Martin hears the approaching footsteps before the door opens, but even knowing it's coming can't quite prepare him for the sharp shock of John opening the door with such force, nor for the sudden proximity of him, drawn up to his full height, after having maintained such an uncrossable distance since they started this. Martin stares up at him, his lips parted, his eyes wide, too caught up to avert his gaze or display any other appropriately submissive body language. This could get him worked up all over again if he was physically capable, just John standing so close, looking so imperious. He wants, with sudden clarity and desperation, to be touched; he wants John to just grab hold of him and take what he wants.
But it's not time for that, if John even has any intentions of going that route. Instead, the order is barked, more of a cold suggestion, really, and Martin blinks, recovering himself somewhat.
"I- Of course," he stammers, and turns to look out toward the front of the Archive, imagining making his way up to the front, letting himself be seen through the windows. Having to do more menial work, having to wait until John is either ready to escalate or until he's forced to ask what's next. It is every bit as enticing as all the rest of this has been. "I'll get right on that."
He starts toward the lobby, his gait fumbling a bit, and casts about for anything that could use a bit of tidying. He could fetch the broom, he supposes; the floors could always use a good sweep. But that feels like a bridge too far, going to the supply closet and back, no sense of when John will release him from this particular task. And somehow the idea of trying to get real work done feels a bit ridiculous under the circumstances. He settles for organizing and reorganizing the front desk, which scarcely needs it, but at least it keeps him focused for the moment.
no subject
But it's not time for that, if John even has any intentions of going that route. Instead, the order is barked, more of a cold suggestion, really, and Martin blinks, recovering himself somewhat.
"I- Of course," he stammers, and turns to look out toward the front of the Archive, imagining making his way up to the front, letting himself be seen through the windows. Having to do more menial work, having to wait until John is either ready to escalate or until he's forced to ask what's next. It is every bit as enticing as all the rest of this has been. "I'll get right on that."
He starts toward the lobby, his gait fumbling a bit, and casts about for anything that could use a bit of tidying. He could fetch the broom, he supposes; the floors could always use a good sweep. But that feels like a bridge too far, going to the supply closet and back, no sense of when John will release him from this particular task. And somehow the idea of trying to get real work done feels a bit ridiculous under the circumstances. He settles for organizing and reorganizing the front desk, which scarcely needs it, but at least it keeps him focused for the moment.