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Jon was hungry. No, not hungry, starving, in the quite literal sense of the word. He was balancing on that blade between having enough to live, but not quite enough to think clearly. He was also exhausted. He chewed his thumb nail down to the quick ages ago, and he’s gnawing on it now. His eyes would be blurred and unfocused if they were capable of seeing in any way that wasn’t perfect vision, yet his eyelids still twitched with fatigue, and although he didn’t need to blink his eyes still felt sore and dry. He tasted blood in his mouth, still, he knew if he looked down at his thumb there would be no blemish to show for it.
He stares down at the fake statement on his desk, wondering if he could eat it in the normal sense. With a real one he could just read it, but maybe fake statements just took a bit more effort. No, that wouldn’t work, he knew that wouldn’t work, but maybe the paper and ink would fill his stomach even a little…
He tears his eyes away from the file, looking at the ticking clock. 11:03 it read. In the night he imagined, but had no first hand knowledge if that was true. The Eye said it was. Late then. Too late for anyone to be around. Perhaps he could go outside and get fresh air…
But a bullet to the head is a compelling argument, so maybe he should try to sleep instead. But sleep had the dreams. He wondered which nightmare he would prefer at this moment. Other peoples nightmares were they beg for absolution, or the one he's living in at this moment. He decides to rest his head on the desk and stare at the wood grain. He listens to the clock tick and tries another balancing act. Being awake, but unconscious.
Tick, tick, tick
Strangely enough, as he focuses on unfocusing, he feels it slowly slot into place. He feels his dry eyes open, the other ones. The ones he has but hides from all, even himself. He is awake, but unthinking. He is dreaming, but in reality. His head is full of candy floss, sweet and so pleasant to the tongue. He moves yet is unsure if he is moving. He looks for webs but finds none. He feels hunger in the same way you would feel hunger in your dreams. There but impersonal. Real, but distant. This would be interesting, if he could comprehend it. Instead he gets up. He walks to the door and leaves. He is hungry, so he will get something to eat.
He wanders the halls, dark but plainly visible to his many eyes. He searches for someone to eat, but it is so quiet. He sees fog that doesn’t manifest. His temple is tainted by another. A quiet anger boils in his eyes, right at the surface but unable to delve deeper into the unaware mind that hosts them. Perhaps the eyes can eat the intruder, surely that makes more sense than starving and just letting this insult go unpunished, so he follows the fog.
It twists and winds and tries to obscure, but it can not keep The Archivist from seeing it. And finally he finds one, one of the interlopers tainting his home. A large frame sitting at a desk on one of the higher levels. He should have known that the Lonely would go for the head before going to the heart. But as he draws closer he recognizes the figure. No, this man was no interloper, he was not supposed to be lonely.
The Archivist growls quietly making the man look up. This man was his first, his Assistant, his Martin, and the Lonely was trying to steal him!
***
“Jon…?” Martin calls into the doorway, seeing the slight figure standing there.
Jon steps fully into the light, and Martin’s first thought was resentful, that Jon was going to try and bring him back again, no matter how many times Martin has made it clear he knew what he was doing and to just trust him for once. But looking at Jon, Martin could see that he wasn’t right. He had too many eyes for one, and another, Jon looks proper angry.
Martin has seen Jon angry before of course, but that had been a long time ago. These days when Martin slips into the Lonely for long enough to check in and make sure Jon is still alive, Jon has always looked sad, empty of the passion he once had. But now Jon is full of passion. Anger, loathing, and hunger. Honestly that look genuinely scares Martin.
“Jon, what’s going on?” Martin gets up and very slowly approaches Jon. Jon still hasn’t moved, or even said anything, just glowering at Martin. No, not quite at Martin, around Martin.
***
Martin approaches the Archivist slowly, and he can smell the fear radiating off of him. What a pleasant meal Martin has brought with him, and not even the Lonely is able to steal it away with the Archivist being the creator of the emotion within the man. The Archivist feels something unfurling from his back, creeping from under his shirt and slowly extending along the ground. If Martin was to become his again, he would need to devour the Lonely out of him. But more than that, Jon wants Martin back. Jon wants it more than any statement, more than any hunger, so he was going to have to be kind about it, loving about it. And a different hunger begins to flair in Jon.
Taking another step forward, closer to Martin Jon says, “Martin, something strange has happened, and I need your help.” and upon hearing Jon’s voice Martin relaxes a little.
“Jon, you know I can’t help you, not right now. Whatever’s happened, one of the others is going to need to fix it.” Martin’s face begins to settle back into the empty mask he’s been carving, but the Archivist can’t have that. So the tentacles of cassette tape that have unraveled at his back begin to twist up Martin’s legs.
“Martin,” The Archivist says, “No one but you can help me with this.”
Martin looks down and tries to step back, but trips and falls on his arse. “Jon!” Martin gasps, the fear back.
“Don’t worry Martin,” Jon reassures, “I just need to get you back! We can do that!” and Jon crawls into Martin's lap, kissing and caressing Martin’s face. Martin brings his hands up immediately, grabbing Jon by the shoulders ready to push him away, but not quite doing so.
“Jon, no, this isn’t right, you aren’t right! What’s happened?” And the Archivist grins with the question. He brings more of the tentacles around them. Gently wrapping around Martin’s middle like a hug as Jon slumps into his chest.
“I’ve been so hungry, Martin, and so tired. I think I might have let too much go and now, I’m not awake, but I’m not asleep, and; I need you.”
Martin’s budding concern clears some of the mist lingering in him. The Archivist can feel it losing some of its hold on him, and the hunger flairs hotter. Jon leans back, looking Martin in his eyes, “I need you Martin, I need you to wake me up, I need you to help control this, please…” Martin shifts as Jon clings, before Jon swiftly takes his lips again and rubs his thigh between Martin's legs and feels the stirring beginning to set in there. Martin gasps into Jon's mouth and the Archivist asks “Do you need me, too?”
“Yes.” Martin whimpers, the admission stinging and burning at the Lonely. “Jon, God, I’ve needed you for so long, but not right now, right now I need to keep you safe more than I need to be with you.”
“But Martin,” Jon asks, “How can you keep me safe if you aren't here?” Jon kisses him again, squirming a bit in his lap as he feels both his own and Martin’s desire grow. Martin whines deep in his throat, a different compulsion all together taking place in his gut. Jon uses the tentacles to curl under Martin’s shirt now, slipping along the sensitive skin, and the Archivist growls into Martin’s ear. “And how can I protect you if you aren’t MINE?” and with that Martin takes Jon’s mouth in his own.
Martin surprisingly seems quite comfortable with the tentacles winding around him, and Jon certainly doesn’t stop. He begins peeling off their clothes with them as he continues caressing and nipping at every bit of Martin revealed. Martin shivers every now and then, groaning, but no longer asking or wanting Jon to stop. It’s no surprise when Jon strips of his pants to see his dick twitching as Jon begins kissing the area around it. Martin moans louder, grabbing Jon’s hair as Jon puts the head in his mouth, licking and teasing the slit. Jon lets him guide him for a bit, before using the tentacles to grab Martin’s wrists and pull them away. The Archivist looks up and says, “I can’t claim you unless you surrender yourself to me.” He then stretches Martin out on the floor pulling the tentacles taught enough that Martin can’t move.
“Jon, please.” Martin whimpers, dick twitching again as he is gazed upon. Jon lays fully on him, skin on skin, “I’m not going to stop until you are mine, until every bit of you sings for me Martin.” Jon reaches down and cups Martin’s ass, massaging it and then slowly entering it with one of his tentacles. Martin pulls at his restraints, but not to get free. They would need lube if they were going to do too much more than that, lube that they didn’t have. “Jon, I can’t, not there, not right now.” and Jon stops. He nods, and takes his tentacle out, but still massages the outside. He then returns with this mouth on Martin's dick, engulfing it. This Jon works on with vigor, but Martin is much bigger than his mouth and throat can really take, so he uses one hand to work the base and the other massaging Martin's thigh. And while he sucks and licks his tendrils curl and squeeze gently around Martin. Martin tries to buck his hips every now and then but is held fast, and the noises he makes is utterly enthralling. Whimpering and moaning. Crying out Jon’s name every now and then, and the Archivist records it all. Jon, in return, lets go the hand on Martin's thigh and grasps himself with it, while keeping the other working on his Martin.
The Archivist keeps their eyes open, drinking in every sound, sensation, and taste of Martin. So he knows well just as Martin does when he’s about to come, and removes his mouth in time to Ask, “Who do you belong to?” As he continues to stroke “You, Jon, God, You!” Martin cries as he comes, and the last of the Lonely is burned away like the pathetic fog it is. Jon then crawls on top and continues his own rutting on Martin's stomach, thrusting on the slick left there. Jon groans as he finishes, and takes Martin's mouth with his own.
The Archivist is satisfied, his Assistant back where he should be, both twitching and kissing as they come down from the exertion. Jon releases his restraints on Martin's wrists and ankles, and begins cleaning him up. Martin seems dazed through it all, having the Lonely fully removed the exhaustion settling on his bones more deeply than he realized. The heavy weight of emotions still stir in him as Jon helps him back into his clothes, and as Jon puts his shirt back on Martin grabs the slight man in a hug and whispers, “I love you, Jon.” Jon freezes, unable to answer in his own haze, but grabs Martin’s jumper and pulls it over his own head, kissing Martin. Hoping that would be answer enough until he could think clearly. He needed to say it right after all.
They make their way back down to the Archives, Jon leading Martin and settling him down on the makeshift bed. Jon curls around Martin. As the strange balance between wakefulness and sleeping tips over to sleep, and with his mind finally clear of the Archivist’s influences he can properly whisper back, “I love you too Martin.”
The Archivist can wait for his meal one more night, and he is sure the Lonely will be gone from their halls soon.