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Martin knows that something is up, the first time he asks Jon if he’d like to fuck Martin properly.

It’s not something they’ve done before. Not as a deliberate choice, or anything; they just sort of haven’t gotten around to it yet. So far their sex life has mostly consisted of grinding through clothes, or Jon rubbing himself off after he’s just gotten done taking Martin’s entire world apart with his hands or his mouth or one of Martin’s small collection of vibrators. (Or, on one memorable occasion, his whole goddamn fist.)

Sometimes Jon lets Martin get him off, if he feels like being pampered a little, but this particular thing would be new to them, and it’s always a bit of a toss-up, how Jon will react to the idea of something new.

The way he reacts turns out to be...fidgety. Suspiciously so, in a way that makes a voice in the back of Martin’s mind go oh, what’s this, then?

Martin knows by now what it looks like when Jon has made up his mind to be all evasive and weird about something. It’s even harder for him to be properly cagey when he’s wrapped up in Martin’s arms, leaning back against Martin’s chest. Martin can feel his tension.

Luckily, Martin is pretty good at deciphering Jon-speak; he’s the leading expert in the field. So, when Jon looks at the bedroom wall and says, “Not sure what the point would be, really,” Martin thinks, ah. That was not a this-is-some-kind-of-ace-type-thing tone of voice, or a I’m-not-feeling-up-to-it-and-I’m-letting-you-down-easy tone of voice. That was a I’ve-got-a-small-dick-and-I’m-trying-not-to-make-it-a-thing-but-it-really-kind-of-IS-a-thing tone of voice.

“Jon, the point is that I want your dick inside me, if you’re amenable.” Martin says patiently, squeezing his hands over Jon’s shoulders. He feels encouraged by Jon’s sheepish chuckle.

“Well, twist my arm, why don’t you.”

“Do you want me to twist your arm? I can drop it if you’re actually not interested.”

And then Jon shifts and squirms and makes some more reluctant, noncommittal noises, while Martin sits and thinks oh, I’ve got your number, you adorable bastard.

“Well, the thing is. It’s just that I’m kind of...sensitive?” says Jon, like it’s literally killing him to admit it. Martin makes a yes, and? sort of noise, and Jon’s shoulders slump in defeat. He rolls his eyes, and they stay rolled as he says, in a long-suffering tone of voice, “Martin, if I penetrate you, there is basically zero chance that I’m not going to come immediately.”

And holy shit, holy god, holy fuck-

“Jon,” says Martin, once he’s gathered up the shattered pieces of his brain and dropped them back into his skull, “you’re saying that like it’s not the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

Because, like, yeah, Martin knows Jon can be a bit of a hair trigger, sometimes, but something about the tone of absolute certainty Jon had used, the sound of his mouth crisply enunciating the words “come immediately”, it. It just. It opens Martin’s floodgates like a breaking dam, okay? Evacuate the town, it’s a fucking tsunami down there, and Martin is mixing all kinds of metaphors here because he is just that turned on, okay.

And apparently the stupid-horny part of Martin’s brain did a good enough job of making his case for him, because Jon gives a self-conscious laugh and relaxes a little more. Arm-twisting accomplished.

"You're so easy." says Jon, in a tone of fond accusation.

"Hmm. I like being easy for you." replies Martin. Then he starts nuzzling kisses into the side of Jon’s neck, and Jon tilts his head to give him better access, and okay, this has officially transitioned from an idly-talking-about-sex sort of situation to a sex-is-definitely-happening-now sort of situation. Jon wiggles a bit where he sits, spreading his legs in invitation, and Martin takes that as his cue to reach around and slip a hand into Jon’s boxers.

Martin thinks Jon’s dick is pretty much the best thing in the world. Quite aside from the fact that he loves anything that belongs to Jon, he enjoys what a cute little handful it is, and the fact that he can jerk it off in much the same way that he jerks himself off; with quick strokes of his fingers over the shaft, rather than the unfamiliar grasping and tugging of the more usual type of handjob.

Also, foreskin is great. So are balls. Playing with Jon’s junk is just a fun time all around, honestly.

He cups and squeezes Jon’s dick with a proprietary sort of affection, rolling his thumb over the silky hood of foreskin, teasing it back and forth over the head. He can tell that Jon is psyching himself out a bit, staying soft and shy in Martin’s hand for longer than he normally would, but he slowly warms up under Martin’s gentle coaxing. Martin’s hand and Jon’s dick are old friends, by now, and Jon is relaxed and trusting in Martin’s arms.

Jon, for the most part, regards his dick with the determined casualness of a man who is Much Too Sensible to pay attention to things like mainstream standards of attractiveness, and has most certainly never felt insecure about anything in his life, thank-you-very-much. Martin lets it slide, usually; god knows Jon indulges Martin’s own idiosyncrasies often enough, and Martin doesn't need to be told how awkward it can be, when you're packing something a bit unexpected between the legs.

With that said, sometimes he still likes to butter Jon up a little. So, in between peppering Jon’s neck with kisses, he starts peppering Jon’s ear with flattery. "Mm. Love your cute dick." Kiss. "Love how it feels in my hand." Kiss. "Definitely gonna love how it feels when you come inside me." Kiss.

Jon gives a fussy sort of huff, like he's humoring Martin, but Jon’s dick is an even worse liar than he is, and Martin definitely felt a twitch just now. Precious man. Martin wants to wreck him.

Now that he's gotten Jon’s motor running well enough for him to be receptive, Martin starts flirting with that special spot under the head of Jon’s dick that drives Jon crazy, stroking delicately with one fingertip and smiling at the way Jon’s head abruptly falls back against Martin’s shoulder, the way his breath repeatedly hitches. If Martin was going in for the kill, he could just keep doing this and have Jon squirting all over his hand in no time. But, he reminds himself, they have a Plan.

And then Jon's thighs abruptly squeeze together, his knees hiking up, and he says "Ah, Martin-!"

Martin doesn't take his hand away, but he does stop stroking, pressing firmly down while Jon goes all tight and shivery against him. Jon breathes in sharply through his nose, and there are a few more jumping contractions against Martin’s palm before Jon finally settles back down from the false alarm. Martin feels a tiny bit of precome drip out, and he's so, so tempted to just go ahead and give Jon an orgasm, but he restrains himself. There will be other handjobs.

"Christ. You're going to kill me before I even get my pants off." says Jon ruefully, shifting in a way that rubs his arse rather pleasantly against Martin’s crotch.

"Still hot."

"You're ridiculous. Get your hand out of my pants before I come all over it."

Martin obliges, after giving Jon one last tickle to the frenulum that causes Jon to jerk bodily and curse. Kind of sensitive. Yeah, the same way the surface of the sun is kind of warm, or Martin is kind of in love with Jon.

They undress separately because it's easier than trying to be sexy and undress each other, and they're kind of past the point of standing on ceremony. Predictably, Jon’s eyes laser in on Martin's chest as soon as Martin’s shirt and bra are out of the equation. Martin gives him a playful smack on the thigh. "Jon. Focus."

"I am focusing. Can't you see how focused I am?" Jon rubs a hand over himself, squeezing the shaft of his dick between his fingers. As always, Martin is charmed by the similarity to a T dick.

"You know, something just occurred to me," says Martin innocently. "Something else that we haven't tried. You fucking my tits."

Jon snatches his hand away from his dick so he can press it over his mouth instead, and Martin grins like a fool and mentally pats himself on the back for scoring a slam fucking dunk without even trying. Looks like they know what they're going to be doing the next time they have sex.

And it’s a good thing neither of them are that worried about impressing each other anymore, because there’s no real way for Martin to make laying back in bed and shuffling a pillow under his hips look sexy. In a contest between aesthetics and not destroying their joints, the second option wins every time. Martin reaches a hand down and spreads himself out in the most blatant possible invitation, and he is so, so lucky to have Jon, because the fact that neither of them are exactly the pinnacle of conventional beauty seems so very far away when his boyfriend is staring at him like he wants to eat Martin for breakfast.

And then, still with a slight attitude of bashfulness, Jon is crawling into position, lining himself up, and pushing in, and they get to spend a cozy moment pressed bodily together, hips flush. Jon’s cock buried in Martin’s hole. Jons balls resting against Martin's arse. Jon's face buried in the crook of Martin’s neck.

It's by no means a stretch, of course, but that's not that point; if that was what Martin wanted, he has dildos. What Martin wants is Jon, warm and snug and sweet against him, the two of them fitting together like two very different puzzle pieces. It’s good for different reasons than sex is normally good, but it's still very, very good. Martin strokes his hands along Jon’s back, cheek pressed against Jon’s hair, and allows himself a moment to just wallow in feeling completely, shamelessly sappy.

Then he scratches down Jon's back with his nails, and feels the answering shudder that ripples through Jon, and is abruptly reminded that this entire scenario is still hot as hell, all things considered. Jon takes an exaggeratedly deep, calming breath.

“Are you close?” says Martin, with a kind of quiet, breathless eagerness. Oh, please be close, it'll be so fucking hot if he's close. (God, Martin might be close at this point, he's worked himself up so much inside his own head.)

“Martin,” says Jon, in a tone of strained dignity, “It is literally a miracle that I am not coming as we speak.”

And oh, oh, oh. Martin exhales shakily, feels himself tighten a little. Feels Jon’s answering twitch, hears his sharp intake of breath.

“Stay here. Just like this.” he says. Jon nods silently, and for a while they just luxuriate in the warm intimacy of this position, the delicious anticipation, knowing that Jon is right on the edge, ready to be pushed over by a light breeze. Or, rather, Martin luxuriates in it; Jon squirms slightly and makes soft noises like he's being very pleasantly tortured. Martin doesn't have to look to know that his toes are curling. Martin knows those sounds, and knows exactly what physical reactions go along with them.

“Does it feel good?" Martin whispers into Jon’s hair. "Are you gonna come for me? Fill me up?" Martin can hardly believe the words that are coming out of his mouth. Neither can Jon, judging by the emphatic “Fucking hell, Martin,” he receives in return. Jon doesn't exactly thrust, but he does lean in harder, so carefully, like he's afraid to do anything more.

Afraid to pull out and push back in, because he knows it'll feel too good, that he won't be able to stop himself if Martin slides just right against his cock-

Fuck. Fuck.

Martin doesn't even know where this is coming from, he’s normally not a dirty talk aficionado at all, but something about this entire situation is unlocking parts of his mind he didn’t even know existed. Still, he knows how to roll with the inspiration of the moment, so he runs with it. He mouths the sensitive shell of Jon’s ear, breathes into it, and keeps talking. "Love how you feel like this. Love making you feel good, love that I can make you come from fucking nothing because you're just that easy for me, you're so fucking cute-"

"Martin!" It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to describe Jon’s tone as anguished, and oh, yeah, that does it for Martin. That really, really does it.

"Think you can last long enough for me to come?" says Martin, already slipping a hand down to fondle himself. "Can you do that for me?"

It won't exactly be a challenge, given how worked up Martin is, but all Jon does is- was that- yes, Martin does believe that was a whimper. Wow. Feeling a little drunk with power, Martin starts to rub himself off fast and hard, reveling in the way Jon winds himself tighter and tighter with tension, like he's fighting tooth and nail against his own pleasure. Inside him, Martin feels one of those warning jumps that means Jon is close.

Martin was right; it doesn't take long. For either of them. Martin doesn’t so much fall off the edge as hurl himself off, a full-on running goddamn leap that takes his breath away. Jon makes a choked sound, muffled into Martin’s shoulder, and pushes hard against Martin, grinding their pelvises together. Seconds later Martin feels an answering pulse of spreading warmth inside him, a series of little rhythmic twitches.

They stay that way for a few long moments, breathing through it, one of Martin's hands on Jon’s back, the other still pressing down between his legs. Then Jon sighs and gingerly pulls out, and the sensation of Jon’s come dripping out of Martin for the first time is pure satisfaction. He shamelessly reaches down and runs his fingers through it, while Jon shakes his head at him in an oh, you sort of way.

"I think I just broke some kind of record." For the fastest I've ever forced Jon to orgasm, Martin thinks giddily.

"I will point out that you did come first." says Jon, in his best attempt at a supercilious tone. He looks a little too frazzled to really pull it off, but Martin will give him points for effort.

"And it was hot enough that you came immediately afterward. Do you get where I'm coming from, now?" You'd better, because I really, really want this to be one of our regular things.

And then Jon smiles at Martin, a little shyly, and oh, yeah, he gets it.