Here I am, typing away very busily because I am such a busy person. No time at all for assisting Martin with his whole situation. He's wound up on the floor, which I suppose isn't much of a surprise. He does seem to be going for it, though. Good for him. I'm honestly impressed. Not sure if he expects me to interrupt or not, but I've no intention of giving in so easily. Wouldn't be in character, would it? I'm a smug, unflappable prick who has other things to do, important things, like typing a bunch of random nonsense into this document so it seems like I'm working. Anyway, if he really needed my help, or wanted to beg for it, he certainly could. I'm not stopping him. Hell, he —
— is as far as John gets before Martin, only his head and a bit of his shoulders visible over the edge of the desk, whimpers and curls in on himself. John stills, staring in astonishment at the computer screen, the words blurring. Holy shit, he thinks distantly. He hadn't thought his bullshit would be so effective. Certainly hadn't thought it would all be over so quickly. He barely even had to do anything, and while there's plenty of value in knowing he can wind Martin up so much with nothing more than some arch remarks and feigned indifference, he also can't quite believe this is it. They've hardly begun to explore this whole dynamic. And, effective or not, he's reasonably certain that this wasn't strictly what Martin had in mind. Christ, they never even touched.
But as Martin catches his breath and lifts his gaze, a few simple facts scroll through John's mind. Martin has come into his hand, much like he did at the library: a sensible move, because he doesn't know about the spare clothes. But this means they could try for another round. Perhaps aim for something a little closer to the fantasies he'd once entertained. Martin might want to pack things in, he supposes — or might expect that they've reached the natural conclusion of the scene — but they don't have to.
He taps the 'return' key twice.
Well. That was... unusually potent?? Holy shit??
John doesn't yet return Martin's gaze, his expression still schooled into casual indifference. "If you're quite finished," he says, "as it seems you are... in record time... you might consider cleaning yourself up." He flicks his gaze in Martin's direction, quick and assessing, waiting to see if he still wants to play along.
no subject
— is as far as John gets before Martin, only his head and a bit of his shoulders visible over the edge of the desk, whimpers and curls in on himself. John stills, staring in astonishment at the computer screen, the words blurring. Holy shit, he thinks distantly. He hadn't thought his bullshit would be so effective. Certainly hadn't thought it would all be over so quickly. He barely even had to do anything, and while there's plenty of value in knowing he can wind Martin up so much with nothing more than some arch remarks and feigned indifference, he also can't quite believe this is it. They've hardly begun to explore this whole dynamic. And, effective or not, he's reasonably certain that this wasn't strictly what Martin had in mind. Christ, they never even touched.
But as Martin catches his breath and lifts his gaze, a few simple facts scroll through John's mind. Martin has come into his hand, much like he did at the library: a sensible move, because he doesn't know about the spare clothes. But this means they could try for another round. Perhaps aim for something a little closer to the fantasies he'd once entertained. Martin might want to pack things in, he supposes — or might expect that they've reached the natural conclusion of the scene — but they don't have to.
He taps the 'return' key twice.
Well. That was... unusually potent?? Holy shit??
John doesn't yet return Martin's gaze, his expression still schooled into casual indifference. "If you're quite finished," he says, "as it seems you are... in record time... you might consider cleaning yourself up." He flicks his gaze in Martin's direction, quick and assessing, waiting to see if he still wants to play along.