

Martin grabs Gerry's hand and places a kiss on his palm, sending him a significant look. It feels like approval to Jon, and he can't help but appreciate their bond just as much as his own with each of them. 

They settle to wait, and they take turns reading from Martin's book to pass the time, each of their voices having a few moments to fill the air and weave around them. 

Dr. Basira Hussain eventually comes in, assuring them that Jon's concussion is mild, his ribs are only bruised, and that he should make a full recovery (if he rests), in just a few weeks. They thank her profusely and she leaves them with Daisy to check out. 

Gerry goes off to take care of the paperwork and in a few minutes, they're saying goodbye and walking out of the hospital together. Martin and Gerry flank Jon carefully, there to support him if he stumbles. 

He also sits between them in the taxi, head on Martin's shoulder and one hand grasped between both of Gerry's. He feels exhausted and floaty from painkillers, and every jolt of the car makes it difficult to breathe. 

He smiles, rather unexpectedly. Despite his current predicament, he's glad enough to know that Mary Keay is dead and that chapter of their lives is definitely closed. He does wish he had just asked Gerry, but he hopes that the strained feelings and injuries will blow over and she will finally be out of their lives for good, nothing but a sad, angry memory. A shade living only in the memories of those that didn't know her. 

Chapter Text

Things settle back around them after Gerry's wild revelations and Jon's accident. Jon heals (mostly because they force him to rest) and in that time the pair of them heal into a far more solid relationship. 

Gerry decides to keep his blue hair, for the time being, letting it fade through all the different shades of navy and Indigo and sky and then dying it dark and moody again. Martin, to Gerry's eternal delight, keeps his pink hair, as committed to the upkeep as he is with anything he cares about. 

As January moves towards February, Tim, Jon, and Gerry plan a surprise birthday party for Martin at the bar. It's on a Monday, so Gerry's boss lets him book the place out, and Jon drags him over there on the grounds that Gerry has to work an extra shift and he wants to see them anyway. 

As people yell and party poppers explode, Martin turns exactly the same shade of pleased pink as his hair. Jon and Gerry each kiss him, and he quietly confesses that this is the first birthday party that he has ever had in his life. 

Gerry and Tim, filled to the brim with extra, hired a phone-box-shaped photo booth (blue, obviously) and put Polaroid cameras on all the tables for the guests to get photos with. Many of their friends insist on taking two or three snaps with Martin and then leaving him birthday messages on the back, all filled with poetry and book quotes and confession of their love for him. 

Gerry's Polaroid card has a drawing of Gerry and Martin standing together, Gerry pointing at Martin, and a speech bubble with the words 'that's mine, though'. Always equal opportunity, he does a similar one for Jon and slips it into his back pocket. Jon blushes when he sees it, but allows himself one pleased soft smile, as he watches Gerry and Martin move together rather chaotically on the dance floor. 

Georgie and Melanie are dancing nearby and, during the next song Melanie and Gerry swing away together. Georgie and Martin come together with a shocked laugh and an affectionate glare at their errant partners. 

Basira is coaxed onto the dance floor by Sasha. Daisy, finding herself partnerless, guilt trips Jon into dancing with her. 

Tim insists on the karaoke, probably to torment Jon, and sings several songs, very badly, often charming others up onto the stage with him. Including, memorably, Gerry and Sasha, neither of whom can sing any better than he can. 

They do look very striking all together though, up on the stage with the lights twisting around them fetchingly. Tim and Gerry are both wearing slightly more dressed-up versions of their typical ensembles, and Sasha looks dashing in her best pantsuit and waistcoat in between them. At the end of the song, she pecks each boy once on the lips and then disappears into the crowd before they can force her to sing again. Gerry and Tim also kiss each other, for good measure, before jumping down and surrendering the microphone to someone else. 

Daisy and Basira sing a frantic pop song together, fairly well, although it's quite a shock to see their normally serious doctor friends drunk and singing karaoke. 

Jon is convinced to sing one song, only because he loves Martin, and there's a lot of heckling afterward at the fact that he was just so damn good at it, and why does he always insist on hiding his best talents away? Somewhere nearby, Gerry comments that Jon's best talent is getting unreasonably hot boys to fall in love with him, which makes Martin blush yet again. 

Martin doesn't give Jon a hard time, but rather wraps his arms around Jon and kisses him, very intensely, in front of everyone they know, who cheer uproariously, thoroughly drunk. 

"Thank you." He whispers to Jon conspiratorially, as they stand close together in the crowd. 

"For the song?" He asks back, swaying them gently, completely out of time with the music. 

"For existing. For loving me." 

"Anyone could love you, Martin. I'm just lucky that you love me back."

After the party wraps up, Tim stumbles out with Sasha, yelling behind him that he better not see Martin at work tomorrow. 

Martin perches on a bar stool, looking very fetching in the warm bar lights, watching his lovers try to clean up while soundly drunk. Gerry trips into Jon and they descend into giggles. 

Only a little tipsy and knowing very well that he'll have to help if he ever wants to get home, Martin picks up the already full trash bags and takes them out the back, hoping the fresh air will also sober him up the rest of the way. 

After an evening of pounding music and shouting laughter, Martin feels the silence of the back alley almost deafeningly. 

That's the only way, he thinks later, that he could possibly have heard the tiny mewl that catches his attention. Tracking it behind the dumpster, he pulls it away from the wall to find a teeny tiny little gray fluff ball. 

"Hey, little guy." Martin coos and the kitten lurches towards him, obviously hungry and tired. Martin scoops it up and clutches it to his chest, where it shivers. He thinks that maybe this is what people talk about when they say 'love at first sight'.

He looks up at the full moon fondly, a rare sight in London in winter, and whispers to the little feline, "I think I shall call you Luna."

Martin carries her inside, hoping his partners will be as enamored as he is.

The next day, the moment his boyfriends sober up and can hold a conversation, Martin begs them to keep her. 

"I don't know," Jon grumbles, eyeing it critically. "Kittens that age are a lot of work, it looks like she needs to be bottle-fed still."

When Martin's face falls, Gerry bashes him in the shoulder and looks at him like he's an idiot. Which he is, even Jon can agree. 

"I think three adult men can raise one kitten," Gerry says cheerfully, despite his hangover. "We can take turns. I'll do the night shift." He offers easily, and Martin melts at the willingness to participate. 

"Well then," Jon grouses, before relenting and bestowing a small scratch to Luna's chin. "I suppose she might enjoy visiting the library occasionally."

Martin beams at them, more pleased than ever to have two partners in crime. 

As Jon predicted, it's certainly an adjustment, and raising a kitten is worlds away from having Saturn- a shockingly independent creature on his clingiest day. 

Nevertheless, Luna manages to grow up just fine, sometimes in the bar, the bookstore, or even the library. She even spends time at the studio, where Saturn pretends to tolerate her, but actually melts into a big pile of mothering instinct and Gerry often finds them curled up together, sound asleep. 

The three of them adapt to fatherhood (as Gerry insists on calling it) a bit tumultuously, but they settle in eventually, and Martin considers that his kitten, and his boyfriends, are easily the best things in the world. 

Chapter Text

If someone had asked Martin where he had least expected to be on the day after his thirtieth birthday, the veterinarian probably wouldn’t have been at the top of his list, but it definitely would have made the top ten. 

Honestly, Martin didn’t think he had ever stepped foot into a vet clinic before in his life. He had never owned so much as a pet hamster, and now here he stood, clutching a tiny ball of mewling fluff and trying not to get distracted by the pet toys. 

He felt positively inundated with new information on all sides. There were about a million different types of pet food lining the walls, and everything seemed to be a new bright colour to draw his distracted eyes. Warning signs that made very little sense to him filled the space, most memorably ‘Large birds must be kept leashed at all times inside the practice’, and ‘Reptiles need to be secured inside their travel enclosures.’ 

There was indeed an iguana in a massive glass enclosure sunning itself under a heat lamp, but it appeared to be a permanent resident, not a guest. Seemingly opposite to this was the massive tabby cat draped across the reception desk. 

Martin begins to panic slightly. 

He desperately wished he had allowed one of his lovers to accompany him, but he had sent Gerry back to bed to sleep and Jon had been shooed off to work, both quite thoroughly hung-over. 

Now here he stands, alone with his new fluffy friend, and doesn't even know where to start. Neither of his partners have ever actually had a kitten before, but at least they had both owned cats before. 

Gerry had been adopted by Saturn as a full-grown boy when he arrived at the window of his shitty little flat in Edinburgh and demanded to be let in. Gerry had confessed to a romantic feeling of instant affection for the fluffy beast and had taken Saturn in without a moment’s hesitation. They had moved together as he traveled the country, eventually settling together in London, where he had found Jon again. 

Jon had been raised with several cats that had all been born before him and had liked them, but he had told Martin once that he heavily associated cats with his Grandmother and his slightly cold upbringing. That was all the pet experience he had until he met Saturn and fell in love with him as easily as they’d both fallen in love with Gerry. Like goth, like feline companion, apparently. 

Nevertheless, Saturn did not appreciate being taken to the vet and had never gone once since Martin had met him. 

"Can I help you, sir?" A kind-looking older lady sat at reception, and she beaconed Martin forward gently. 

"I- I-" He started, stuttering badly. He closed his eyes and shook himself to dispel the unfortunate remnant of his childhood. “I found this kitten, and I was hoping the vet could check on it for me?” 

“And will you be wanting to surrender it into our care?” She asks, tapping away at her keyboard.

“What?” Martin shies away, pulling the cat protectively even closer to his chest. 

“You’re more than welcome to keep it, but we do also take in strays if you aren’t able to.” She smiles at him soothingly. 

“Oh, I want to keep her please.” Martin flushes a bit. “I already gave her a name.” 

The woman smiles at him knowingly. “The vet can see you in 15 minutes then.” 

She takes his contact information, and they weigh Martin’s new friend. She guesses the kitten's age to be about 2 weeks and sends him off to sit close to the iguana. 

***

An hour later, Martin stumbles out the door, armed with more supplies than he could ever have imagined he needed to raise one small animal. His head is spinning, alternating between fond adoration and complete anxiety over this new task that he has given himself. Luna meows at him supportively, happy to be clean and have a full belly. 

Out on the street, he finds Jon. It’s raining slightly, and he’s wrapped in a long peacoat, with a scarf Martin is certain was once his. 

“What are you doing here?” Martin demands, shocked. He stumbles over to his partner, and Jon reaches out to steady him. “I thought you were at the library."

Jon presses a quick kiss to his shocked mouth, before taking several things out of his overcrowded arms. 

"I know you said that you were going to do this on your own, but I wanted to be nearby in case you needed me, so I called off." He shrugs a bit, "I reckoned that I had earned it, what with all the overtime I work and don't get paid for." 

Martin is filled with warmth, eyes welling a bit. "Oh, Jon." 

"Oh no, don't cry. I'm sorry." Jon's face pinches in concern. "I can go if you want me to." 

"No, I'm so happy you're here. I was just wishing for you, and there you were. Thank you." Martin steps towards him as best he can, and they kiss softly for a few moments, out in the rain. 

In time, the kitten, haphazardly clutched to Martin's chest, makes her displeasure at the soggy conditions known. Gripping hands tightly, Jon and Martin set off towards the bookstore, just a couple blocks over.

It’s quiet when they arrive, the morning pre-work rush over, and the student and lunch crowds far off yet. The two baristas and Tim descend upon them immediately when they see the small head poking out of Martin’s coat. There is much cooing and fuss over Luna, and Martin recounts the tale of discovering her in the back alley of Gerry’s bar. 

Once they return to work, Jon and Martin settle on one of the sofas, a coffee table before them. They make up a small cat bed, which Luna explores for a few moments, before sitting at the edge and staring at Martin imploringly. He scopes her up and plops her inside, before placing the tiny bed right in his lap. She happily passes out after that, the wild adventures of the morning catching up with her little kitten body. 

Deciding to truly have the day off, Jon does not take out his laptop and start working on it, instead ordering their tea, picking a book to read from the store, and bringing it all over to settle with his partner. 

“Thank you for coming,” Martin tells him, a soft look on his face. He leans an elbow on the back of the couch, head resting on his fist. “I didn’t even realise how much I needed you until I saw you there.” 

“I know,” Jon starts, frowning in concentration, “that I’m not always the best at sensing these things, that sometimes I can be too focused on myself and the things going on in my head. I do hope that I always manage to catch the important moments, and I trust that you’ll always let me know when I don’t.”

Jon pauses, and sighs, a self-deprecating smile lining his face. He continues, “I want to learn to be who you need me to be. I want to be for you, what you always are to me. I love you, Martin.”

“I love you too, Jon.” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand, before placing a sweet kiss in his palm. “You are exactly who I need you to be.” 

It is a soft, hazy sort of day. The rain pours outside, and Jon lies against Martin and reads two books before lunchtime. Martin practices bottle-feeding Luna, every few hours, and Jon sits nearby watching nervously. He wonders vaguely if his partner is alarmed to be around an infant of any kind for a while, but on the third feeding, Jon seems to rouse himself and offers to give it a try. 

Each time a new client comes in, there's a round of cooing and petting, and Martin worries that she’ll be spoiled rotten in no time. He imagines that if she spends much time here, he’ll have to sell cat treats and Luna will one day be as fat as a house. 

At one point, Jon starts to read aloud, and Martin seems to fall asleep gently propped against his shoulder. He wakes to find Jon laughing softly and Luna learning to use him as a climbing frame. 

"I think she likes you, love," Martin whispers into his hair. 

"Well, I think I might like her too," Jon confesses, a world away from his scepticism of just this morning. 

After lunchtime, Gerry flies into the store very manically, clutching a very strange backpack to his chest. It has a weird clear window, reminiscent of a ship’s porthole, and the rest of it is hard structured plastic. 

He ducks down to kiss first Martin, then Jon, before thrusting the backpack into Martin's hands. 

"What is this?" Martin asks, holding it away from himself as if it might bite. 

"It's a cat backpack. Saturn has always preferred it to a normal cat basket, and I thought it might be useful if we need to take her to work with us and then back to various flats." Gerry walks around the table, bodily picking up Jon's legs and sitting beneath them. He looks like nothing so much as a large, damp bat, black trench coat flapping around him like over large wings. "I ordered her one of her own, but it won't be here for a few days, so I brought Saturn's in the meantime."

There's a beat of shocked silence, so Gerry adds, "Only if you want it, obviously."

"I- I do, thank you." Martin can feel himself blushing with odd pleasure. 

He had made sure to ask them if they were okay with Martin keeping Luna, but he hadn't really expected them to embrace the situation with such gusto, and his heart burns with an odd intensity at their gestures of support. 

It's almost-

It's almost like they love him, and care about all the things he cares about. 

Martin sits, staring at a cat backpack, and allows the realisation to wash over him. It hits him like a tidal wave, despite the dozens and maybe hundreds of times they've said the words to him. 

He feels very foolish, left floored by the fact that his lovers- well, that they love him! 

Martin knows, understands even, that he has been left slightly broken by his father leaving, his mother hating him, the things that he chose to do to survive in his early adulthood. He does understand that, and yet he never realized that he was hearing Jon and Gerry say they love him and saying the words back, and yet subtly holding on to the (clearly mistaken) understanding that they don't really mean them. 

It makes a sick kind of sense, clinging to the idea that they don't really care about him, so when they decide that they don't anymore, it doesn't leave him broken beyond repair. 

Martin puts the cat bag down on the table, hands Luna to Gerry, and gets up. He waves at them reassuringly when they try to ask him what's wrong, before walking to the bathroom, locking the door, and sobbing like a child for several long moments. 

***

As Luna grows, she spends time with each of them. 

Gerry takes her most of the first nights, feeding her through the evenings and then handing her back to Martin as he leaves for the bookstore. 

This means she spends quite a lot of her formative life in a bar, but when Martin goes in to check on them, he finds Gerry's plastered clientele just as enamored with the kitten as his own tea-drinking patrons. 

Jon likes to have her in the late afternoons, keeping her at the library for a few sleepy hours before he leaves for the day. He tells Martin once that the children's reading group comes in during that time, and he likes to sit in with them and let Luna listen along. 

The children, of course, adore her and Jon tells Martin very primly, "Listening comprehension is a very important skill in a developing infant."

Martin finds it hilarious and adorable and can't help but pull Jon into his arms and kiss him breathless, an unimpressed Luna trapped between them. 

Saturn does not appreciate Luna at first, disappearing in a huff the first few times Martin brings her over to the studio. 

"Don't worry about it, love." Gerry had waved away his concern casually. "He's just a jealous baby. He'll figure out that she wants to play with him eventually, and then they'll be the best of friends."

Indeed, Martin walks into the kitchen one morning to find the two cats curled together in a shaft of sunshine. Saturn is gently giving her a bath, and Luna purrs sweetly at the attention. 

When Saturn notices him watching, he untangles himself, shows Martin his bum, and then disappears. He's reminded of nothing so much as Gerry himself, caught eating ice cream for breakfast, or smoking during the day, an activity he would insist is a nighttime pursuit only. The same drama is employed as a distraction technique, and Martin wonders whether the cat learnt it from the goth, or the goth learnt it from the cat. 

Luna grows and settles, and Martin adores having her more than almost anything. 

He takes the time, as they raise her, to force himself to accept his life for what it truly is. He puts aside the constant nagging fear that Jon and Gerry will lose interest in him one day and begins to notice all the ways they show him they love him, which makes the words all the more precious to him when they take the time to tell him.

Chapter Text

One night, in the middle of a shift, Gerry gets a pounding migraine and goes to the back to have a cigarette. He knows it won't help, but he smokes it anyway and considers things as he paces the back room. 

He's terrible at being sick, and it makes him miserable to be around. Still, the pain makes him ache for his partners, and he can't help picking up the phone to call Jon. It's close to midnight, but Gerry hopes that it won't be the one time Jon has gone to bed at a reasonable hour. 

"Hello, Gerard," Jon answers the phone with an ocean of warmth in his voice. 

"I miss you." Gerry presses his forehead into the cool window, seeking some sort of relief from the agonizing pressure in his head. He whispers the words like a confession, smokey breath fogging up the glass before him. 

"What's wrong my love?" Just Jon's heady, seductive voice provides the emotional support Gerry was seeking, and he wishes he could sink into the words, the feelings behind them, and leave his fracturing body behind for a while. 

"Nothing. Not feeling well is all. I just wanted to hear your voice." He sounds pale and washed out, even to himself. 

"I'm still at the library, I'll come by and haunt you until your shift is over." Jon makes the offer very casually, although that fussy part of his personality that enjoys mothering Gerry and Martin shines through a bit. 

"On a Friday, Jon? You should be home with Martin." He can't help but chuckle at his sweet idiot, even through the pain. 

"Martin is out with Sasha and Tim for the evening, remember? I was hoping to stop by and tempt you over to mine tonight anyway." Far from being chastised for his workaholic tendencies, Jon injects all his fond affection into his tone. "Would you be interested in spending the night in a handsome man's bed?"

"Fuck yes. Obviously." 

"Oh Gerry, my Gerry." Jon sing-songs into the phone. "Always saying just the right thing to make my heart skip a beat."

Gerry takes a moment to consider his state. He can barely see out of his blurry eyes, and the pounding in his ears makes him feel vaguely underwater. His forceful personality makes it hard for him to admit, but he knows he shouldn't be working like this, and that he'll be much better off with his lover than alone in his own flat. 

"I'm going to beg off the rest of my shift, will you come fetch me?" He desperately tries to keep his words easy, but he comes off sounding rather plaintive. 

"Yes, Gerry, of course." Jon is frowning audibly now, but he leaves his concern be for the moment. Gerry can hear him moving about, probably packing up his things. "I'm leaving right now, I'll be there soonest. Gerry?" 

"Yeah?" 

"I love you."

Gerry squeezes his eyes shut tight. "I love you too, Jon." 

*

Jon takes one look at Gerry's drawn, pale face, and calls them a cab. 

Gerry doesn't offer even one argument, and a pit of concern opens up in Jon's stomach. 

"Do you want to go back to your place, after all?" He asks, sliding his hands up Gerry's arms to rest on his shoulders. "Maybe you'll be more comfortable in your own space."

"No, let's go to yours." Gerry draws their foreheads together, standing out in the cool air of the street. "I like being in your space, with your energy and your things. Besides, how can I resist an invitation to your bed."

"Yes, all the cuddling we've done there must really make your heart skip a beat with lust," Jon responds drily. 

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Gerry tells him firmly. 

The taxi arrives and they climb in. Gerry is several inches taller than Jon, but he manages to scoot down enough to lie draped over the smaller man. Jon notices with some amusement that Gerry has adopted a rather Saturn-like posture, curled around him like an extremely large cat in the limited space. 

They arrive at Jon's building and trudge up the several flights of stairs and through his door. Jon drags Gerry firmly by the hand, worried that without the right forward momentum, he'll lay down on the floor and pass out. Jon, under no misunderstanding about his physical prowess, knows that once his lumberjack-shaped boyfriend goes down, he certainly won't be getting him back up. 

They go straight to the en-suite, and Gerry strips down to his briefs, Jon encouraging him to wash his face and half-heartedly brush his teeth. Halfway through, Gerry lets out a startled chuckle. 

"What?" Jon asks from nearby, changing by his armoire. 

"I own three toothbrushes." He tells him in an airy, disconnected tone. "Don't you think that's kinda silly?" 

"No, Gerry, what would be silly was if you only had one and you carried it everywhere you went because you weren't sure whose bed you might end up sleeping in that night." And indeed, the multiple toothbrushes solution had originated from them unexpectedly sleeping over at each other's flats with no planning- and no toothbrushes. 

Gerry giggles again, and Jon begins to worry about what kind of bizarre migraine he might have. Having suffered through a fair few in his life, he is more used to them presenting like all-consuming misery than like some kind of weird foggy drug trip. Gerry could be unique that way, though. 

"I never thought I would have so many bed options that it might be an issue," Gerry whispers, staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

Changed into his sleep clothes, Jon goes over to stand behind him and wrap an arm around his waist. It's normally a Gerry or Martin posture, since Jon is smaller than them, but there's a different kind of satisfaction in having Gerry relax and settle into him, sighing with something akin to relief.  

He looks at their reflection in the mirror and even with Gerry looking haggard, eyes sunken, 5 o'clock shadow coming in, hair thrown haphazardly into a messy bun, Jon can't help the swell of contentment that fills him. How did he, Jon 'walking disaster waiting to happen’ Sims, manage to get this right? 

"Then I suppose it's a good thing my bed has been waiting for you all along," Jon eventually responds. "Come on, let's get you into it."

Gerry allows himself to be tucked in, although he refuses food and is only convinced with great reluctance to take two ibuprofen. His eyes remain stubbornly open, but the moment Jon finishes his own nighttime activities and slips into bed with him, Gerry curls around him, and promptly passes out. 

*

The next morning, Gerry sleeps far longer than he normally would, even though he went to sleep several hours before his typical bedtime. 

When he surfaces, approaching midday, he's groggy and stiff and feels rather hungover. Gerry thinks maybe a hangover would be better- at least then he would have had a good time to compliment his current misery.

Despite that, as he blinks his eyes open, the strains of gentle piano music drift through the flat, and he can't help the smile that spreads across his face. It’s not particularly loud, and Gerry is incredibly soothed by it. In fact, when he says he likes being at Jon’s flat, this is why. He often sits down to play in the softest moments, if Gerry and Martin are around. Any normal, oft-repeated, potentially boring activity could be made delightful and atmospheric if Jon is sitting at the piano. 

Jon had once confessed that he vastly preferred playing when one or both of them were around to hear it. 

"At least half of the joy of music is in the audience," Jon had confessed quietly to them one day. "And you two are the best audience of all."

Now, as he wakes gently to the sound of his partner making music, Gerry can’t help but feel special and treasured. Never before in his life had he picked up the phone in a crisis with the complete certainty that there would be a loving voice on the other end. He had not even realized he was lacking such reliability until he had come to be able to depend on it, but now that it exists, he shies away from even the thought that he might lose it again. 

He takes a moment to consider the current reality of their relationship. He obviously loves them, has always loved Jon, from the moment he growled at Gerry in the literature section of the library when he was seventeen-years-old. Now Martin fits with them both so well, Gerry wouldn’t know how to breathe without him. They’re it for him, he can see that clearly. 

He can see it in the way that pain and illness drove him straight to Jon like true north and the way he managed to care for him through it perfectly. 

He can see it in the way that Martin never seems to be less affected by finding Gerry in his bookstore, and the way Gerry’s heart feels hot and heavy in his chest every time Martin finds him still and focused and takes a moment to braid his hair in one way or another. 

He can even see it in the way he immediately self-destructed when he thought he was going to lose them, pushing every part of his life into immediate turmoil at the thought of being alone again. Family-less. Without his Jon, and his Martin. 

And he can see that he’s it for them too, in the way they clung to him to keep him together when he almost sunk the whole thing. 

They are, he can see now, as essential to one another as breathing. 

Gerry suddenly wishes that this could be the home that they all share. He wishes that every time one of them came home to him, they never had to leave to do laundry or water plants. He wishes, most of all, that this music could fill his house and his heart every morning, and that he would never again have to wake up trying to remember whose bed he was in - because they all shared the same one. 

He hopes, desperately, that one day that will be their reality. Maybe not tomorrow, but eventually, he’s confident he can convince he’s partners to stick around for good. 

Until then, he’s content to be so loved that he needs three toothbrushes. 

*

Gerry thinks maybe he drifts off again, because the next thing he knows, Jon is gently kissing his hand to wake him, a cup of tea in his other. 

“Hi,” Jon whispers, sitting down on the bed next to him. 

“Hey there,” Gerry offers in return, slowly sitting up and leaning back against the headboard. “How are you today?” 

Gerry takes the tea and sips it gratefully, finding it sweet and herbal. Camomile, he thinks, but wouldn’t swear his life on it at that moment. 

“How bad could I be?” Jon asks, a mischievous glint in his eye, “I have a beautiful boy in my bed and I think I’ll keep him there all day.” 

“Does this stunning nocturnal visitor get a say in the matter or…?” Gerry manages to offer a slightly dimmer version of his flirtatious grin. 

“Maybe, if he makes it worth my while.” Jon teases, before sobering a little. “How are you though? You seemed in a pretty bad way last night.” 

“I think I’m fine now, I guess it was just a fluke.” Gerry stretches, joints popping. 

Jon picks up the tea to take a sip. 

“It’s not as good as when Martin makes it.” He mutters to himself, grimacing. 

Gerry finishes stretching, rather like a cat again, before shifting up onto his knees to hover slightly above Jon, as is his preference. “Maybe, but it’s still my favourite kind of thing because it's something you made for me.”

Jon reaches up, wrapping a hand around Gerry’s neck and pulling his lips down to meet his own. It’s gentle and dragging, and they tangle together enjoyably for several minutes. Gerry pulls away to kiss Jon’s cheeks, his nose, his forehead. Eventually Jon giggles and pushes him away, handing the tea back over in an effort to distract him. 

“Do you want anything to eat?” Jon queries. 

“Not just yet. Maybe a shower?” 

“That sounds like a good plan. You should take it easy today.” Jon pauses, considering his next suggestion. “And maybe I could convince you to take tonight off from the bar too? Then we can all spend the evening together.” 

"Yes, I think I could be tempted to do exactly that."

*

Gerry lingers in the shower, letting the water work out his stiffness and lift the fog hanging pervasively over him. 

He washes his hair with Jon's shampoo and hopes the scent will linger on him. He decides not to shave, feeling too loose and lazy to handle any sharp objects. 

Jon force-feeds him after, and then he braids Gerry's hair to keep it out his face. 

"I can't believe you never braided your hair before you met Martin," Jon says as his fingers move through his hair rhythmically. 

Gerry shrugs. "There was never anyone to teach me on myself, and my mother was bald for my entire formative life, so I couldn't learn from her." 

Jon hums in acknowledgement. 

"Speaking of Martin, where is our errant lover?" Gerry asks buoyantly, bouncing slightly. 

Jon laughs at him, "Apparently he was out all night and then crashed on Tim's couch. He's going to come over later when he's managed to disinfect himself."

After, they move back to bed to read their books and rest, basking in the simple comfort of each other's presence, waiting for their third.

Chapter Text

Almost a year into their relationship, Martin's lease comes up.

There's brief romantic talk of them all moving in together, but they're all attached to their own spaces, especially with Gerry needing to keep his art studio, and it trails off without any real resolution. 

When Martin's landlord doesn't want to renew and he essentially has no choice but to find a new place to live, he panics. 

Jon is with him when he opens the letter, and witnesses the heartbreak on his face, a look far more appropriate to the death of a loved one than to having to move house. 

He understands though. This is Martin's first home. The first rent he paid, the first freedom he claimed. The first place he had whispered 'I love you' to Jon, and the first place Gerry had pressed his lips to Martin's.

Jon is settled in his own flat in a more practical way. It's close to the library, Gerry's bar and also to Martin's bookstore, but he still understands Martin's heartache, even if it is detached from his scope of personal attachment.

As Jon takes the time to think things through, he knows they're being silly. When was the last time he had commuted to work from his own flat? And if Martin had to move anyway, why shouldn't the three of them be living together? Gerry would happily spend every spare second with them and frequently tells them so. 

At their knock, Gerry opens the door in a pair of leather pants and not much else, hair faded out from navy to a soft violet. 

He physically reacts to see Martin tear-stained and Jon frowning intensely at his side. 

"Why tears? Who do I need to murder?" Gerry mutters darkly as he draws Martin inside and into his arms. 

"He has to move out of his flat," Jon tells him angrily, still standing in the doorway. 

"Oh, love." He whispers, rocking Martin gently. 

"It's so stupid to cry about it. It's just a shitty little flat." He hiccups into Gerry's chest. 

"Fuck that. We all know better than that. That flat was important to you," Gerry retreats further into the studio, dragging his weepy partner with him and leaving Jon to shut the door. "And you're important to us, so here's the plan. Gertrude and I are gonna dig up some dirt, we're gonna have a little chat with your landlord, and he's gonna agree to sell you your flat. Problem solved."

Martin laughs wetly as he is deposited in the cushion pile and Gerry follows him down to sit in front of him and take his hands. 

Jon strips his jacket and scarf off and tosses them on the couch (the biggest indication of his upset, really, as he normally always meticulously hangs things up), before flopping down on the floor with them. Martin and Gerry offer a hand each, and they sit in a triangle, connected. 

"Gerry, you can't blackmail my landlord into selling me my flat." Martin starts, voice still choked with tears, "Not least of all because I can't afford to buy it anyway. I already have a business loan, not to mention all the debt from before my mother died."

Apparently able to sense any great excess of emotion, Luna and Saturn wander in and both attempt to curl up in Martin's lap. Jon takes Saturn, leaving Luna to her tearful human. Martin smiles gratefully and disentangles his hands to pet behind her ears. 

There's silence for a moment as they consider Martin's words. Gerry opens his mouth, closes it, then decides to say what he wants to anyway. "I could lend you the money. Or give it to you. Whichever you prefer." 

The look on his face could be accurately described as casually angelic, and he reaches out a hand to stroke Saturn benevolently. 

Martin and Jon stare at him, stunned. 

"What do you mean?" Jon eventually prods him, incredulously. 

Gerry opens his mouth to respond, but Jon senses the sass coming and adds, "A real answer please," rather firmly. 

"Fine then," Gerry mutters, rolling his pretty teal eyes. "I have some money in savings. And in investments and stuff, I'm not actually irresponsible, despite what my appearance might imply. And the years I spent galivanting about the county. And Europe." He shrugs, rambling on, "Okay, maybe I am irresponsible."

His partners stare at him for a moment, then exchange a look. 

“Define some money?” Jon says, poking him in the ribs. Gerry tells them. 

“What!?” At Jon’s exclamation, Gerry blushes from the roots of his hair, and all the way down his bare chest. 

"Where did you get it?" Martin finally asks. 

"From selling my paintings?" Gerry responds, but it comes out as a question, and he rubs his burning neck in embarrassment. 

"And," Jon says, voice carefully neutral; having regained some sense of composure, "why do you keep your job at the bar if you have enough money to casually offer to buy Martin a flat?" 

"Don't feel left out Jon, I'll buy your flat too." Gerry offers, smiling at him beatifically. 

"Gerry…" Martin lets out his name in the significant tone of voice that lets him know this is a 'serious conversation'™ and to get his shit together. 

"Okay, okay," Gerry flaps his hands uncomfortably. "At first it was just because I was convinced that the painting money was gonna dry up and I didn't want to be left in the lurch. I've always operated anonymously and that made it hard to make money as an artist, it was only when Gertrude joined the crusade that I found any success. She insisted that people would buy prints online, and she was right. The digital art and prints were really popular, and it led to people wanting the originals." Gerry pauses and shakes his head in disbelief. "And Gertrude always has to be extra about everything, so she sold them at fucking auction instead of pricing them, which made me seem edgy and exclusive."

"You are edgy and exclusive," Jon interrupts to insist, a slight petulant edge staining his voice. 

"Thanks," Gerry mutters, still blushing. "Anyway, so then I had all this money, but I was convinced it wouldn't last and now it's been years and it's only gotten worse and I was panicking so Gertrude took half the money and helped me put it into investments, which have mostly been pretty successful too, so now I have all this fucking money that I don't know what to do with, so Martin, would you like a flat?" Gerry ends his monologue slightly hysterical and Martin laughs out loud at the slight desperation in his voice. 

"Do you even own this flat? I've been wondering how you could possibly afford it." Martin asks him, gesturing around at the massive space in one of the most up-and-coming parts of London. 

"Yes, it's one of the only significant things I've ever actually paid for with the art money. You know, to do art in." 

"And were you ever planning to mention this?" Jon queries, sounding slightly put out. He frowns down at the cat, instead of his ridiculous boyfriend. Saturn decides at that moment that he's had enough belly-rubs, and without warning, sinks his claws in, bites Jon's hand and then scurries off. Jon glares at his fluffy black tail as it disappears up the stairs and Gerry tries very hard not to laugh at him. 

"Jonathan!" Martin scolds him, pushing his shoulder gently to regain his attention. "Gerry doesn't have to tell us about his finances." 

Jon pouts even harder. 

"Jon's right, I should have said something. I just didn't want it to be a big deal." Gerry responds, voice quiet and unusually reserved. He looks a little adrift and helpless, and they can see just how uncomfortable the money talk has made him. 

Jon sighs and dislodges the stick from up his ass. "It's not a big deal, love, I'm only surprised. I'm glad it's out the way now." He collects Gerry's hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles. 

Gerry relaxes and tugs Jon closer to kiss him, before offering the same to Martin. 

They all sit in comfortable silence for a few moments, digesting the day's many revelations. 

“Not that I’m not incandescently happy to see you both, but why did you actually come over?” Gerry asks eventually. 

“Oh,” Martin sits up straighter, remembering their original objective. He looks down at the cat in his lap, stroking its back in an effort to distract himself. “It’s a little awkward actually.” 

Gerry raises his eyebrows, thinking of what could make Martin feel awkward after all the things they’ve done together, occasionally right where they are currently sitting. 

"Do tell." Gerry urges him. Martin and Jon share a look. Gerry rolls his eyes at the pair of them. "Come on, guys, whatever it is, just tell me. It can't possibly be that bad. Unless you're breaking up with me? Because fuck that." 

"No, Gerry," Jon says, sounding amused. "The opposite."

"The opposite?" Gerry asks, frowning.

"Yes, the opposite," Jon tells him more firmly. "We were thinking," Martin makes a small nose at this, "that is, I was thinking, that since Martin has to move anyway, the three of us should finally take the plunge."

"You know," Gerry mutters peevishly, "I love riddles as much as the next overdramatic goth with a young adult book obsession, but could you please spit it the fuck out."

"Jonthinksweshouldallmoveintogetherhere." Martin finally rushes out, breathlessly. 

"Martin, baby, those are separate words."

He takes a deep breath and tries again. "Jon thinks we should all move in together, here, with you." 

Gerry sits up taller abruptly, a wide grin spreading over his handsome face. "What, really? You actually want to." 

"Well, yes," Jon says, although his voice still sounds nervous. 

"Okay great. Luna and Saturn are gonna love this." Gerry jumps up excitedly. "So I know you guys like having your own personal space, and I always have my art shit everywhere, but I've been thinking and I think we can make you both comfortable here too." 

Martin and Jon share a perplexed look at Gerry's sudden frenetic burst of energy. 

"We'll be comfortable here no matter what," Martin rushes to reassure him. 

"Hush," Gerry speaks over him. "We both know you're just saying that because you feel like an inconvenience. But you're not and we all have to make this our home. Come, come on, I want to show you." 

Gerry grabs a hand from each of them and drags them behind him and around and under the wide stairs that lead up to the loft space. 

He leads them to two doors under the stairs, leading them into one. It's a large storeroom, technically, and Gerry has filled it with extra paint, canvases of many different sizes, and a plethora of other painting supplies. There aren't any windows, and the industrial light makes the space look stark. The scent of oil paint and turpentine is pervasive, but homey since those are things they associate heavily with Gerry himself. 

"They're both the same. I've been thinking that if you two ever did want to move in here, you could take one each. A creative space just for yourselves, or your own bedrooms if you need some space once in a while. If you want them." His typical self-confidence is slightly lacking, the nervous twist of his fingers belaying his nerves at the admission. 

"Oh Gerry," Martin says with something akin to wonder in his voice. 

"But aren't you using them?" Jon asks, never one to let romanticism come in the way of practicality. 

Gerry shrugs, "I've been thinking of having cupboards installed in the studio space and moving all this in there anyway. It will be more convenient for me when I'm working and it will be worth it to have you here all the time."

Gerry pauses, brow furrowing. "I've also considered moving the art studio in here so you two don't have to trip over my art stuff all the time."

Martin and Jon both understand the significance of that offer, knowing that Gerry's favourite things about this place are the high ceilings, giant windows, and natural lighting at most times of the day and even at night. 

"You would be willing to give up your art space for us?" Martin asks in some wonder. 

"Well yeah, of course," Gerry says as if it's obvious. "We'll all have to share the bedroom then, but the living space will be bigger. Whatever you would prefer."

"Just like that?" Jon's blunt incredulity finally tips Gerry off to their shock. 

"Oh come on. I obviously haven't been a very good boyfriend if you two don't already know that you're more important to me than painting." It was the most romantic thing Gerry could say to anyone, really. 

Martin kisses him, tearing up again. 

"What did I say? Don't cry, love." He reaches up to wipe the tears away, and Martin offers him a wobbly smile. 

Jon goes over to kiss him too. "You love us more than art."

"We're going in circles here. Yes, I love you both more than literally anything." Gerry is starting to wonder if they're being obtuse on purpose. 

"We love you too," Jon tells him emphatically. 

"Of course you do. I'm delightful." They all dissolve into laughter at that, the weighty mood breaking with it. 

"So do you think you'll both be happy here?" Gerry asks when the laughter has faded. 

Even standing in the mildly dusty storeroom and breathing in paint fumes, Jon knows the answer already. "I think we might be able to make it work."

Chapter Text

Right in the middle of mild renovations, and Martin moving into the loft, Gerry has a showcase sneak up on him. 

They're in the very chaotic process of turning three lives into one and it's unfortunate timing, but he's willing to cope to have his partners close at hand. 

Jon is also in the process of moving in, but more slowly, having kept his flat for an extra month, hoping to ease the chaos. Two cats and several duplicate pieces of furniture clutter the space, and everything is just a bit out of sorts.

Gerry's showcases are an odd thing. As an anonymous artist, working under a pseudonym, he doesn't technically have to go to his shows, but Gertrude likes for him to be around, and she tells everyone he's one of her assistants so he can attend without a fuss. No one ever takes any notice and he gets to watch people react to his paintings with absolutely no idea that he's present. It's an odd feeling that often leaves him disquiet, but he never regrets going. As an artist, there's nothing better than seeing your art on display, with just the right environment and just the right lighting. 

This time, he also has a bit of a plan brewing. 

Feeling truly rooted in the foundations of their relationship after more than a year, Gerry presents Jon and Martin with very fancy, formal invitations, complete with a bow and a suggestive wink.

“Will you be my companions for the evening, gentlemen?” Gerry seems to be doing a very pompous impression of Elias, which sends Jon into instant hysterics. 

While he’s distracted, Martin pulls Gerry close and they swing around the room, mimicking some kind of waltz, before bashing into a table and then a couch. They cut their losses and simply kiss breathlessly in the middle of the laughter. 

"So," Gerry asks them when they've all settled down and gone back to trying to install the new storage cabinets. "What do you think? Want to be my plus two?" 

Jon laughs sweetly from nearby, a screwdriver in hand. "I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we wouldn't miss it for anything."

***

There's a fair amount of chaos as the day approaches, Gerry trying to complete and send off several final pieces while Martin and Jon frantically search for their formal wear in the boxes that currently pass for their wardrobes. 

Eventually giving up on trying to organize the walk-in closet to accommodate all three of them, Gerry and Tim drag both Jon and Martin's armoires up the stairs and they all unpack their clothes in their own wardrobes. 

This is a rather tumultuous activity, which somehow ends with Tim shirtless and Gerry wearing a bright teal and pink Hawaiian shirt, open over a black lace bralette. No one even tries to guess where the bralette comes from, but Gerry decides he likes it, and Jon eyes him approvingly. 

"You should wear that to the opening, Gerry," Martin suggests provocatively from nearby. "Give your own art some competition." 

Gerry smirks at him. "I think you should come over here and say that to my face."

"Oh God, can I watch?" Tim asks a hopeful excitement not quite masked by the humour. 

Jon manages to sneak a sweet candid of Gerry and Martin laughing with Tim, all looking like they showed up to different parties. Overcome to see his two partners and his best friend all so happy together, Jon decides it might be his favourite thing ever. 

***

In the end, their suits are unearthed, wrinkled but intact. They send them off to be dry cleaned right in the nick of time. 

The night before his event, in a pique of creative mania, Gerry dyes his hair alone at 3 A.M. Martin and Jon wake up to find his hair a slightly blotchy silver-grey, which they both coo over lustily.

Jon gently helps him even it out, and by the time his hair is clean and dry again, he looks striking and angular. In his dark blue trousers and well-fitted waistcoat, eyeliner and piercings in place, he looks downright picturesque himself- a work of art who also happens to create works of art. 

Jon has a favourite black suit with a very faint pinstripe pattern, which he wears with a green waistcoat and matching green tie, to compliment his mossy eyes. His white shirt contrasts pleasantly against his tawny skin and even he agrees that he looks rather handsome. 

Martin owns exactly one suit- it's a light grey colour just a little too cool to flatter his summery skin tone, and it doesn't fit quite right through the shoulders, if he's being honest. Gerry gently encourages him to wear his trousers and crisp white shirt with a warm maroon sweater. It's soft cashmere, made even softer (according to Martin's poetic side) by the fact that his lover's gave it to him for Christmas. Gerry's artist eye managed to pick out precisely the right shade to compliment his warm brown eyes and pink hair, and the ensemble leaves him looking quite lovely. 

He eyes his bow ties indecisively, and Jon wanders over and hands him a dark blue-grey one with tiny white dots. He even ties it for Martin, and he offers a sweet kiss in exchange. 

“You look splendid,” Jon remarks, pulling Martin carefully towards him by the elbows before pressing their lips together chastely. They kiss for several moments, lips dragging together pleasantly. Jon runs his hands down Martin’s forearms to tangle their fingers together, where they fit together snuggly. 

Martin sighs as they part, all outfit uncertainty having fled. “What was that for?”

“I just couldn’t help myself.” Jon chuckles, grinning. “I see a stunning man, I have to kiss him.”

“So it’s not because my dotty bow tie fills you with incandescent joy?” Martin presses their foreheads together, simply basking in Jon’s presence. 

“Everything about you fills us with incandescent joy,” Jon whispers to him. “Especially the way you can make the perfect cup of tea."

“And,” Gerry adds, coming up to place a hand at the small of Martin’s back. “The way that you can remember the love story from every book you’ve ever read.” 

“I-” Martin laughs sweetly at them, blushing fiercely. “You guys.’’

They all stand together for a moment, each looking spectacular in their own ways, soft looks on their faces. Gerry vaguely wishes this was the whole day, that he could just stand here with his lovers and convince Martin that he is the most perfect man on earth. He wishes he could just tease Jon until he snaps and tries to tickle Gerry to death, and they would end up all rolling around the floor, ignoring the many extra pieces of furniture currently occupying the flat. 

Gerry wishes for these soft and special moments and knows that there will be a million more of them as time goes on and that the moment coming will (hopefully) be perfect in its own way. 

They each share a kiss with the others, then they grab their things and make their way downstairs, excited and jubilant, all laughter and easy affection. They pile into a cab together and Gerry tells them stories of past showcases, full of ridiculous moments and strange pride at his impossible artistic success. 

The second they arrive, Gerry is summoned away and with a wink and a grin, he’s gone. Martin and Jon exchange a smile, joining hands and moving through the gentle crowd. There are plenty of people in attendance already, but the sorts of people who go to galleries are the quiet sort, and there isn’t a lot of boisterous energy flying about. 

They wander around, finding many paintings which they have seen Gerry working on over the last year, and unsurprisingly, several they’ve never caught a glimpse of.

Sometimes Gerry will work on a painting for weeks and then keep it around for months, looking at it every day, and then other times he'll paint an entire piece in 18 hours, decide he never wants to see it again and send it straight to Gertrude for safekeeping. 

It’s all a part of his creative rhythms, and they’ve long since grown accustomed to it. 

The gallery itself is a series of thin rooms, with a bench down the middle for extended viewings. Each is filled with four paintings, even if they are wildly different sizes. They seem to be arranged by vague categories, but Jon and Martin are amused to see that a 3D piece made mostly out of torn book pages and painted to appear aflame is hung across from an oil painting of a colony of seals swimming across a galaxy in the night sky. 

Gerry reappears at intervals, whispering secrets to them as they consider one piece or another. At the painting of a siren singing longingly to a falling comet, Gerry whispers something into Martin's ear which makes him smirk in a way that fills Jon with burning curiosity. Instead of sharing with him as well, Gerry pecks him on the cheek and then dashes off at the behest of a harassed looking assistant of Gertrude’s. 

“What did he say?” Jon implores Martin softly after he’s gone again. 

“Apparently he was thinking of us in a very specific way while he painted that one.” Martin is still grinning smugly. 

“Ah,” Jon says, nodding. “Naked?”

“Very naked.” 

“You know, I rather imagined that was what he was always thinking of while he painted.” Jon confesses. 

“Really? That’s a lot of imagined nudity.” Martin whispers, threatening to spill over with laughter. 

“Well-” Jon bristles slightly. “We’re very nice to look at naked, like- like muses!” He finishes triumphantly. 

“A point well made, love.” Martin concedes. 

He drags Martin to the next room after that, and they find it to be the final part of the exhibit. 

There are only two paintings here, a matched pair of the same size, sitting on the end wall side by side. They’re another two neither of them has ever seen before, and Jon draws Martin to sit on the bench and simply absorb the art together. Their hands are twined, and they feel rather overwhelmed with unspeakable emotion. 

There are a pair of matching sold signs beneath them, bold and unmissable. 

Gerry finds them sitting there, and he sits himself on the other side of Martin, gently taking his other hand. 

“Oh, Gerry.” Martin eventually whispers, awe-struck. 

“Do you like them?” Gerry squeezes his hand, and Jon reaches over Martin to tangle his fingers in the pile. It’s messy, just the way they all like it. 

“Very, very much,” Martin affirms. 

“Gerry, they’re spectacular.” Jon offers his appreciation. “How did you get them done without us ever seeing them? They’re huge.” 

“I finished them months ago, before we spent so many nights all together, then I kept them in the storerooms before I shipped them off to Gertrude,” Gerry explains. “I wanted you to see them here, like this, for the first time.”

“Why?” Martin asks, voice full of warm curiosity. 

“It's the way you each make me feel, and I wanted you both to have this moment, to see them displayed to their best potential,” Gerry whispers to them, the space feeling sacred and private, despite the people wandering the gallery around them. "It seemed more poignant than simply saying 'I love you,' back in the days before we said those words so easily."

"I can't imagine being filled with so much talent that I could just…" Jon begins, voice laden with unexpected emotional fragility. 

Martin continues for him, "Paint the way you love someone?" 

They don't notice, but Gerry actually blushes, hot embarrassment and pleasure filling him in equal parts. His voice is smooth and clear, mercifully, as he starts his explanation. 

“Martin, yours is that moment of dawn breaking, out somewhere that there are no other people. Maybe you feel alone, but you never feel lonely, because the sun is rising and it reminds you that the world always moves at its own rhythm. Like sometimes I haven't seen you in a while but I walk into the bookstore or you come through the door, and your smile fills my heart, as steady and unchanging as the rise and fall of the sun in the sky.”

The painting in question rather does convey that feeling, a foggy moor stretching towards a tree-lined horizon, dawn breaking and bringing light and warmth to the cool edges of the space. Darkness sits in the corners, but it only serves to enhance the light, drawing the eye towards the sweet sunrise. 

Gerry continues, this time focusing on the darker painting, an intricate stained glass window refracting down, colourful light filling a room with books stacked haphazardly everywhere. “Jon, yours represents what it’s like to try navigating our relationship together. The books are not sorted or organized and they can be tricky to understand, but the comfort and ease of that familiarity can still fill me with peace in the most unexpected moments. The light is colourful and ever-changing, both a familiarity and yet always shifting to suit our moods and seasons together.” 

"Constant, but never the same," Jon whispers in return, and Gerry is pleased to hear he knows the feeling. 

They simply sit with each other a moment, the sheer scope of their emotions filling them up with warmth and a sort of profound understanding that just doesn’t come from simple words. It’s a gesture as wild and unexpected as Gerry himself, and Jon and Martin bask in it. 

“They're breathtaking, love.” Martin declares, turning to him. “It's a pity they're sold. I suppose we couldn't afford them anyway, but I wish I could buy them.”

Gerry grins, pleased. “They were never for sale. They're only here to be displayed. They're gifts. I was hoping- that is, I hope you and Jon will accept them. I painted them to go in your studies in the loft.”

“They're for us?” Jon murmurs incredulously. 

“Yes, as a way for me to express just how much I adore you both,” Gerry confirms, giggling a bit at his own words. “How could I pour so much love into paintings, and let them live with anyone else?” 

“I’m glad you couldn’t because I love them so much,” Martin tells him earnestly. 

“I feel the same,” Jon adds, voice gentle. 

“They’re- They’re the best things I've ever made. I’m so glad you like them.” Gerry whispers, surprised to find himself overcome with a hot swell of emotion. 

They continue to sit together, hands tangled, lives knit together. Hope and certainty, two emotions none of them have ever been allowed to indulge in, blanket around them, cementing this moment forever.

Chapter Text

The gallery hums with gentle energy, full of people drinking, chatting, considering the art on the walls. It's a strange little bubble, practically outside the real world. 

Martin is standing alone for a rare moment when a voice comes out of the crowd. 

"Can it be? Martin Blackwood, in the flesh." 

Martin's blood runs icy at the long-buried voice, rising from his past like some kind of bad joke. Of all the times, in all the places, how could this be happening now? 

He turns to find his worst nightmare, Peter Lukas, standing right there in the flesh. 

"Peter?" He asks stupidly, eyes wide and heart pounding. 

"My goodness, it is you. What an incredible surprise." Peter grins, oozing smultz and satisfaction. He looks Martin up and down like a prize cut of steak. "And here I was, thinking the art would be the best thing on display tonight." 

"I-" Martin begins, in the hopes he can tell Peter to take a hike and disappear into the crowd. He wonders how angry Gerry would be if he simply walked straight out the door and called to explain from the safety of a taxi. 

"It has been so many years. What is it? Six, seven?" Peter's voice booms, his barrel chest amplifying it across the gallery. 

"Seven," Martin replies, far more quietly. He is terrified that Jon and Gerry will reappear at exactly the wrong moment, overhear precisely the wrong thing. 

"Goodness! So long, and you're all grown up, aren't you? Like a good wine, only improved with a few years on you."

"Maybe that's because I was practically a child when you seduced me." Martin still whispers, but many years of anger and loathing have begun to bubble up inside of him.

"Now Martin, there's no reason to be like that. We were so good together. We could be, again." Peter steps towards Martin, hand outstretched to touch his arm.

"Mr Lukas," Gerry says, voice smooth and dangerous, inserting himself firmly at Martin's side. That part of him that fosters a keen awareness of his lovers blaring with alarm. "What brings you out this evening?"

"Oh Gerard, a pleasure to see you, as always." Pater's voice remains jovial, but his eyes crease at the interruption. "Martin and I were just having a little chat."

"No, we weren't," Martin says, his hand shaking where Gerry has interlaced their fingers.

"No?" Gerry asks, easy danger in his voice.

"No," Martin confirms. 

"Mr Lukas, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. I don't believe my partner appreciates seeing you here."

"Do you know how much money I sink into this artist? You can't ask me to leave." Peter's voice is still lilting and calm, but vehemence fills the words gradually. 

"I don't give a flying fuck. Take a long walk off a short dock." Gerry advises him, best smile in place, voice verging on cheerful. 

"Did your," Peter pauses to add disgust to his tone, " partner ever tell you that he used to be with me? That I used to pay him, to be with me?" 

Martin goes absolutely pale. 

"It is a shame when you have to pay for company, isn't it?" Gerry counters, not missing a beat, expression sunny and voice falsely sympathetic. "However, I'm afraid Mr Blackwood is rather occupied these days, with two boyfriends and a booming business. I believe his calendar is quite full." 

"Whores never change. You think he's yours, but-" 

All of a sudden, Jon appears from behind them and punches Peter with his full weight. Gerry, who has gotten into plenty of scraps with drunk idiots who won't keep their hands to themselves, is tempted to join in but thinks better of it. He pulls Jon back as Peter hits the floor heavily, and the room full of fancy art snobs goes very, very silent. 

"Oh Christ," Martin mutters, voice as washed out as his complexion. 

"What a to-do." Elias Bouchard arrives on the scene, suit impeccable, black shoes polished to a high shine. He stands with hands in pockets, gazing down at Peter with a look of mild interest. "You know Jonathan, I don't normally appreciate my employees striking my husband in public. However, I'll consider forgiving you, this time, on account of your surprisingly excellent right hook."

"Your what?" Jon demands furiously, going pale enough that Gerry is concerned he might pass out. 

"My husband, Jonathan, do keep up," Elias responds, airily. 

Martin makes a distressed little noise that makes the hairs on Gerry's arms stand on end.

Gertrude finally arrives, heels clicking intimidatingly. "Problem, gentlemen?" She queries, looking down at Peter, groaning on the ground. 

"Ah," Gerry stutters, "I think we had better go?" 

"I imagine that might be for the best. Do take both of your lovers with you." Gertrude says, with a bit of a bite. "And Gerard?" 

"Yeah?" Gerry asks distractedly, trying to herd his errant partners among the gathering crowd. 

"You are going to owe me for this one," Gertrude tells him, tone unbelievably prim, and verging into some sort of perverse satisfaction. 

"Absolutely." If Gertrude can fix this one, Gerry will happily owe her anything. 

*

Martin sits in a total haze on the way home, static filling his ears and blanketing him away from the world. 

He's faintly aware of Jon holding his hand and his forehead leaned against the cool taxi window, but mostly he just stares blankly and doesn't even bother trying to draw himself away from his shocked stupor. 

He gets out of the cab when it stops and wanders vaguely up the stairs and into the flat. Jon and Gerry follow him, concerned, but quiet for the time being. 

He finds himself standing at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the loft, eyes intent on the bottom step, unsure if he knows how to climb them any longer. 

"Martin? Martin!" A panicked voice eventually breaks through the haze, a hand desperately gripping his elbow. 

"Jon?" Martin looks down at the hand, nails painted a lovely shade of green, then up at the face it belongs to. It's creased in concern. 

"Are you alright?" Gerry's voice asks from close by. 

"No. I don't think I am." His voice is foggy and he feels very far away still. 

"Martin, I-" Jon starts, sounding shaky. 

"He was telling the truth, you know." Martin tells them, rather abruptly, "Nothing he said was a lie."

"Martin, you are not a whore. Whatever you might have done for work, whatever choices you might have made in the past, those things don't mean anything to us." Gerry states firmly. 

"We love the person you are now, and whatever baggage comes with you, we're fine with that." Jon continues, running his hands up and down Martin's arm. 

"This?" Martin asks, suddenly aggressive. "You two are telling me that you're okay with me getting paid for, for-"

"For sex, Martin? Yes, we are fine with it." Jon responds unequivocally. 

"There's nothing shameful about sex work," Gerry adds, voice equally firm. "And besides, you were young and Peter Lucas is a fucking cunt. I imagine desperate times called for opportunistic creeps to try to take advantage."

Martin shakes his head, eyes panicked. "I can't do this."

He turns and runs up the loft stairs.

Jon and Gerry watch him go, then exchange a concerned look. 

"Let's give him some space, love," Gerry mutters, taking Jon's hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

*

"Maybe you should go in with him."

"Don't even start that bullshit again, Jonathan. I thought we were past this?"

"I am! I just thought-" Jon's cuts off abruptly, chastised.

Martin, sitting on the floor of the shower, can hear every word. He can imagine them standing on the other side of the bathroom door, Jon twisting his hands together and Gerry's arms crossed protectively.

He feels the pit of his depression open up beneath him and he desperately clings to the edge of his sanity, trying not to fall in. 

Martin is always afraid that he'll go into a depressive episode- and never come out the other side again. He presses his eyes closed, fighting against the sob desperately trying to choke him. 

He honestly can't believe that he let this happen. Why didn't he tell them before? How could he have let himself move in with them, dedicated himself to them and never tell them he was a prostitute? 

Martin isn't ashamed of what he had done to survive, but he knows getting paid for sex can be a deal-breaker for a lot of people. He feels sick that Jon or Gerry might feel trapped with him now. All because he couldn't open his stupid mouth and be honest with them. 

Despite his best efforts, the tears escape, and his partners stand on the other side of the door, listening to his heart break. 

*

Martin comes downstairs to find his lovers in the kitchen. Jon is cooking something fragrant and he has Gerry chopping vegetables. They're both still wearing their suits, and Martin feels absurdly underdressed in his sweatpants and favourite pink cardigan. It clashes with his hair, these days, but he doesn't care. 

Gerry sees him first, pausing a moment to assess him. Martin is pleased to see the typical glint of focus and desire in his eyes. It has been such a bedrock in their relationship, and he had been dreading finding gone. 

"Gerry, if-" Martin starts right away. 

"Careful, love. If the words 'I'll understand if you don't want me to move in any more' come out of your mouth, I'm going to go back to the gallery and finish what Jon started. So if you don't want me to go to jail for murder, you had better reconsider." Gerry sounds downright pleasant as he says the words, leaning forward on the counter to loom threateningly. 

Martin closes his mouth, Gerry having predicted his exact words. 

"We understand if you're not ready to talk about any of that, Martin," Jon tells him with a reassuring smile. "Later is soon enough. We love you, and that's all that matters." 

"Even with this?" Martin whispers, twisting his fingers together anxiously. 

"Even with this," Gerry assures him. "Nothing and no one can change the way we feel about you. It's always going to be you for us." 

Finally seeing that Martin won't approach them, Jon turns off the stove and comes over to take Martin's frigid hands in his warm calloused ones. He savours the touch, marvelling as always that someone with so many edges can be so soft when he needs it. 

"Martin Blackwood, you are the love of our lives. Whatever came before us and whatever might come now that we're together, we love you, always and in all ways." Jon pronounces, the finality of a million acts of affection behind his words. "Please stay with us?" 

Martin smiles shakily at the reminder of the resolution of Jon and Gerry's first major fight, at the words that had become akin to 'I can't be without you, and I won't let this take you away'. 

He feels known and loved and adored, even as he feels violated and striped raw at the exposure of his past, his secret. He feels at home, in a flat full of boxes that always smells of oil paints and old books, with two lovers who couldn't be more different but had protected him when he didn't know how to protect himself. 

Gerry comes over and takes one of his hands from Jon, holding it with both his own, placing a kiss on his palm. "Please stay with us?" He repeats the words softly, teal eyes bright with emotion. "I need you."

"I need you too," Martin tells them earnestly, allowing them to wrap him up in their arms. "Please keep me." 

"Always," comes the reply, a certainty even more profound than fear.

Chapter Text

They cook, they feed him, they chat away about inane things. Their presence soothes Martin and their voices fill him with the warmth sucked away by his unexpected encounter. 

Gerry helps him make tea after dinner, and they all sit at the table together, even the cats sleeping nearby, cuddled up into one big, grey and black fluff ball. 

"I think," Martin begins, voice croaky, "That I would like to tell you now."

"We're ready to listen if you're ready to tell us." Jon offers softly. Gerry reaches over to take one of his hands, turning it over to kiss the palm sweetly. 

Martin talks, voice quiet and even. 

"In the beginning, it was just a normal relationship. Except for the fact that he was almost twenty years older than me, and about a million times richer. I didn't know that at first, of course. He was just a middle-aged man I met in a gay bar, who didn't seem to mind that I was trans. I felt secure in our relationship, if not exactly nurtured or adored. I had never felt very secure before, and it seemed like enough, you know? 

"He took me out, brought me a few things in the beginning. He was very dominant, sexually, but I was a lot less sure of my own preferences back then and I thought it was fine. He never even blinked at my trashy flat or cheap clothes, and I didn't even realise just how much money he had for a long time. Maybe I just can't really comprehend that much money, even now.

"When I was twenty-two, my mother died, and…" He huffs out a shaky, emotional laugh. "Well, I was a real mess. I lost my job, and almost my flat. Peter started paying for things, my rent, clothes, meals. He said that I needed somewhere to live and had to eat and look presentable, and it was his pleasure to provide those things for me. It made me feel a bit gross, but I struggled to find another job, and so I accepted it." 

Martin hesitates here, before continuing. "The problem started when I wasn't interested in sex one night."

"He forced you?" Gerry interrupts to ask dangerously, threat explicit in his quiet words. His eyes seem to glow faintly in the growing dark of the room, as the sun sets. He wishes, more than ever, that he had helped Jon kick the shit out of Peter Lukas, instead of stopping him. 

Martin sighs, eyes pressed tight closed for a second. "Not exactly. He simply pointed out that he paid for me to exist. So I made myself interested." 

Gerry's hands tighten into fists and he moves them under the table where Martin can't see them anymore. Jon suddenly looks very pale. They share a look, neither able to see much difference between 'forcing' and what sounds a lot like financial abuse to them. 

Martin pulls his legs up to his chest, curling around them as he goes on. "Our relationship became a lot more transactional after that night. I disengaged whatever feelings I had left for him and simply drew all my emotions down deep into myself. I wasn't ashamed to be getting paid for sex, but I felt like I had lost my own consent in the matter. Peter honestly seemed like he had gotten exactly what he wanted. Money was nothing to him, and he had someone to take out on his arm or shag whenever he wanted, without the work of a real relationship, or the complications of unfortunate attachments. 

"So, if I needed something, I told him. He set a date, took me out, fucked me. He gave me however much I needed."

Martin shrugs, looking down at his hands. "I honestly hated it. Not because of the prostitution itself, sex has always been very nurturing for me, and I sometimes caught the idea that it was only another way to care for people, and being paid for that is perfectly fine, if you're doing it for the right reasons. The real issue was Peter himself. He had this way of making me feel… bereft and hollow, even before the money came into it."

A few tears track down his face, although his face remains rather blank, in a numb way. It's only as he admits the next words that his voice breaks and the heartbreak works its way out again. 

"I was very foolish. Looking back, I can see that I was still a child in a lot of ways. I put myself into a situation that damaged me, but I accept the consequences of those actions, both then and now. I- I-"

"Martin," Jon whispers, warm love clear in his voice. It's nothing but an offer of support, one that he desperately needs right now. 

He presses his eyes shut, forcing away the stutter and the lump of tears. "I knew I wasn't going to be able to get out of it, even if I got a crap, minimum wage job that I was qualified for. So I started applying for any work that was available. I made every application exactly what they wanted, and I hoped for the best. When Elias offered me the job at Magnus, I took it happily. Since then I found out that Peter knows him, and probably arranged the job for me, but at the time I had no idea. Looking back, I know that it's a miracle that I got out of it at all. Peter could have chosen to make my life a living hell. Instead, he accepted the several firm rejections I offered him. 

"He promised me that we weren't done, that I would be back, but he left me alone. I was done. I moved on with my life, even if I had to lie to do it." Martin sighs, shakes out his shoulders, the most difficult part over now. 

"I had always planned to be open about it with my next relationships, but they were so fleeting that it never even came up. By the time I fell for Jon, it had become a secret, one I was loathed to dig up for a relationship I was convinced wouldn't last. I thought to myself, 'Why ruin something that makes me happy?' I assumed it would fall apart anyway, and it was easier to allow it to be in the past. 

"But I am sorry. I'm sorry that I never told you. I'm sorry you had to find out from him. I'm sorry that we've been together for more than a year and we basically live together, and I've put you in this position. I love you both, very very much."

"When did you eventually decide that our relationship was going to last?" Jon queries, genuine curiosity in his voice. 

There's a beat of hazy silence at the abrupt change in tone and topic. 

"Oh, ah-" Martin stumbles over his words, unsure how blatantly honest to be. He chooses the real truth, no matter how unfortunate. "The day that I got Luna was the first time I really accepted that you both loved me."

Jon simply raises an eyebrow, completely unconcerned. "What about you, Gerry?" 

"With you," Gerry responds easily, "at the hospital in Morden, when I was so panicked that I couldn't decide if I wanted to kill you or handcuff us together for the rest of our lives. With Martin-" 

He breaks off with a laugh, colouring slightly. "It was the day we dyed my hair purple."

"The first time we had sex?" Martin asks, surprised at such a hedonistic answer. 

He laughs again, more confidently this time. "No, actually, although that was spectacular. It was afterwards, when you braided my hair for the first time. That was the first time anyone had ever braided my hair. It made me feel so… So honoured. Like I was the most precious thing to you."

"Gerry, you are the most precious thing to me. You both are." Martin whispers, tears creeping back into his voice. 

"Good, because the feeling is mutual, and we desperately need you around to keep us in line," Jon tells him, voice unusually firm and confident. 

"What about you?" Martin remembers to ask him, at risk of floating away in his post confession haze. "When did you know?" 

"With Gerry, it was when we were teenagers. I kissed him for the first time, and he laughed at me. I just knew he was my soulmate." Jon rolls his eyes at this, but his voice is full of blatant affection. "With you, Martin, it was- Well, to be quite honest with you, there was no one special moment. It was a million tiny moments, all of them special and perfect to me. Every cup of tea, every frown while you were writing poetry, glasses pushed haphazardly up into your lovely hair. The easy, glorious look on your face the day you met Gerry for the first time, as if you weren't even capable of not falling in love with him, just as I hadn't been. It was especially the days that I would come out of the library and find you waiting for me after work. This weight of total surety would fill my chest and leave me gasping, needing you."

Jon sighs, his own eyes a little bright. "I suppose it was really the night you kissed me in the rain, and every soft moment since then has only affirmed the way I knew you were it for me."

Jon smiles at Martin so beatifically that he forgets to breathe for a moment. 

"We love you too, Martin," Gerry tells him, reaching out to grasp a hand. Jon takes the other. "And we wouldn't want you any other way." 

***

The next morning, Martin wakes to find Jon eyeing his phone intently. Gerry is asleep on his other side, and he feels warmly cocooned between them. Gentle cloudy light fills the space, encouraging the comfortable cozy atmosphere of their bed. 

"What's wrong, love?" Martin asks sleepily, snuggling into his side. 

"I got-" Jon pauses, utterly flummoxed. "I got paid a bonus." 

"What?" Equally perplexed, Martin takes his phone, squinting as he tries to read the screen. 

The banking app is open, and there is indeed a deposit there, Jon's normal salary amount, but on completely the wrong date. 

In the purpose box, it simply reads 'Entertainment Value'.

"You don't think," Jon starts, hesitant, "that Elias paid me…" 

"For hitting Peter Lukas?" Martin finishes, "His own husband." 

They blink at each other, bewildered. 

"Does that seem… slightly cursed, to you?" Jon whispers as if Elias might hear him. Even worse if Elias could hear them, and would probably enjoy being accused of having a cursed relationship. 

"Yes, completely cursed. What is up with those two?" Martin looks as if he's smelled something bad. 

"We absolutely cannot spend this money, right?" Jon asks. "Lest we are cursed with their relationship dysfunction."

"Correct," Martin responds firmly, shuddering. "Can we donate it to the animal shelter?" 

"I think that's a wonderful idea." Jon's relief at this resolution is palpable. 

He does it straight away, as if even having the money in his bank account might ruin their lives. 

They let out a simultaneous sigh as the transfer goes through. 

"That is wild," Martin mutters as he snuggles back down. 

Jon tosses his phone away, no longer interested in it. Instead, he wraps his arms around Martin, burying his nose in his lover's hair. It smells of bergamot and tea leaves and the ocean in winter, just like Martin himself, and Jon luxuriates in the moment. 

"I love you, Martin K. Blackwood." He whispers into the soft air. 

"Even if I don't actually have a middle name?" Martin whispers back. 

"Especially because of that." Jon chuckles. 

They lay together, the gentle moments of the morning flowing around them. Later, they get up and shower together. They drink tea in front of the big windows in the living space. Martin reads a book from Gerry's shelves, his own books still packed, and Jon wanders off to play his piano where it is randomly set up, right in the middle of Gerry's typical painting area. 

Gerry himself appears downstairs, still sleepy and bleary-eyed. He curls up with his head in Martin's lap, listening to Jon fill the flat with gentle music. 

It's the soft sort of moment that each of them had been wishing for all their lives, full of love, and family, and a home of their very own.

Chapter Text

"It’s skew.” 

“Come and straighten it, then.” 

“I’m spotting, you’re hanging.” 

Gerry growls at him. Jon looks rather pleased about it. 

Martin, who doesn’t want Gerry to hit their infuriating lover with a hammer, goes over to where he’s hanging the massive painting and tilts it minutely to the left. “Better?” 

“Perfect!” Jon pronounces, clapping his hands. 

Through some sort of witchcraft, the artist has hung the painting in such a position that it emulates where a window would be in a traditional room. It opens up the space in such a way that it seems less like a store room, and far more like a creative space that someone would actually enjoy spending time in. 

The lightning helps too, warm light filtering from the ceiling and corner lamps, and LCD strips illuminating the bookshelves from inside. 

All in all, considering this was a utilitarian storage space just a few weeks ago, it seems like a downright miracle. 

The three of them lean back against Jon's desk, free of clutter for the first and only time in its life. The bookshelves are empty, and except for his new painting, so are the walls. 

The piano occupies one wall, and Gerry hopes to hear it being played often. 

Jon reaches out and takes Gerry's hand, drawing them close together affectionately. "How long have you been planning for us to move in?" 

"Well, I wasn't planning, per se. Only considering the possibility." Gerry smirks confidently. "I know we're all a little bizarre, but this is the course of most relationships, and we could only spend so much time sleeping over before paying for three flats became superfluous." 

"Besides," Martin continues for him. "There's no harm in planning for something you hope will happen eventually. Especially when your new flatmates will be this wildly good looking." 

He gestures to himself dramatically, doing a small turn in place. Gerry and Jon laugh with him happily, until he stumbles back into Gerry's side, where he gets wrapped up under an arm. 

"So do you like your new space, Jon?" Gerry cuddles around him, twisting the three of them into an odd sort of snuggle pretzel. 

"I absolutely adore it." Jon utters happily, sighing in contentment as they all lean there together. 

***

At the end of June, Jon hands over his keys and the three of them officially live together. 

There's still a lot of settling to be done, even though they've been moving in together for almost six weeks by that point. The boxes are unpacked, but they still need to make it a comfortable home for all of them, a certainty that comes only with time. 

Martin and Jon both love their studies, a matching pair that look and feel completely opposite. 

Martin opts for a small bedroom, keeping the bed from his old flat, his painting hung opposite. He finds an antique writing desk at a charity store, and installs it for writing poetry or working on his laptop in the evenings. 

He adorns the walls with pictures and posters, and random pieces of poetry and music that he loves. 

It's a cozy space that he adores, even though he opts to sleep in the master bedroom almost always. The option makes him feel like he has his own breathing room, even if he rarely needs it. 

Jon's is more of a true study, with a large desk taking up the majority of the space. His walls are lined with shelves, and he promptly fills them with books and knickknacks. The odd collection includes first edition classics, next to mass market paperbacks and music books, with non-fiction nature and animal books scattered throughout. These are interwoven with seashells, tiny mechanical statues and several flowers preserved in resin, gifts from Martin throughout their relationship. 

On the wall above the piano, he hangs framed photos of his parents, himself with Gerry as a teen, and all three of them together as adults. The photo he once took of Martin, Gerry and Tim hangs right in the centre, all his favorite humans in one frame. He hangs the sketch of him and Martin in the park from when they were all courting, as well as the others he has stolen from Gerry over time. 

Gerry embraces the chaos and upheaval as if it's all he ever wanted, and really, it is. A home, with the people he loves, noisy and frenetic, loving and comfortable. 

In the middle of July, he quits his job at the bar in the middle of a shift, with very little contemplation or preamble. 

He smiles at his lovers radiantly when he comes through the door several hours early to find them watching a movie. 

"What happened?" Martin queries, clear concern lining his expressive face. 

"I quit." Gerry flops down between them, snuggling down immediately. 

"But why?" Presses a sleepy Jon, trying to hide a yawn behind his hand. 

Gerry shrugs. "I got the job because I was bored, essentially. I wanted to interact with interesting people and I didn't know anyone in London anymore. But tonight I realized how badly I wanted to be right here, with you two." He smiles at them, trying to explain without conveying too many of his sappy emotions. "l honestly couldn't think of one reason to be working at midnight on a Saturday, instead of at home, or out on a date, or literally anything else we could be doing together. So I quit."

"Oh Gerry." Jon whispers, both of them carefully tuned to his moods, regardless of his attempts at seeming unconcerned.

"I don't feel the need to fill my time and chase inspiration anymore. I just want to be with you. Both of you." He kisses first Martin's hand, then Jon's, grinning at them all the way. 

"I love you. I'm happy you're home." Jon whispers to him, sleepy and content.

Martin hums an agreement, squeezing his hand and smiling down at him lovingly. 

They watch their movie and then go to bed all together, and Gerry knows he's made the best choice of his life. 

***

Gerry finds himself with an odd amount of time on his hands while his partners go to work during the day, like normal people. 

He decides to take on several art commissions from clients he's actually interested in working for, which thrills Gertrude. He doesn't think it entirely makes up for his boyfriend hitting Peter Lukas in the middle of a showcase, but it's a start. 

He also indulges himself and buys a new tattoo machine. 

He's not really interested in taking clients again, but… well, he wants it and so he gets it. If it's only to use on himself or the occasional visitor, then that's fine by him. 

"You have everything you need to give tattoos now, right?" Martin asks him one early morning. 

Gerry is still mostly asleep, clutching a cup of tea and petting Saturn where he perches on his lap. He blinks at Martin, confused. 

"I think so. I mean, I haven't used my machine yet, but there's really only one way to test it out." Gerry tilts his head curiously, sunlight glittering in his hair, dyed back to its original black. "Why do you ask?" 

"Do you want to give me one?" Martin grins at him a bit shyly. 

Gerry sits up straight, instantly wide awake. "Yes. So much."

Martin laughs warmly. "You have the same look on your face that Luna gets when we take out the catnip toys." 

Uncaring about how eager he might look, Gerry shoos Saturn to go over and kneel by Martin. "I would be honored to have your tattoo virginity. Do you want me to draw something?" 

"Yes," Martin tells him with a grin, "that's exactly what I want. A Gerry Delano original, right on my skin." 

"What do you want it to be?" Gerry's teal eyes are bright and slightly manic, and Martin glories in the sensation of producing a new reaction in his lover. 

"It's entirely up to you." He responds, pressing a firm kiss to Gerry's mouth. "I want to see what makes you think of me."

"Oh, I like it." He declares, jumping up and going off to find a sketchbook. 

Martin sips his tea and smiles to himself, very pleased indeed. 

***

"You're just going to let him give you whatever he wants to?" Jon blanches when Martin tells him. 

"Relax Jon, it's Gerry, not some evil mastermind. He'll draw something I like. And if I don't, it's not hard, I just tell him no." 

Jon, who rather considers that Gerry is an evil mastermind, does not look convinced. "But…"

"Hush, love." Martin tells him firmly. 

Gerry, drawing under the window nearby, takes no notice of them. He has a focused frown on his face as he concentrates on the careful lines appearing on his page. 

Martin considers it a rare pleasure to just watch him draw, and tries to guess what might be forming on the page before him. 

He completely trusts that Gerry knows him exactly well enough to draw him the perfect tattoo. And then he can have his own piece of Gerry, inked right into his skin. 

When he sits back down with Jon and Martin a little later, he has a smudge of charcoal above his eyebrow, and Martin gently rubs it away before Gerry has a chance to start talking. He blushes quite uncharacteristically, and Martin knows it means he's been swirling in the frantic rush of his own creativity. 

"So I have a proposal for you." Gerry starts, body humming with excitement. "A tattoo in two parts, if you will."

"Yeah?" Martin encourages him, just as interested. 

Gerry collects Martin's hand in both of his own, running a thumb over a spot on his wrist. It's the same place that Jon has his own tattoo, which immediately makes Martin pleased. "A small crescent moon, right here. The placement to match with Jon, the symbol for Luna." 

Gerry pushes a scrap of paper forward, an elegant crescent moon filling space. 

"For the other…" Gerry turns over the larger page, handing it to Martin. 

There's an immeasurable beat of silence as Martin contemplates the design before him. A set of waxing and waning moons, connected by a series of dots, lines and more dots making a background of geometric shapes. 

He… feels it. He understands now, what Jon had meant, when he described seeing the inspiration for his own tattoo for the first time. It's a representation of some inner part of himself, normally hidden from the world, but carefully unearthed for his lovers, over the course of many months and endless intimacy. 

"Martin?" Gerry entreats, leaning minutely closer to him. 

"I love it." He whispers, pulling the goth over to kiss him fiercely. They tangle together pleasantly, for several moments, everything else falling away as they get absorbed in each other. 

"Not that anyone asked me, but I like it as well." Jon informs them pertly. 

"Your opinion is as important to us as ever, baby." Gerry replies, grinning proudly. He turns back to Martin. "Where do you want it?"

Martin considers for a moment, before getting up and pulling off his shirt and jumper, leaving himself bare from the waist up. He still feels a small pang of shyness to be naked in any way, but confidence born of time and perspective drown most of it away now. 

He and Gerry stand facing each other. Martin lifts the other man's hand, placing it on his sternum, over his softly pounding heart. 

"Right here?" Gerry asks, voice soft. 

"Right here." Martin affirms. 

***

In the end, Gerry takes them over to Melanie's tattoo shop to work on Martin. He lists a number of reasons, but really, he finds a certain amount of comfort working under the stark lights and amid the buzzing of other machines. 

They do the small tattoo first, and Martin sits for it exceptionally well. 

Before Gerry starts the sternum piece, an endeavor of several hours, Georgie arrives and drags Jon off to drink coffee and catch up in a nearby coffee shop. Melanie goes into the next room to take another client, and Gerry and Martin are left alone together. 

"Ready, love?" Gerry asks as he finishes placing the stencil, bisecting his chest. 

"I'm nervous," Martin confesses softly. 

Gerry doesn't move his gloved hands, not wanting to contaminate them, but he does press their foreheads together gently, taking a moment to sooth Martin with his companionship. 

"Do you want to take a break? You can just sit with the stencil for a while." Gerry leans forward and places a swift kiss on Martin's nose, before retreating from his personal space. 

"No, I'm ready." He smiles, biting his lip a little. "I just- I feel like this is a big moment, you know?" 

"It is. You're embracing who you really are." Gerry runs a finger along one of Martin's chest scars, considering. "You're choosing to love yourself instead of just tolerating him."

"How can you always tell?" Martin whispers the words, voice heavy with emotion. "How can you put things into words like that, so simply."

"I know you. You think I don't see when you avoid looking in the mirror. You hope I don't notice that you used to hate being naked, even with Jon and I." Gerry pauses, tripping Martin's head up with the tip of a finger, minimizing contact still. "But I see you, Martin. I love you just the way you are. And I want you to love yourself just the same. I'll tell you everyday, show you constantly, if I need to."

Martin is crying for real now, tears streaming down his face. Gerry abandons his sterility, pulling Martin into his arms. He rocks his lover gently, and they are just together for a moment, no need to rush, no distractions. Just them, and the comfort they find in each other. 

"I love you too." Martin tells him simply, when they pull apart. 

"Good," Gerry grins, kissing him thoroughly, the taste of salty tears on his lips. He stands, pulling off his ruined gloves and going to wash his hands again. 

Martin takes a sip of the tea Jon made him before he left, smiling because Jon always makes it with a little more sugar than he allows himself. "I'm ready."

When Jon returns, they're just finished up, the last few moments of buzzing filling the air. He watches them together, artist and canvas, and loves them fiercely. 

"How was coffee with Georgie?" Martin queries, taking his offered hand. 

Jon relays the details as Gerry finishes, and then cleans up. 

Jon and Gerry stand on either side of Martin in the mirror as he looks at it for the first time. Martin nods wildly, when Jon asks if he likes it, and they hug him from either side as he sheds a few more tears. 

Jon had once thought that tattoos seemed very boring in comparison to Gerry's normal work, but seeing the design come alive on Martin's skin, full of feeling and depth, he can't help but think of it as the best thing his lover has ever done. Gerry can't help but agree. 

"Let's go to the park!" Martin exclaims as they leave, after saying their goodbyes to Georgie and Melanie. 

"The park?" Jon asks, laughing. "It's so windy."

"I don't care, I want to feed the ducks and eat ice cream with my boyfriends." He insists, giddy with happiness and adrenaline. 

"Okay, but you're picking the flavours this time." Gerry says, taking one of Martin's hands. Jon takes the other. 

"Deal."

***

Jon and Gerry find themselves watching Martin once again feed ducks as they sit beneath a tree, more than a year after the very first time. 

"Why don't we come to the park more often?" Jon asks from where he reclines between Gerry's long legs. 

His arms snake around his waist, and Jon feels very content and comfortable, despite the cutting wind. 

"Because," Gerry kisses under an ear softly, "we live in England and it rains more than 100 days a year."

"He looks so happy here." They watch as Martin stoops to offer a piece of bread to a curious toddler. The child is inordinately pleased, and her mother watches on gratefully from nearby as they feed the rowdy birds together. 

"Are you happy?" Gerry asks him, unexpectedly serious. "With your life, with me?" 

"Gerry! Of course I'm happy with you." Jon sits up, turning in the tangle of Gerry's limbs to face him. 

"I'm only checking on you." He runs a gentle finger down Jon's face, then cups his cheek affectionately. "I know how much stress work puts you under and I hate that for you." 

Jon looks away from his intent gaze, fiddling with his fingers nervously. "Well, yeah. My job sucks. The worst part is, I love being a librarian! Being surrounded by books, helping people choose something to read or guiding them with their research. But that's so little of my job now, and Elias just finds new and interesting ways to put pressure on me. But I'm not qualified and I know I probably won't get another job in a library, especially not without a glowing recommendation from Elias-"

"And we both know that's never going to happen." Gerry finishes for him. 

Jon nods and they just sit together a moment. Gerry lifts one of his hands and kisses each of his fingers and then his palm, until Jon blushes and smiles at him. 

"I know you think it's annoying, so you keep your feelings about work inside, a lot of the time. I don't want you to do that anymore, okay? If you have a terrible job, then we all carry that."

"But-"

"Nope, no buts. We are all partners. That means more then dinner dates and living together and sex." 

"And punching rich fuckers who hurt our Martin."

Gerry laughs, still reveling in Jon's unexpected protectiveness- and the violent manifestation of it. "Yes, that too. There will be other jobs, for all of us, probably. But our relationship, the three of us. We're forever." 

"Like those tattoos that you gave Martin today?" Jon asks, pert glint in his eye. 

"Yes, much like that." He smirks brazenly back. "And the one I gave you, and the ones I've given myself, over the years."

Gerry continues, squeezing Jon's hand, "I know that the idea of not being able to provide for yourself scares you, but we're in this together now. You don't have to cling to a job that you hate in case you're left without one at all."

"I-" Jon looks away, uncomfortable to be so well understood. Gerry stits with him, energy easy between them, just holding his hand, loving and supportive. 

"I have been considering, that is, maybe becoming a school teacher." The confession is halting, and he offers it with a small shy smile. 

"I think that's a wonderful idea." Gerry responds, gentle encouragement colouring his voice. 

"I would probably have to go back to school for a year. Get a post-grad in Education. I wouldn't be working for most of that time, and my savings will only go so far, even without having to pay rent." Jon whispers, as if the words will be any less offensive to him if they are quiet.

"You know I can float you, especially for just a year. And Martin too."

"It just doesn't seem fair to burden you with that."

"It's not a burden, it's a part of life. You think you're so old, that you should be settled, but you're barely 30, Jon. You still have time to make new life choices occasionally, and the point of being in a relationship is that you let us support you every now and then." Gerry is earnest and focused, and Jon can't help but believe him, long fingers cupping his face and teal eyes holding his gaze. 

Martin arrives then, plonking down next to Jon and giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek. 

"What are we talking about then? Such serious faces." 

Gerry nudges Jon, who haltingly offers Martin the same idea he told Gerry. 

“Oh, I think that’s a great idea.” He says, eyes alight. “Like, high schoolers, right?”

“Yes, of course. Anyone under 10 is an alien and I don’t want to hear any arguments.” 

They laugh at him, their contentment surrounding him warmly. 

"You don't have to quit right away." Martin offers. "There are plenty of part time degree programs, and you have to apply first. It all takes time."

"You seem pretty clued up about it." Jon observes, narrowing his eyes at Martin suspiciously. 

"Well, if you must know. I've been thinking about getting a business degree." 

"Oh my God! Martin, how is this the first we're hearing about this?" Gerry demands, sitting up straight. 

"I didn't want it to be a thing until I was sure, and the move was over." He confesses, "It's gonna take a lot of my free time and I wanted to discuss that with you both carefully." 

"I'm gonna be living with two thirty year old students." Gerry mutters, shocked. He leans back against the tree again, running his fingers through his long hair. 

"I haven't agreed yet-" Jon starts. 

Martin speaks up at the same time. "You could get a degree too. We could all be students together."

"No, but thanks anyway." Gerry shudders, grimacing. He perks right back up. "I'll be your sexy study partner though."

"Gerard!" Jon cries, scandalised. 

Gerry shakes his head. "As if I've never felt you up while you were trying to study for a test."

"Exactly!" Even Jon struggles to keep up his prim expression at that, and they tumble into pleasant laughter together. 

"So," Martin hazards, "are we gonna do this?" 

"Well, if you're going to. I suppose we should both get it done at the same time." Jon responds, still hesitant but clearly warming to the idea. "You're really okay with this, Gerry?"

Gerry beams at them both, a soft, special look in his eyes. "I'm more than okay with anything you want to do with your lives. In case you haven't noticed, I'm really very fond of you both."

Jon leans forward in the circle of Gerry's legs, pressing their lips together in a gentle kiss, before turning back to lay against his chest. 

Martin shifts around to lean into his side, and Gerry tucks one arm around him, the other around Jon. Jon reaches out to take one of Martin's hands, and the three of them sit wrapped up together. 

As ever, their own mutual magnetism draws them forever closer and closer, binding them to one another in an inexplicable tangle of love and affection. 

"Do you think it will always be like this, between us?" Martin whispers gently, as the sun begins to set and the landscape sets ablaze before them. 

"Probably not," Jon responds, voice warm and content. "Life will keep shifting like a tide, and we'll move with it, but the great thing about us is- we're moored together. Nothing can keep us apart, because what we have is stronger than whatever shifts and eddies might try to take us away."

"The gravity between us is fiercer than any storm, any disaster that might try to shake us." Gerry picks up Jon's train of thought, pulling them both minutely closer. 

"Good," Martin says simply, fiercely in love and the happiest he's ever felt. 

They watch the sun as it drops below the horizon, sometimes quiet and occasionally sharing some errant thought or another. 

They eat ice cream on the way home, holding hands and laughing. 

It's warm, and soft and peaceful. 

And they're all, finally, home.