Colder than
Dec. 7th, 2012 03:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
arch_calzenFandom: Cabin Pressure
Character(s), Pairing(s): Douglas/Martin
Rating: T, I guess? Never were any good with identifying this stuff
Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort
Word count: 4,756
Summary: OP requested a fill where Martin sleeps with back pressed tightly against the wall in substitution forhis FO someone embracing and protecting him. During work he instinctively migrates closer to Douglas without realizing it. Douglas, however, does and is determined to offer comfort.
He was… well, not entirely warm – his legs seemed to be freezing off – but his back and chest positively felt a little bit less numb than the rest of his body. He curled up some more, pressing back into that fleeting feeling of warmth.
It almost felt like someone was holding him, strong arms wound around his chest, pulling him flush against another chest, somewhat broader and
Warmer.
He flexed his shoulders and curled his arms around the ones resting on his torso, tightening them with affection. He could almost sense slow, steady breath of another man ghosting over his neck.
It felt… nice. Safe, even.
If only he could make his legs stop freezing.
* * *
Martin awoke with a start, blinking rapidly and looking around in bewilderment. The ventlight banged insistently against the wall as another gush of wind made its way into the tiny attic room, showering the floor with drops of rainwater and sheets of paper blown from the desk by the window.
Martin propped himself up on his left elbow and looked down to see sheets twisted uncomfortably around his middle, their loose ends trapped somewhere between the wall and his back, and also under the man’s pelvis. The redhead stilled for a moment, allowing himself to lean back against the wall. It was still a bit warm. His own body heat has warmed it up a little.
Just like it always did.
And yet there he was again, dreaming about someone – a rather particular someone, right, Martin? – to hold him, to keep him safe.
The ventlight demanded his attention with another loud bang, and Martin snapped out of his musings. The man shivered and got up clumsily, trying not to trip over the sheets as they slid down his hips and onto the floor, numb feet barely obeying him.
Martin squinted as a sharp rush of cold wind made his eyes go teary, and staggered up to the window, closing the ventlight (after a second try only) and planting his palms on the narrow desk to lean forward and rest his forehead against the glass.
It was still dark outside, probably around two or three in the morning. He could really use some sleep.
Martin tensed as another full-body shudder ran from his forehead to the toes, and twisted around, making out a pale shape of a bed with crumpled sheets lying a few feet away from it.
One small, empty, single bed. Devoid of anyone. As always.
The man staggered back to it, picking up the sheets on his way, and dropped down, kicking and tugging at the bundle to cover himself. Finally, he stilled, lying on his back and sighing heavily. Martin turned his head to the right to look at the – now cold. obviously. – wall, with its rough uneven texture of something having been painted over far too many times.
“Why?” – he whispered to the wall.
It didn’t answer. It never did.
Martin sighed again and turned away from it, scooting over to the edge deliberately, avoiding of touching it.
Outside, the rain continued.
* * *
* * *
Sometimes Martin wondered if a hypothetical deity up there actually hated him. Or maybe it was just happy in its own wicked way to see him suffering.
He rubbed a hand over his face and stared at the reports in front of him. The man have had filling them out scheduled for these exact two hours (yes, he did schedule things like this, and so what?), but it was Friday, and the schedule was, as usually, set up on Tuesday, and back on Tuesday Martin have had absolutely no idea how wrecked he would feel by Friday.
His sleep got even worse, it that was at all possible. He barely managed to catch a few hours throughout the week, and he felt really lucky (Martin? lucky?) that MJN didn’t have any work for now. Wouldn’t want their Captain to fall asleep in the pilot seat, would they.
Martin folded his arms on the desk and hunched over it, staring at the papers absently as his mind wandered elsewhere.
If possible, recently he felt even more lonely than usual. Of course, the man corrected himself, he had… friends? Why yes, MJN ‘pack’ definitely counted as friends. He’s never even had friends before…
And yet, and yet it made the contrast even starker as he would return every evening to his cold room and curl up on his bed to sigh (or sob, if the mood was particularly rubbish) himself to sleep. With no one to talk to, to share warmth, to watch a DVD, for God’s sake (provided he had a DVD-player). No one to hold and to be held by throughout the night. Yes, Carolyn and Arthur and Douglas were his friends, but he could hardly ask any of them to come and stay over. Repeatedly. For many different reasons.
Douglas.
Martin ran his hands though his red hair and frowned. Yes, maybe he fancied the older man a bit. Okay, he fancied him. A lot. Definitely. It was really difficult to lie to himself and pretend not to when in his half-asleep haze he imagined the man spooning him from behind, warm lips resting against his neck.
The redhead cringed and picked up a pen. Several more hours to occupy himself with something before he would have to go home.
* * *
Douglas entered the room with a yawn, making a beeline to the opposite door to get to the coffee machine in their tiny makeshift kitchen, when he noticed Martin’s back hunched over the desk, while the man scribbled away indifferently.
The First Officer halted for a fraction to look properly at the younger man as his pale face came into view. Yes, he definitely looked worse than the last time Douglas saw him. Which was… when exactly?
Douglas rolled his shoulders and thought briefly as to why on earth would the boy come to the airfield to fill some stupid reports on their day off? True, the FO himself was here, too, but he had volunteered to supervise engineers going over Gerti (mainly to make sure they didn’t discover one of his newly-founded secret compartments, though no one really needed to know about this reason).
And now he desperately needed coffee.
Douglas snapped out of his thoughts and realized he wasn’t moving for at least five seconds now. And that Martin has also stopped scribbling, hands lying limp over the papers, head hung indifferently.
The man glanced at the pale features. The poor boy was clearly exhausted.
Douglas sighed quietly. More than anything, he wished he could (‘and here enters the soap opera part,’ he thought grimly) protect Martin from the unjust world. God knew the boy has had his fair share of unhappiness to last him a dozen lives. Over the time they’ve known each other, Douglas has grown quite fond of the younger man – in a romantic way, too, of course, but first came an overwhelming need to give shelter, to show Martin that life could be good, to let him feel loved and special and cared for.
But how would he do that? Seeing the boy so tired and still was certainly a trigger to start Douglas on his journey to become Martin’s– someone. The feelings bottled up for far longer than necessary came spilling out, and he felt itching to move already, do something, instead of hiding behind sarcastic gibes and half-hearted mockery as he usually did.
“Martin?” the man in question lifted his chin slowly to indicate he was a least partly alert.
“Fancy some coffee?”
Martin started to lower his chin back absently, as if to accept the offer, then stopped mid-motion and shook his head carefully instead.
“No. Sorry,” he murmured. Douglas nodded and finally continued on his way to the kitchen. As he was starting the coffee machine, a thought halted his movements.
Why did Martin just apologize to him?
Ten minutes later, Douglas lifted his eyes from a newspaper he was currently reading as Martin shuffled into the kitchen and flopped down on one of the chairs, spreading the half-finished reports on the table.
Douglas could not suppress a cringe as he noticed that the boy subconsciously pressed his back against the wall.
As if to ensure that no attack will come that way. The older man’s heart clenched painfully with sympathy.
* * *
* * *
Martin paused his writing as his mind registered Douglas entering the room, bringing in the cool scent of moist air from the outside. It would do no good if the First Officer saw him like this. He shouldn’t let them know.
They shouldn’t know. Who was he to bother them? Because they would worry if they knew how awfully he felt. Because they were so kind and compassionate – each one in their own way, but Martin saw them care, witnessed them care. Who was he to deserve their sympathy? Who was he to divert their attention from things far more important?
Douglas said something. It sounded like his name, though Martin couldn’t be sure. For all he knew, the man could be mocking his posture right now. He went for a neutral gesture, maybe it was just that his neck muscles were cramped.
Oh God, now that Douglas saw him, he would definitely notice something’s off. Martin felt a pang of self-loathing. Wonderful, wonderful Douglas wasting his time on him.
He said something about coffee. Oh how he craved coffee… didn’t he? Martin felt a wave of nausea rise inside of his belly at the thought. No, no coffee until he has had at least some sleep…
Douglas offered him coffee, paid attention, and Martin was going to turn him down, the stupid twat. Guilt overwhelmed the young man as he parted his lips to speak.
“No. Sorry.” Sorry for bothering you. Please, would you forgive me?
Thank God, Douglas was retreating. Martin sighed and slumped even more. Oh how tired he was. Emotional distress was possibly even more exhausting than a simple lack of sleep.
* * *
Martin blinked furiously to make the blurry letters come back into focus. Great, now what? Reducing to a quivering teary-eyed mess? So what if he was lonely? What if no one would ever want him? What if Douglas would never love him back the way he did (he didn’t even notice as the l-word slipped)? This meant nothing. It has always meant nothing, and he, Martin, is used to the things as they were. If this stupid world wanted him to be alone forever, so be it! He didn’t care. He didn’t. They all could just bugger off and stop bothering him.
The man pressed his lips together furiously and let out a shuddery sigh.
That was when a faint smell of coffee reached him from behind the closed door.
Absent-mindedly, Martin collected the papers, got up and followed the smell.
* * *
The ginger-haired leant back against the wall and stared at the reports lying on the table by his right elbow. He’s never considered the kitchen to be a comfortable location for paperwork, but right now it felt… better, somehow. A little less bad. A tiniest little bit less.
Martin closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the warm scent of coffee and catching a soft rustle as Douglas turned over a page. He stayed still for a few seconds before sighing deeply and opening his eyes. Those reports weren’t going to write themselves, after all.
* * *
* * *
Post-take off checks complete, and Douglas leant back in his seat to cast a sideways glance at Martin. The boy was staring fixedly ahead, his eyes a bit glassy, and Douglas winced as a slight tremor seized the Captain’s hands. Martin was in no condition to fly, frankly. Yes, his insomnia seemed to have left him for good some time ago, but he still looked almost as if he was slowly and painfully recovering from a devastating illness.
But Douglas knew MJN needed that money, and Martin knew it, too, and there was no way Douglas could perform a one-pilot passenger flight to Morocco. Well, of course he could, but the passengers were a delegation for some prissy air-safety conference, and it would do no good for them to know the rules were violated that blatantly.
Another problem was that Martin stubbornly refused to acknowledge anything every time one of them clumsily tried to breach the topic. Yes, he was fine. No, he didn’t need time off. No, nothing was wrong. Yes, he really was fine.
* * *
The cheese tray was brought in and Douglas watched as Martin nibbled at his Emmenthal absent-mindedly. ‘Really fine’ my arse. He exchanged long-suffering looks with Arthur, and the Steward frowned and shrugged, for once completely silent as he left.
* * *
“Umm… ‘I’m blue, da ba dee’?”
Douglas could not suppress a groan. “Bloody hell, Martin, this is honestly the most catchy thing I’ve ever heard.”
The Captain smirked slightly. “And there you thought I’d lose again. Your turn though.”
“We are yet to see the winner. Okay, then… ‘I like to move it, move it’!”
Martin turned his head to stare at Douglas with a disbelieving look on his face, mouth hanging open slightly. The FO sniggered smugly.
“How about ‘A little bit of Monica in my life’, then?”
Their journey back to Fitton was fairly better than the previous one.
Douglas couldn’t know if the Moroccan warmth (heat) helped Martin recover a bit, or if it was something else, but at least now he didn’t look so pale and accepted Douglas’ offer to play “The most catchy songs” and actually smiled a couple of times. It was mostly a forced, I-know-you-want-to-cheer-me-up-sorry-I-fail-but-I-try tiny little smirk, but Douglas could not be picky about that.
Martin lifted his left hand and rubbed first at his eyes, then at the nosebridge, sliding the palm down his face and splaying the fingers at its lower half to finally cup and rub at his jaw, stretching his neck muscles. Douglas knew the gesture and the underlying message of it when he saw it. The younger man could use a splash of cold water in his face.
“You have coffee near your upper lip, you know that?” he lied smoothly.
“What, where?” Martin perked up a bit, running a hand over his mouth self-consciously.
“Great, now you smeared it. Good job. I advise you use the bathroom, unless you wish the right side of your face to remain coffee-with-sugar-sticky for the rest of the flight,” Douglas’s gaze followed the younger man as he scrambled out of his chair, mumbled something like “you have control” and vanished out the door.
* * *
Martin entered the flight deck and slumped back in his seat, drops of water still lingering on his skin. He did look better in some way, but it appeared as if the short journey to the loo had drained him of what little strength he had left. Douglas frowned as he noticed the tremor return.
“’We’re gonna rock around the clock tonight’?” Douglas suggested, and Martin forced out a huff, which was most likely supposed to be a laugh. The FO watched the boy’s face as he seemingly tried to click back in reality.
“Yeah, a good one, that…” Martin murmured distractedly.
Douglas didn’t register his own movements until he saw his hand resting on Martin’s shoulder. The younger pilot started and froze for a second, relaxing almost instantly afterwards. The First Officer noticed how widely-open glassy eyes half-closed tiredly, and Martin let out a deep sigh, unconsciously leaning his head a fraction, as if to catch the warmth radiating from Douglas’ skin. Everything stopped save a low hum of engines in the background, the reality shrinking to the two men. Martin closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth upturning a tiniest bit. Douglas smiled, allowing his hand to rub small circles in the man’s shoulder. Right now, everything was fine. They would work through this, they could do it, he knew.
Martin turned his head towards Douglas a bit more, opening his eyes and parting lips as if to speak. Douglas gazed back, willing the hesitance behind the boy’s eyes to go away.
“I’m a Barbie girl in a Barbie world!” Arthur announced, entering the cabin loudly. Right, Douglas remembered, that was the last thing the man heard when he was here the previous time. “Dinner, chaps!”
Martin tensed immediately under his hand, and Douglas allowed it to slide off, turning to see what poison Arthur has – in the so wrong time! – brought to them today.
* * *
* * *
Douglas turned at the door of the flight deck and took in the tiny room to make sure he didn’t forget anything. Carolyn and Arthur have already left the jet, but Martin still lingered in his seat, as if he didn’t really want to go. The older man sighed and thought over their flight.
The boy was clearly feeling less uncomfortable when there was physical presence – physical contact. Given the way he tensed when Arthur entered, though, it was logical to assume that Douglas’ attention was more welcome than anyone else’s. Not that he felt surprised about that; Arthur was a good chap, but not really fit for the whole steady-comfort-thing. Himself, however…
“So, leaving for home now?” he inquired. A clumsy attempt at conversation (obviously Martin didn’t have much choice), where did all his social skills vanish when he needed them most? But he had to start one.
“Yeah,” Martin replied resignedly, getting up slowly with his back turned toward Douglas. The older man winced, taking in his hunched over, tense form, rigid shoulders as the boy wrapped his arms around himself… And then he was overwhelmed with the desire to comfort. But would Martin appreciate that? He did seem to earlier, but would he now?
The boy clearly loathed going home. At least, Douglas could help with that. Come on, tell him you’d like him to join you, tell him you’d take care, do something already!
“You know what, there’s a giant chunk of mutton in my freezer, and it will expire soon unless I cook it. And I’d never be able to digest that much mutton all at once. Care to help?” Oh great, Douglas. The Conversation God. Why couldn’t you just tell the truth for once without dancing around it with stupid suggestions?
Martin, please.
The pilot turned slowly, searching his face intently. With an inner shudder Douglas realized Martin was looking for the signs of his infamous selfish ulterior motives. Did he really appear to be such an insufferable bastard?
Finally, the ginger-haired nodded and gave a small smile. “Of course. I’d like to.”
* * *
Martin fidgeted with the hem of his clothing. After a shower (Douglas was generous to offer him a pair of sweatpants and a jumper) and a dinner (the mutton was really amazing; he doubted it was indeed about to expire… not that he’d be able to tell that, he couldn’t even remember when he’d last had such meal) Douglas suggested to complete the evening by lounging lazily on the sofa and watching some movie, and Martin was happy to agree; a movie meant he could postpone returning to his attic for a little while longer.
But now, as the movie progressed, he couldn’t help but feel nervous about the situation. Clearly Douglas didn’t mean that. Clearly he’d proposed the movie out of courtesy only, and now that he’d accepted the offer, the older man is stuck in his company for another hour at least. A wave of guilt washed over Martin, and he froze, the hem of the jumper clenched in his fists.
How stupid, stupid! He should have known he’d be unwelcome from the start. Why did he allow himself to be selfish back then, at the jet? He should have denied the offer, should have left Douglas alone and not bother him with his stupid self, but he was so terrified of going back to his place… And now there he was, and Douglas by now had to clearly regret his offer, and the longer he sat here, the worse it would get.
Out. Now.
Martin scrambled up to his feet and made several hasty steps to the door to the guest bedroom, where he’d put his clothes earlier, before a voice stopped him.
“Martin! Where are you going?”
The man absent-mindedly registered the movie being put on pause and the rustle of clothes and creak of leather as Douglas got up. He stopped dead in his track, several feet from the door.
“I-”
A brief pause.
“I have to leave.” Why did his voice sound so strained? He had no right to feel surprised how the evening turned out.
“All of a sudden? Is something wrong?” Did he imagine, or was there indeed a slight touch of worry to his voice? Nah, stupid.
* * *
“No, nothing, I just-“ the younger man wrapped his arms around himself, and Douglas was strongly reminded of a similar scene mere hours ago. And then it clicked in place. Martin was hugging himself, trying to protect himself from the outer world.
“Martin, you don’t need to go if you don’t want to.” And he meant it. The man started slightly.
* * *
That was it. That was it.
“I don’t want to,” he agreed, voice suddenly thick. “It’s just… I need to.”
“Why?”
God, now he would know. Martin didn’t really care, though, couldn’t make himself care. This evening was doomed from the beginning, and if it was going to end their friendship, so be it. He was too tired to care.
“Because… Because you don’t want me here,” Martin swallowed and continued before the other man could interject. “And it’s- it’s okay, really, I mean, it’s all fine, fine. Fine. I understand, I do.” If he did, why did his throat constrict so painfully? “It was stupid of me to accept your offer, I’m sorry to have bothered you. It’s just… I loathe so much returning to my place, it’s so cold and lonely there and…” he paused to wrap his arms around himself more tightly. “And sometimes I really wish there were someone there, you know… Just to come home to, to wake up to, to talk to, sometimes it’s so lonely I-“ he swallowed again. “But it’s okay. It really is. Okay. I’m used to it. No one ever-” he sniffed pathetically. His mind registered he was babbling and generally making a fool of himself, but he couldn’t stop. “It’s fine that no one will want me, that you will not… Oh my, there it is. I said it,” he let out a pained laugh. All in. He hiccupped, wishing he could cry. Maybe it would be easier if he could. But his eyes remained stingingly dry, and only his voice kept getting thicker. He tried fruitlessly to swallow the lump down his throat.
* * *
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “Okay. I know I don’t deserve anyone like you. And it was, it was easier when you would… but you’ve been so nice these past weeks, I don’t- I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he almost whined, wishing he would just disappear, just stop existing.
He also wished he could turn around and look at Douglas. But he knew he would see… what? Pity? Agreement? Maybe even disgust. Yes, disgust seemed most probable. He feared to turn around. He was so pathetic he couldn’t make himself do it. White noise washed over him, engulfed his hearing, and he squeezed his eyes shut, unwinding his arms to cover his face in shame.
And then he gasped as another pair of arms encircled his torso, pulling him flush against a broad chest. He froze, air swooshing out of him in sharp, shuddery breaths.
It was warm.
The arms held him tight and secure, the bigger body behind him radiated heat, and a second later he started as the other man pressed his face in the crook of Martin’s neck.
Never, in none of his most vivid dreams had he felt so safe.
“Shhh,” a breath ghosted against his neck, and he shuddered, all walls finally crumbling down as he hiccupped once, twice, and then dissolved in a mess of incoherent weeping as tears – finally – streaked freely down his face.
Martin felt right arm shift lower to encircle his waist, the hand of the left one going diagonally up to splay fingers over his chest, and the hold tightened to an almost rib-crushing manner, and it had never felt so good.
“…you silly thing,” the white noise wall thinned to allow him to hear Douglas’ voice. “If only you knew… never again,” the hold almost choked him, but he couldn’t make himself care, so absorbed he was in this deep voice. “Never again, do you hear me.”
“Douglas,” he whispered, and it was all he managed before another fit of crying hit him.
“Never again,” the man repeated, and Martin felt him lift his head and press small, dry kisses to his crown.
“I’m sorry,” he whined.
“Don’t.”
Martin mimicked the position of the arms, pressing down with his own to get as much contact as he could. He sagged back against Douglas, tilting his head to rest it on the man’s shoulder, and let out a sigh as Douglas stroked his chest soothingly.
But it was not enough, and he twisted around, the hold loosening for a fraction before tightening again as he latched himself onto the older man, hands twisting in the fabric of the jumper on his sides, hiding his face under Douglas’ chin. The man’s left arm traveled up, fingers weaving through ginger hair to cradle Martin’s head tenderly, as if he was the most precious treasure. The thought made Martin moan with a new and strange feeling of being desired.
“It’s okay now,” Douglas’ voice rumbled, as if he was soothing a scared animal. “It’s okay,” a pair of lips murmured against his temple, and Martin automatically tilted his head to the other side and turned it, instinctively seeking out the warm lips with his own. The kiss was brief, clumsy and chaste, a slight movement of lips against lips as Martin tried to convey all his affection, devotion and gratitude to the man he loved so much it hurt.
He hid his face back on Douglas’ chest, smiling at a sudden thought and sighing.
“Hmm?” he felt the other man’s chest vibrating.
“Nothing. It’s just,” he tilted his face up to gaze at Douglas.
The man looked like he knew the reason, but still waited for Martin to voice it himself, so he obeyed.
“My first kiss,” he said with a small smile.
“Oh Martin,” Douglas sighed deeply with emotion and smiled fondly at the smaller man, stroking his hair.
All was well.
* * *
* * *
* * *
He was dreaming again. Of strong arms encircling his torso, of a broad chest pressed against his back, of soft lips on his neck.
Of warmth. Of security.
Martin gave a first deep sigh, and his nostrils were immediately full of the wonderful scent: wool, cotton, a faint touch of cooked meal and, most importantly, Douglas.
The man blinked awake slowly and glanced around the visible part of the gigantic (well, maybe not that gigantic, but it was at least four times bigger than his attic) bedroom and smiled, remembering the past events and soaking in Douglas’ generous warmth.
Martin turned over slowly, not wanting to wake the other man just yet, and took in the view of the handsome creature lying so close to him. He smiled fondly. The young man still couldn’t believe this was really happening.
That such a wonderful, incredible man would willingly take him to his house, his bed and his life.
Martin couldn’t hold back any longer and leant forward to press a kiss to the other man’s jawline… only to find himself pinned down in less than a second by the very same, quite widely awake and impossibly horny man.
“Well, good morning to you too,” he laughed as Douglas set about kissing his neck determinedly.
Martin knew he was not a lucky person, but if all luck he could have in the past simply accumulated to give him this, who was he to complain?
---
Fin.
* * *
Aaand now some additional art (this one is mine, but I wouldn't at all mind fanart ;DD)
Character(s), Pairing(s): Douglas/Martin
Rating: T, I guess? Never were any good with identifying this stuff
Genre: Angst, Romance, Hurt/Comfort
Word count: 4,756
Summary: OP requested a fill where Martin sleeps with back pressed tightly against the wall in substitution for
He was… well, not entirely warm – his legs seemed to be freezing off – but his back and chest positively felt a little bit less numb than the rest of his body. He curled up some more, pressing back into that fleeting feeling of warmth.
It almost felt like someone was holding him, strong arms wound around his chest, pulling him flush against another chest, somewhat broader and
Warmer.
He flexed his shoulders and curled his arms around the ones resting on his torso, tightening them with affection. He could almost sense slow, steady breath of another man ghosting over his neck.
It felt… nice. Safe, even.
If only he could make his legs stop freezing.
* * *
Martin awoke with a start, blinking rapidly and looking around in bewilderment. The ventlight banged insistently against the wall as another gush of wind made its way into the tiny attic room, showering the floor with drops of rainwater and sheets of paper blown from the desk by the window.
Martin propped himself up on his left elbow and looked down to see sheets twisted uncomfortably around his middle, their loose ends trapped somewhere between the wall and his back, and also under the man’s pelvis. The redhead stilled for a moment, allowing himself to lean back against the wall. It was still a bit warm. His own body heat has warmed it up a little.
Just like it always did.
And yet there he was again, dreaming about someone – a rather particular someone, right, Martin? – to hold him, to keep him safe.
The ventlight demanded his attention with another loud bang, and Martin snapped out of his musings. The man shivered and got up clumsily, trying not to trip over the sheets as they slid down his hips and onto the floor, numb feet barely obeying him.
Martin squinted as a sharp rush of cold wind made his eyes go teary, and staggered up to the window, closing the ventlight (after a second try only) and planting his palms on the narrow desk to lean forward and rest his forehead against the glass.
It was still dark outside, probably around two or three in the morning. He could really use some sleep.
Martin tensed as another full-body shudder ran from his forehead to the toes, and twisted around, making out a pale shape of a bed with crumpled sheets lying a few feet away from it.
One small, empty, single bed. Devoid of anyone. As always.
The man staggered back to it, picking up the sheets on his way, and dropped down, kicking and tugging at the bundle to cover himself. Finally, he stilled, lying on his back and sighing heavily. Martin turned his head to the right to look at the – now cold. obviously. – wall, with its rough uneven texture of something having been painted over far too many times.
“Why?” – he whispered to the wall.
It didn’t answer. It never did.
Martin sighed again and turned away from it, scooting over to the edge deliberately, avoiding of touching it.
Outside, the rain continued.
* * *
* * *
Sometimes Martin wondered if a hypothetical deity up there actually hated him. Or maybe it was just happy in its own wicked way to see him suffering.
He rubbed a hand over his face and stared at the reports in front of him. The man have had filling them out scheduled for these exact two hours (yes, he did schedule things like this, and so what?), but it was Friday, and the schedule was, as usually, set up on Tuesday, and back on Tuesday Martin have had absolutely no idea how wrecked he would feel by Friday.
His sleep got even worse, it that was at all possible. He barely managed to catch a few hours throughout the week, and he felt really lucky (Martin? lucky?) that MJN didn’t have any work for now. Wouldn’t want their Captain to fall asleep in the pilot seat, would they.
Martin folded his arms on the desk and hunched over it, staring at the papers absently as his mind wandered elsewhere.
If possible, recently he felt even more lonely than usual. Of course, the man corrected himself, he had… friends? Why yes, MJN ‘pack’ definitely counted as friends. He’s never even had friends before…
And yet, and yet it made the contrast even starker as he would return every evening to his cold room and curl up on his bed to sigh (or sob, if the mood was particularly rubbish) himself to sleep. With no one to talk to, to share warmth, to watch a DVD, for God’s sake (provided he had a DVD-player). No one to hold and to be held by throughout the night. Yes, Carolyn and Arthur and Douglas were his friends, but he could hardly ask any of them to come and stay over. Repeatedly. For many different reasons.
Douglas.
Martin ran his hands though his red hair and frowned. Yes, maybe he fancied the older man a bit. Okay, he fancied him. A lot. Definitely. It was really difficult to lie to himself and pretend not to when in his half-asleep haze he imagined the man spooning him from behind, warm lips resting against his neck.
The redhead cringed and picked up a pen. Several more hours to occupy himself with something before he would have to go home.
* * *
Douglas entered the room with a yawn, making a beeline to the opposite door to get to the coffee machine in their tiny makeshift kitchen, when he noticed Martin’s back hunched over the desk, while the man scribbled away indifferently.
The First Officer halted for a fraction to look properly at the younger man as his pale face came into view. Yes, he definitely looked worse than the last time Douglas saw him. Which was… when exactly?
Douglas rolled his shoulders and thought briefly as to why on earth would the boy come to the airfield to fill some stupid reports on their day off? True, the FO himself was here, too, but he had volunteered to supervise engineers going over Gerti (mainly to make sure they didn’t discover one of his newly-founded secret compartments, though no one really needed to know about this reason).
And now he desperately needed coffee.
Douglas snapped out of his thoughts and realized he wasn’t moving for at least five seconds now. And that Martin has also stopped scribbling, hands lying limp over the papers, head hung indifferently.
The man glanced at the pale features. The poor boy was clearly exhausted.
Douglas sighed quietly. More than anything, he wished he could (‘and here enters the soap opera part,’ he thought grimly) protect Martin from the unjust world. God knew the boy has had his fair share of unhappiness to last him a dozen lives. Over the time they’ve known each other, Douglas has grown quite fond of the younger man – in a romantic way, too, of course, but first came an overwhelming need to give shelter, to show Martin that life could be good, to let him feel loved and special and cared for.
But how would he do that? Seeing the boy so tired and still was certainly a trigger to start Douglas on his journey to become Martin’s– someone. The feelings bottled up for far longer than necessary came spilling out, and he felt itching to move already, do something, instead of hiding behind sarcastic gibes and half-hearted mockery as he usually did.
“Martin?” the man in question lifted his chin slowly to indicate he was a least partly alert.
“Fancy some coffee?”
Martin started to lower his chin back absently, as if to accept the offer, then stopped mid-motion and shook his head carefully instead.
“No. Sorry,” he murmured. Douglas nodded and finally continued on his way to the kitchen. As he was starting the coffee machine, a thought halted his movements.
Why did Martin just apologize to him?
Ten minutes later, Douglas lifted his eyes from a newspaper he was currently reading as Martin shuffled into the kitchen and flopped down on one of the chairs, spreading the half-finished reports on the table.
Douglas could not suppress a cringe as he noticed that the boy subconsciously pressed his back against the wall.
As if to ensure that no attack will come that way. The older man’s heart clenched painfully with sympathy.
* * *
* * *
Martin paused his writing as his mind registered Douglas entering the room, bringing in the cool scent of moist air from the outside. It would do no good if the First Officer saw him like this. He shouldn’t let them know.
They shouldn’t know. Who was he to bother them? Because they would worry if they knew how awfully he felt. Because they were so kind and compassionate – each one in their own way, but Martin saw them care, witnessed them care. Who was he to deserve their sympathy? Who was he to divert their attention from things far more important?
Douglas said something. It sounded like his name, though Martin couldn’t be sure. For all he knew, the man could be mocking his posture right now. He went for a neutral gesture, maybe it was just that his neck muscles were cramped.
Oh God, now that Douglas saw him, he would definitely notice something’s off. Martin felt a pang of self-loathing. Wonderful, wonderful Douglas wasting his time on him.
He said something about coffee. Oh how he craved coffee… didn’t he? Martin felt a wave of nausea rise inside of his belly at the thought. No, no coffee until he has had at least some sleep…
Douglas offered him coffee, paid attention, and Martin was going to turn him down, the stupid twat. Guilt overwhelmed the young man as he parted his lips to speak.
“No. Sorry.” Sorry for bothering you. Please, would you forgive me?
Thank God, Douglas was retreating. Martin sighed and slumped even more. Oh how tired he was. Emotional distress was possibly even more exhausting than a simple lack of sleep.
* * *
Martin blinked furiously to make the blurry letters come back into focus. Great, now what? Reducing to a quivering teary-eyed mess? So what if he was lonely? What if no one would ever want him? What if Douglas would never love him back the way he did (he didn’t even notice as the l-word slipped)? This meant nothing. It has always meant nothing, and he, Martin, is used to the things as they were. If this stupid world wanted him to be alone forever, so be it! He didn’t care. He didn’t. They all could just bugger off and stop bothering him.
The man pressed his lips together furiously and let out a shuddery sigh.
That was when a faint smell of coffee reached him from behind the closed door.
Absent-mindedly, Martin collected the papers, got up and followed the smell.
* * *
The ginger-haired leant back against the wall and stared at the reports lying on the table by his right elbow. He’s never considered the kitchen to be a comfortable location for paperwork, but right now it felt… better, somehow. A little less bad. A tiniest little bit less.
Martin closed his eyes briefly, inhaling the warm scent of coffee and catching a soft rustle as Douglas turned over a page. He stayed still for a few seconds before sighing deeply and opening his eyes. Those reports weren’t going to write themselves, after all.
* * *
* * *
Post-take off checks complete, and Douglas leant back in his seat to cast a sideways glance at Martin. The boy was staring fixedly ahead, his eyes a bit glassy, and Douglas winced as a slight tremor seized the Captain’s hands. Martin was in no condition to fly, frankly. Yes, his insomnia seemed to have left him for good some time ago, but he still looked almost as if he was slowly and painfully recovering from a devastating illness.
But Douglas knew MJN needed that money, and Martin knew it, too, and there was no way Douglas could perform a one-pilot passenger flight to Morocco. Well, of course he could, but the passengers were a delegation for some prissy air-safety conference, and it would do no good for them to know the rules were violated that blatantly.
Another problem was that Martin stubbornly refused to acknowledge anything every time one of them clumsily tried to breach the topic. Yes, he was fine. No, he didn’t need time off. No, nothing was wrong. Yes, he really was fine.
* * *
The cheese tray was brought in and Douglas watched as Martin nibbled at his Emmenthal absent-mindedly. ‘Really fine’ my arse. He exchanged long-suffering looks with Arthur, and the Steward frowned and shrugged, for once completely silent as he left.
* * *
“Umm… ‘I’m blue, da ba dee’?”
Douglas could not suppress a groan. “Bloody hell, Martin, this is honestly the most catchy thing I’ve ever heard.”
The Captain smirked slightly. “And there you thought I’d lose again. Your turn though.”
“We are yet to see the winner. Okay, then… ‘I like to move it, move it’!”
Martin turned his head to stare at Douglas with a disbelieving look on his face, mouth hanging open slightly. The FO sniggered smugly.
“How about ‘A little bit of Monica in my life’, then?”
Their journey back to Fitton was fairly better than the previous one.
Douglas couldn’t know if the Moroccan warmth (heat) helped Martin recover a bit, or if it was something else, but at least now he didn’t look so pale and accepted Douglas’ offer to play “The most catchy songs” and actually smiled a couple of times. It was mostly a forced, I-know-you-want-to-cheer-me-up-sorry-I-fail-but-I-try tiny little smirk, but Douglas could not be picky about that.
Martin lifted his left hand and rubbed first at his eyes, then at the nosebridge, sliding the palm down his face and splaying the fingers at its lower half to finally cup and rub at his jaw, stretching his neck muscles. Douglas knew the gesture and the underlying message of it when he saw it. The younger man could use a splash of cold water in his face.
“You have coffee near your upper lip, you know that?” he lied smoothly.
“What, where?” Martin perked up a bit, running a hand over his mouth self-consciously.
“Great, now you smeared it. Good job. I advise you use the bathroom, unless you wish the right side of your face to remain coffee-with-sugar-sticky for the rest of the flight,” Douglas’s gaze followed the younger man as he scrambled out of his chair, mumbled something like “you have control” and vanished out the door.
* * *
Martin entered the flight deck and slumped back in his seat, drops of water still lingering on his skin. He did look better in some way, but it appeared as if the short journey to the loo had drained him of what little strength he had left. Douglas frowned as he noticed the tremor return.
“’We’re gonna rock around the clock tonight’?” Douglas suggested, and Martin forced out a huff, which was most likely supposed to be a laugh. The FO watched the boy’s face as he seemingly tried to click back in reality.
“Yeah, a good one, that…” Martin murmured distractedly.
Douglas didn’t register his own movements until he saw his hand resting on Martin’s shoulder. The younger pilot started and froze for a second, relaxing almost instantly afterwards. The First Officer noticed how widely-open glassy eyes half-closed tiredly, and Martin let out a deep sigh, unconsciously leaning his head a fraction, as if to catch the warmth radiating from Douglas’ skin. Everything stopped save a low hum of engines in the background, the reality shrinking to the two men. Martin closed his eyes, the corners of his mouth upturning a tiniest bit. Douglas smiled, allowing his hand to rub small circles in the man’s shoulder. Right now, everything was fine. They would work through this, they could do it, he knew.
Martin turned his head towards Douglas a bit more, opening his eyes and parting lips as if to speak. Douglas gazed back, willing the hesitance behind the boy’s eyes to go away.
“I’m a Barbie girl in a Barbie world!” Arthur announced, entering the cabin loudly. Right, Douglas remembered, that was the last thing the man heard when he was here the previous time. “Dinner, chaps!”
Martin tensed immediately under his hand, and Douglas allowed it to slide off, turning to see what poison Arthur has – in the so wrong time! – brought to them today.
* * *
* * *
Douglas turned at the door of the flight deck and took in the tiny room to make sure he didn’t forget anything. Carolyn and Arthur have already left the jet, but Martin still lingered in his seat, as if he didn’t really want to go. The older man sighed and thought over their flight.
The boy was clearly feeling less uncomfortable when there was physical presence – physical contact. Given the way he tensed when Arthur entered, though, it was logical to assume that Douglas’ attention was more welcome than anyone else’s. Not that he felt surprised about that; Arthur was a good chap, but not really fit for the whole steady-comfort-thing. Himself, however…
“So, leaving for home now?” he inquired. A clumsy attempt at conversation (obviously Martin didn’t have much choice), where did all his social skills vanish when he needed them most? But he had to start one.
“Yeah,” Martin replied resignedly, getting up slowly with his back turned toward Douglas. The older man winced, taking in his hunched over, tense form, rigid shoulders as the boy wrapped his arms around himself… And then he was overwhelmed with the desire to comfort. But would Martin appreciate that? He did seem to earlier, but would he now?
The boy clearly loathed going home. At least, Douglas could help with that. Come on, tell him you’d like him to join you, tell him you’d take care, do something already!
“You know what, there’s a giant chunk of mutton in my freezer, and it will expire soon unless I cook it. And I’d never be able to digest that much mutton all at once. Care to help?” Oh great, Douglas. The Conversation God. Why couldn’t you just tell the truth for once without dancing around it with stupid suggestions?
Martin, please.
The pilot turned slowly, searching his face intently. With an inner shudder Douglas realized Martin was looking for the signs of his infamous selfish ulterior motives. Did he really appear to be such an insufferable bastard?
Finally, the ginger-haired nodded and gave a small smile. “Of course. I’d like to.”
* * *
Martin fidgeted with the hem of his clothing. After a shower (Douglas was generous to offer him a pair of sweatpants and a jumper) and a dinner (the mutton was really amazing; he doubted it was indeed about to expire… not that he’d be able to tell that, he couldn’t even remember when he’d last had such meal) Douglas suggested to complete the evening by lounging lazily on the sofa and watching some movie, and Martin was happy to agree; a movie meant he could postpone returning to his attic for a little while longer.
But now, as the movie progressed, he couldn’t help but feel nervous about the situation. Clearly Douglas didn’t mean that. Clearly he’d proposed the movie out of courtesy only, and now that he’d accepted the offer, the older man is stuck in his company for another hour at least. A wave of guilt washed over Martin, and he froze, the hem of the jumper clenched in his fists.
How stupid, stupid! He should have known he’d be unwelcome from the start. Why did he allow himself to be selfish back then, at the jet? He should have denied the offer, should have left Douglas alone and not bother him with his stupid self, but he was so terrified of going back to his place… And now there he was, and Douglas by now had to clearly regret his offer, and the longer he sat here, the worse it would get.
Out. Now.
Martin scrambled up to his feet and made several hasty steps to the door to the guest bedroom, where he’d put his clothes earlier, before a voice stopped him.
“Martin! Where are you going?”
The man absent-mindedly registered the movie being put on pause and the rustle of clothes and creak of leather as Douglas got up. He stopped dead in his track, several feet from the door.
“I-”
A brief pause.
“I have to leave.” Why did his voice sound so strained? He had no right to feel surprised how the evening turned out.
“All of a sudden? Is something wrong?” Did he imagine, or was there indeed a slight touch of worry to his voice? Nah, stupid.
* * *
“No, nothing, I just-“ the younger man wrapped his arms around himself, and Douglas was strongly reminded of a similar scene mere hours ago. And then it clicked in place. Martin was hugging himself, trying to protect himself from the outer world.
“Martin, you don’t need to go if you don’t want to.” And he meant it. The man started slightly.
* * *
That was it. That was it.
“I don’t want to,” he agreed, voice suddenly thick. “It’s just… I need to.”
“Why?”
God, now he would know. Martin didn’t really care, though, couldn’t make himself care. This evening was doomed from the beginning, and if it was going to end their friendship, so be it. He was too tired to care.
“Because… Because you don’t want me here,” Martin swallowed and continued before the other man could interject. “And it’s- it’s okay, really, I mean, it’s all fine, fine. Fine. I understand, I do.” If he did, why did his throat constrict so painfully? “It was stupid of me to accept your offer, I’m sorry to have bothered you. It’s just… I loathe so much returning to my place, it’s so cold and lonely there and…” he paused to wrap his arms around himself more tightly. “And sometimes I really wish there were someone there, you know… Just to come home to, to wake up to, to talk to, sometimes it’s so lonely I-“ he swallowed again. “But it’s okay. It really is. Okay. I’m used to it. No one ever-” he sniffed pathetically. His mind registered he was babbling and generally making a fool of himself, but he couldn’t stop. “It’s fine that no one will want me, that you will not… Oh my, there it is. I said it,” he let out a pained laugh. All in. He hiccupped, wishing he could cry. Maybe it would be easier if he could. But his eyes remained stingingly dry, and only his voice kept getting thicker. He tried fruitlessly to swallow the lump down his throat.
* * *
“It’s okay,” he repeated. “Okay. I know I don’t deserve anyone like you. And it was, it was easier when you would… but you’ve been so nice these past weeks, I don’t- I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he almost whined, wishing he would just disappear, just stop existing.
He also wished he could turn around and look at Douglas. But he knew he would see… what? Pity? Agreement? Maybe even disgust. Yes, disgust seemed most probable. He feared to turn around. He was so pathetic he couldn’t make himself do it. White noise washed over him, engulfed his hearing, and he squeezed his eyes shut, unwinding his arms to cover his face in shame.
And then he gasped as another pair of arms encircled his torso, pulling him flush against a broad chest. He froze, air swooshing out of him in sharp, shuddery breaths.
It was warm.
The arms held him tight and secure, the bigger body behind him radiated heat, and a second later he started as the other man pressed his face in the crook of Martin’s neck.
Never, in none of his most vivid dreams had he felt so safe.
“Shhh,” a breath ghosted against his neck, and he shuddered, all walls finally crumbling down as he hiccupped once, twice, and then dissolved in a mess of incoherent weeping as tears – finally – streaked freely down his face.
Martin felt right arm shift lower to encircle his waist, the hand of the left one going diagonally up to splay fingers over his chest, and the hold tightened to an almost rib-crushing manner, and it had never felt so good.
“…you silly thing,” the white noise wall thinned to allow him to hear Douglas’ voice. “If only you knew… never again,” the hold almost choked him, but he couldn’t make himself care, so absorbed he was in this deep voice. “Never again, do you hear me.”
“Douglas,” he whispered, and it was all he managed before another fit of crying hit him.
“Never again,” the man repeated, and Martin felt him lift his head and press small, dry kisses to his crown.
“I’m sorry,” he whined.
“Don’t.”
Martin mimicked the position of the arms, pressing down with his own to get as much contact as he could. He sagged back against Douglas, tilting his head to rest it on the man’s shoulder, and let out a sigh as Douglas stroked his chest soothingly.
But it was not enough, and he twisted around, the hold loosening for a fraction before tightening again as he latched himself onto the older man, hands twisting in the fabric of the jumper on his sides, hiding his face under Douglas’ chin. The man’s left arm traveled up, fingers weaving through ginger hair to cradle Martin’s head tenderly, as if he was the most precious treasure. The thought made Martin moan with a new and strange feeling of being desired.
“It’s okay now,” Douglas’ voice rumbled, as if he was soothing a scared animal. “It’s okay,” a pair of lips murmured against his temple, and Martin automatically tilted his head to the other side and turned it, instinctively seeking out the warm lips with his own. The kiss was brief, clumsy and chaste, a slight movement of lips against lips as Martin tried to convey all his affection, devotion and gratitude to the man he loved so much it hurt.
He hid his face back on Douglas’ chest, smiling at a sudden thought and sighing.
“Hmm?” he felt the other man’s chest vibrating.
“Nothing. It’s just,” he tilted his face up to gaze at Douglas.
The man looked like he knew the reason, but still waited for Martin to voice it himself, so he obeyed.
“My first kiss,” he said with a small smile.
“Oh Martin,” Douglas sighed deeply with emotion and smiled fondly at the smaller man, stroking his hair.
All was well.
* * *
* * *
* * *
He was dreaming again. Of strong arms encircling his torso, of a broad chest pressed against his back, of soft lips on his neck.
Of warmth. Of security.
Martin gave a first deep sigh, and his nostrils were immediately full of the wonderful scent: wool, cotton, a faint touch of cooked meal and, most importantly, Douglas.
The man blinked awake slowly and glanced around the visible part of the gigantic (well, maybe not that gigantic, but it was at least four times bigger than his attic) bedroom and smiled, remembering the past events and soaking in Douglas’ generous warmth.
Martin turned over slowly, not wanting to wake the other man just yet, and took in the view of the handsome creature lying so close to him. He smiled fondly. The young man still couldn’t believe this was really happening.
That such a wonderful, incredible man would willingly take him to his house, his bed and his life.
Martin couldn’t hold back any longer and leant forward to press a kiss to the other man’s jawline… only to find himself pinned down in less than a second by the very same, quite widely awake and impossibly horny man.
“Well, good morning to you too,” he laughed as Douglas set about kissing his neck determinedly.
Martin knew he was not a lucky person, but if all luck he could have in the past simply accumulated to give him this, who was he to complain?
---
Fin.
* * *
Aaand now some additional art (this one is mine, but I wouldn't at all mind fanart ;DD)
