((Warnings for voyeurism, misuse of mystical artefacts, tentacles (not sentient), bondage, begging, Martin's pining, Elias being a massive asshole.))
Artefact storage didn’t really freak Martin out. At least, not as much as he knew it freaked some of the others out.
It could be sort of peaceful, actually. As long as you didn’t, you know, touch anything, or look at certain things for too long, and you had to keep on your toes a bit, because some artefacts were prone to falling – or rolling, bouncing, any sort of movement – into the path of whoever might be nearby. And it was really, really tempting to pick them back up. To find where they are meant to go.
To bring them there.
So, yes, artefact storage. Not as creepy as it was often toted – more dusty, really. And quiet. Martin came down here to think. Or maybe to put distance between himself and others, since there were lots of quiet places in the Archives. Martin was a social person. He would consider himself a social person. But sometimes he just needed time to himself.
Like now. Jon had been acting weird. Distant again, in a way that made Martin’s stomach clench with anxiety. In a way that made him do stupid, annoying things that he knew bothered Jon but still did anyway, like asking how his day was going or bringing him tea. Martin wasn’t great at keeping secrets at the best of times, and it was worse now that he felt pulled between two extremes.
Because Jon seemed to be getting along quite well with Elias lately, and Martin was still sure he was vaguely meant to… do something about that. Not Jon and Elias, specifically, but Elias generally. They all were. Jon too.
Things felt complicated. Martin wanted to tell Jon- well, there was a lot he wanted to tell Jon. In recent days, it was mostly their plan that had him stumbling over his words around the Archivist. Jon didn’t need the extra stress, Martin knew that, and then there was the fact that Elias had this whole weird thing about Jon. Still, he deserved to know, didn’t he? It pretty directly concerned him.
And it would be nice, maybe, to get some reassurance from Jon. That things hadn’t changed as much as they felt like they had. That he was still on their side, and the thought made Martin queasy from guilt, that he was doubting Jon at all.
He could bring it up casually. Outside of work, obviously. Martin could invite him out for lunch. Or dinner? Just drinks – if he mentioned that everyone was going, Jon might be more inclined to say yes. Team-bonding and whatnot. And then the others could just not show, and Martin would be able to have his private conversation, and feel a little better, and by the time they were finished maybe they’d both be tipsy, not drunk, and from there-
Martin sighed, running a hand through his hair. Wasn’t that a pathetic line of thinking? He was sitting in an old wooden armchair – a caquetoire, he’d taken the time to look it up one day – that he was about 90% sure wasn’t haunted and was in fact meant as place for employees to sit. Killing time nestled amongst stacks of miscellaneous items.
This part of storage looked more like an overstuffed attic than anything ominously malevolent. Items that had been deemed less overtly dangerous and were imbued with powers that were uninteresting enough to not be considered a theft risk. Martin had been watching a chess set that played itself, but the pieces only changed when one forgot to pay attention. It was kind of a game, to see how often he could get so completely lost in thought that the pieces moved.
He stood and stretched and felt like he had accomplished anything he’d wanted to. Had come to closer to any decisions. Well, it had been relaxing, at least. And he did feel a little less like he might end up doubled over with unfortunate word vomit the next time Jon looked at him. Martin was just leaving when he heard a noise. Well, a noise that continued, becoming noises, he guessed.
Martin froze. He turned, staring out across the room. Silence lapsed, for long enough that Martin was sure he’d been hearing things, and then it came again. Kind of unidentifiable. Maybe human? Definitely coming from deeper in artefact storage.
The prudent thing would be to just keep going. Let it sort itself out. Artefact storage was probably the last place anyone should be following strange sounds. Martin could picture the face Jon would pull if he told him he’d even considered it.
But if it was a human… If it was, and Martin could help, and he’d just left instead-
Martin couldn’t do that. Perhaps he couldn’t help, but he could at least find out what was going on. Maybe he could witness something weird. Give a statement. Sit across from Jon while he pried Martin open with his tongue-
Like, with questions. He was thinking about Jon asking questions.
Mostly decided, definitely not acting to distract himself from his own thoughts, Martin crept towards the far door. Down a hallway that felt like it should be darkened, but was as well lit as every other part of the Institute. The noises were getting louder but no more distinct. Except now, he could also hear a voice, speaking lowly enough that Martin couldn’t quite make out the words.
It was coming from the next room down. Martin paused just outside the doorway. Another silence had lulled, and he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing, or a bad thing. He peeked around the door.
The room was mostly empty. It was one Martin had never looked in before, and it took him a moment to realize it was because he’d never seen the door opened. One of the heavy, oaken doors with the old school brass knob and thick, iron wrought key hole. Clearance level: higher than Martin would ever get. Not that it bothered him.
There was a man kneeling on the ground in the center of the room, and black, indistinct things twisted and coiled in the air around him. They wrapped securely up and down his arms, which were tugged tight behind his back, and slunk across his form in various loops. Coiled like ropes around his thighs, keeping his legs spread, up around his chest in scintillating patterns. One that Martin could see pulsing around his neck, dragging him forward and slightly down.
Not exactly what Martin had been expecting. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, certain that his mind was playing tricks with him. Because it looked like that was Jon, kneeling there, muscles trembling in the grasp of what seemed to be living ropes. Did he… Did he need help? Was it even him? Was this all some elaborate trap, or dream?
Not that he’d dreamed about anything like this. He might in the future.
Martin was still debating going in when he heard footsteps and flinched, ducking back out of sight.
“Jon,” he heard Elias say, and something in Martin’s chest gave a lurch. “How are you doing?”
A muffled groan answered him. Martin leaned back in, to see Elias standing before Jonathan now, the rope-things pulling Jon upwards in a long, arcing curve. Elias had one hand rubbing up and down the front of Jon’s throat and- and one of those things was in Jon’s mouth, and Jon moaned when Elias squeezed his hand.
“Any more ideas?” Jon jerked, and Martin could see his fists clench behind his back. Elias chuckled. “Ah, my apologies; it’s unfair to expect you to answer with your mouth so thoroughly occupied.”
Elias wrapped his free hand around the black tendril leaking out of Jon’s mouth and began pulling. The other he kept on Jon’s throat, winding the thing round and round his hand. Jon coughed as it finally came free, the tip of it writhing and curling in the air, like it was fighting to shove back down his throat. Jon took a few deep, shuddering breaths, while Elias stroked his hand through his hair.
“Th-the Darkness,” Jon said, his voice rougher than Martin had ever heard it, its smooth edges chipped away from recent misuse. Elias raised an eyebrow. The thing he’d pulled out of Jon was dissipating around his hand and he sighed.
“And what makes you say that?” Martin watched his hand tighten in Jon’s hair, pulling him back.
“Well, it’s black, and cr-” -something happened that made Jon’s whole body twitch, but Martin couldn’t tell what, precisely, it was- “-creeping, and v-vaguely oppressive, makes me want to sleep with the lights on tonight.”
“Are you even trying?” Elias asked, but he sounded amused. And with his now free hand he was stroking his cock, pulled out from the confines of his slacks.
“I was trying,” Jon snapped, and his body shook again. He probably was going to say more but Elias dragged him onto his cock instead, not stopping until Jon had swallowed him to his base.
Martin felt a rush of heat scatter through his body, shoot down to pool low in his stomach. He should- he should go, he should definitely go. This was – whatever was happening – it really didn’t have anything to do with him. Elias was moving his hips now, hand in Jon’s hair still guiding him, and Jon was making all these noises, deep in his throat, every time Elias thrust into him.
Martin would be gentler. He could even imagine it now, Jon on his knees in front of him, dark eyes gazing up at him, while Martin would sigh and pet him, hold himself still to let Jon take what he would – which would be all of him, Martin wanted to give Jon everything he had to give.
“You should be able to tell these things,” Elias said, his words spread between thrusts, his own voice taking on a breathless quality. He sunk himself in deep, holding Jon flush to his body and releasing some small sound of satisfaction. “An Archivist should be able to tell when a Power has claimed – infected – an item in our world.”
Jon shook again, his hips shifting restlessly, and after a long moment Elias pulled himself free, allowing Jon to gasp for breath again.
“You’ll have to forgive me for a bit-” -that thing happened again, punching the air out of Jon’s lungs- “-distracted.”
“Please, Jonathan. This is hardly the worst artefact I could have exposed you to.” He was back to running his hand through Jon’s hair. This part was worse, somehow – worse than watching Elias fuck Jon’s mouth was watching him look at Jon almost fondly. Watching Jon take obvious comfort from his touch.
“I think I’ve suddenly remembered all the statements I’ve taken regarding a fear of being fucked to death,” Jon sniped. Elias snorted.
“You’d be surprised what can be found in the Archives, Jon.”
“…You can’t be serious.”
“You’re clearly not; is this you telling me you forfeit?” Elias was smiling. They were playing some kind of game? Something about the Powers and their artefacts, Martin gathered.
“The Flesh?” Martin could hear Jon’s eye roll from here.
“You’re not going to win by guessing. It’s all right if you can’t tell yet; they all feel different. How did your friend put it? They’re like colors. Soon, you’ll be able to spy the variance between their hues.”
Jon let out a long sigh, his breath hitching at the end. Martin was definitely not disappointed that it sounded like they were winding down. Then Elias tipped Jon forward, and the black things around his body rearranged him, Jon ending up with his shoulders and the top of his chest on the floor, hips and ass in air.
“E-Elias,” Jon began, but was cut off by a moan, and from the new angle, Martin could see that those things were inside him, and a new flood of heat surged through his body at the thought that they’d been fucking Jon this whole time, causing all those little gasps and twitches. Martin squeezed his cock through his pants, hissing out a breath, his other hand white knuckled around the trim of the door.
“But for now,” Elias continued, as if he had never stopped, “unfortunately, that means you lose.”
As he’d done before, Elias gripped the tendrils writhing in Jon’s body, pulling them out at a leisurely pace. Jon quivered and shook, incoherent noises spilling endlessly from his mouth. With Elias finally quiet, it was easier to imagine Jon making those noises for Martin, picture them rising in intensity to the snap of his hips, to assume that the cut off sounds that stuck in his throat were unfinished versions of Martin’s name.
Again, as the tendrils slid loose, their ends twitched and pulled, yanking at Elias’ grasp. This time, Martin saw Elias’ grip slacken, allowing them to surge back into Jon in one sharp thrust. Jon cried out, his muscles shaking as he struggled against the things holding him tight. Elias shushed him, stroking a hand along his back while he pulled the tendrils free once more, holding them clear of Jon’s body and allowing them to dissipate into streamers of smoke.
Elias shifted to the side, both of his hands on Jon’s ass now, spreading him open. Almost like he was putting him on display, the angle perfect for Martin to see everything, the pale expanse of Jon’s flesh, his dick hard and leaking between his legs – and a jolt of arousal hit him, seeing those black things slinking around below the head of Jon’s cock, twisting and constricting.
“Jon,” Elias murmured. He settled into position behind Jon, his hands running up and down Jon’s bound sides, hips only barely teasing forward. “Would you like me to fuck you now?”
Jon made a pained sound in his throat. Waiting for Martin’s cock, so desperate for it he couldn’t even find the words. A strangely appealing thought – to make Jon utterly speechless.
“You don’t get anything you don’t ask for, Jonathan,” Elias said, and Jon moaned again. Martin didn’t know how Elias was able to hold back, couldn’t imagine being heartless enough to not give in then and there.
“Please, Elias,” Jon gasped, straining around his restraints. “What are you waiting for?”
Martin watched Elias shudder now, a tight smile on his face showing straight, even teeth.
“For you to beg me for it,” Elias answered. Martin wondered what it felt like – to be compelled like that, willingly. It seemed horrifying, tantalizing to place that kind of power in someone else’s hands. In Jon’s hands. To trust him not to misuse it.
“And if I don’t?”
Elias rolled his hips forward slowly and Jon threw his head back. “You will.”
“W-what makes you so sure?”
“Because you want to, too,” Elias said, quiet and sure. He slipped a hand between the two of them, rubbing at Jon in a way that had him jerking.
“Fuck,” Jon sighed. His chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths. “Elias, fuck me, please fuck me, please-”
Jon was cut off by Elias finally snapping his hips forward, burying himself in the Archivist, immediately beginning a brutal pace that gave credence to just how sorely his own patience must have been tested. One hand curled around Jon’s hip, the other twisting around the thick black thread crisscrossing Jon’s back, dragging him roughly onto his cock with every thrust.
Fill: The Flesh and Bone and Truth Within (1/2)
Artefact storage didn’t really freak Martin out. At least, not as much as he knew it freaked some of the others out.
It could be sort of peaceful, actually. As long as you didn’t, you know, touch anything, or look at certain things for too long, and you had to keep on your toes a bit, because some artefacts were prone to falling – or rolling, bouncing, any sort of movement – into the path of whoever might be nearby. And it was really, really tempting to pick them back up. To find where they are meant to go.
To bring them there.
So, yes, artefact storage. Not as creepy as it was often toted – more dusty, really. And quiet. Martin came down here to think. Or maybe to put distance between himself and others, since there were lots of quiet places in the Archives. Martin was a social person. He would consider himself a social person. But sometimes he just needed time to himself.
Like now. Jon had been acting weird. Distant again, in a way that made Martin’s stomach clench with anxiety. In a way that made him do stupid, annoying things that he knew bothered Jon but still did anyway, like asking how his day was going or bringing him tea. Martin wasn’t great at keeping secrets at the best of times, and it was worse now that he felt pulled between two extremes.
Because Jon seemed to be getting along quite well with Elias lately, and Martin was still sure he was vaguely meant to… do something about that. Not Jon and Elias, specifically, but Elias generally. They all were. Jon too.
Things felt complicated. Martin wanted to tell Jon- well, there was a lot he wanted to tell Jon. In recent days, it was mostly their plan that had him stumbling over his words around the Archivist. Jon didn’t need the extra stress, Martin knew that, and then there was the fact that Elias had this whole weird thing about Jon. Still, he deserved to know, didn’t he? It pretty directly concerned him.
And it would be nice, maybe, to get some reassurance from Jon. That things hadn’t changed as much as they felt like they had. That he was still on their side, and the thought made Martin queasy from guilt, that he was doubting Jon at all.
He could bring it up casually. Outside of work, obviously. Martin could invite him out for lunch. Or dinner? Just drinks – if he mentioned that everyone was going, Jon might be more inclined to say yes. Team-bonding and whatnot. And then the others could just not show, and Martin would be able to have his private conversation, and feel a little better, and by the time they were finished maybe they’d both be tipsy, not drunk, and from there-
Martin sighed, running a hand through his hair. Wasn’t that a pathetic line of thinking? He was sitting in an old wooden armchair – a caquetoire, he’d taken the time to look it up one day – that he was about 90% sure wasn’t haunted and was in fact meant as place for employees to sit. Killing time nestled amongst stacks of miscellaneous items.
This part of storage looked more like an overstuffed attic than anything ominously malevolent. Items that had been deemed less overtly dangerous and were imbued with powers that were uninteresting enough to not be considered a theft risk. Martin had been watching a chess set that played itself, but the pieces only changed when one forgot to pay attention. It was kind of a game, to see how often he could get so completely lost in thought that the pieces moved.
He stood and stretched and felt like he had accomplished anything he’d wanted to. Had come to closer to any decisions. Well, it had been relaxing, at least. And he did feel a little less like he might end up doubled over with unfortunate word vomit the next time Jon looked at him. Martin was just leaving when he heard a noise. Well, a noise that continued, becoming noises, he guessed.
Martin froze. He turned, staring out across the room. Silence lapsed, for long enough that Martin was sure he’d been hearing things, and then it came again. Kind of unidentifiable. Maybe human? Definitely coming from deeper in artefact storage.
The prudent thing would be to just keep going. Let it sort itself out. Artefact storage was probably the last place anyone should be following strange sounds. Martin could picture the face Jon would pull if he told him he’d even considered it.
But if it was a human… If it was, and Martin could help, and he’d just left instead-
Martin couldn’t do that. Perhaps he couldn’t help, but he could at least find out what was going on. Maybe he could witness something weird. Give a statement. Sit across from Jon while he pried Martin open with his tongue-
Like, with questions. He was thinking about Jon asking questions.
Mostly decided, definitely not acting to distract himself from his own thoughts, Martin crept towards the far door. Down a hallway that felt like it should be darkened, but was as well lit as every other part of the Institute. The noises were getting louder but no more distinct. Except now, he could also hear a voice, speaking lowly enough that Martin couldn’t quite make out the words.
It was coming from the next room down. Martin paused just outside the doorway. Another silence had lulled, and he wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing, or a bad thing. He peeked around the door.
The room was mostly empty. It was one Martin had never looked in before, and it took him a moment to realize it was because he’d never seen the door opened. One of the heavy, oaken doors with the old school brass knob and thick, iron wrought key hole. Clearance level: higher than Martin would ever get. Not that it bothered him.
There was a man kneeling on the ground in the center of the room, and black, indistinct things twisted and coiled in the air around him. They wrapped securely up and down his arms, which were tugged tight behind his back, and slunk across his form in various loops. Coiled like ropes around his thighs, keeping his legs spread, up around his chest in scintillating patterns. One that Martin could see pulsing around his neck, dragging him forward and slightly down.
Not exactly what Martin had been expecting. He couldn’t tear his eyes away, certain that his mind was playing tricks with him. Because it looked like that was Jon, kneeling there, muscles trembling in the grasp of what seemed to be living ropes. Did he… Did he need help? Was it even him? Was this all some elaborate trap, or dream?
Not that he’d dreamed about anything like this. He might in the future.
Martin was still debating going in when he heard footsteps and flinched, ducking back out of sight.
“Jon,” he heard Elias say, and something in Martin’s chest gave a lurch. “How are you doing?”
A muffled groan answered him. Martin leaned back in, to see Elias standing before Jonathan now, the rope-things pulling Jon upwards in a long, arcing curve. Elias had one hand rubbing up and down the front of Jon’s throat and- and one of those things was in Jon’s mouth, and Jon moaned when Elias squeezed his hand.
“Any more ideas?” Jon jerked, and Martin could see his fists clench behind his back. Elias chuckled. “Ah, my apologies; it’s unfair to expect you to answer with your mouth so thoroughly occupied.”
Elias wrapped his free hand around the black tendril leaking out of Jon’s mouth and began pulling. The other he kept on Jon’s throat, winding the thing round and round his hand. Jon coughed as it finally came free, the tip of it writhing and curling in the air, like it was fighting to shove back down his throat. Jon took a few deep, shuddering breaths, while Elias stroked his hand through his hair.
“Th-the Darkness,” Jon said, his voice rougher than Martin had ever heard it, its smooth edges chipped away from recent misuse. Elias raised an eyebrow. The thing he’d pulled out of Jon was dissipating around his hand and he sighed.
“And what makes you say that?” Martin watched his hand tighten in Jon’s hair, pulling him back.
“Well, it’s black, and cr-” -something happened that made Jon’s whole body twitch, but Martin couldn’t tell what, precisely, it was- “-creeping, and v-vaguely oppressive, makes me want to sleep with the lights on tonight.”
“Are you even trying?” Elias asked, but he sounded amused. And with his now free hand he was stroking his cock, pulled out from the confines of his slacks.
“I was trying,” Jon snapped, and his body shook again. He probably was going to say more but Elias dragged him onto his cock instead, not stopping until Jon had swallowed him to his base.
Martin felt a rush of heat scatter through his body, shoot down to pool low in his stomach. He should- he should go, he should definitely go. This was – whatever was happening – it really didn’t have anything to do with him. Elias was moving his hips now, hand in Jon’s hair still guiding him, and Jon was making all these noises, deep in his throat, every time Elias thrust into him.
Martin would be gentler. He could even imagine it now, Jon on his knees in front of him, dark eyes gazing up at him, while Martin would sigh and pet him, hold himself still to let Jon take what he would – which would be all of him, Martin wanted to give Jon everything he had to give.
“You should be able to tell these things,” Elias said, his words spread between thrusts, his own voice taking on a breathless quality. He sunk himself in deep, holding Jon flush to his body and releasing some small sound of satisfaction. “An Archivist should be able to tell when a Power has claimed – infected – an item in our world.”
Jon shook again, his hips shifting restlessly, and after a long moment Elias pulled himself free, allowing Jon to gasp for breath again.
“You’ll have to forgive me for a bit-” -that thing happened again, punching the air out of Jon’s lungs- “-distracted.”
“Please, Jonathan. This is hardly the worst artefact I could have exposed you to.” He was back to running his hand through Jon’s hair. This part was worse, somehow – worse than watching Elias fuck Jon’s mouth was watching him look at Jon almost fondly. Watching Jon take obvious comfort from his touch.
“I think I’ve suddenly remembered all the statements I’ve taken regarding a fear of being fucked to death,” Jon sniped. Elias snorted.
“You’d be surprised what can be found in the Archives, Jon.”
“…You can’t be serious.”
“You’re clearly not; is this you telling me you forfeit?” Elias was smiling. They were playing some kind of game? Something about the Powers and their artefacts, Martin gathered.
“The Flesh?” Martin could hear Jon’s eye roll from here.
“You’re not going to win by guessing. It’s all right if you can’t tell yet; they all feel different. How did your friend put it? They’re like colors. Soon, you’ll be able to spy the variance between their hues.”
Jon let out a long sigh, his breath hitching at the end. Martin was definitely not disappointed that it sounded like they were winding down. Then Elias tipped Jon forward, and the black things around his body rearranged him, Jon ending up with his shoulders and the top of his chest on the floor, hips and ass in air.
“E-Elias,” Jon began, but was cut off by a moan, and from the new angle, Martin could see that those things were inside him, and a new flood of heat surged through his body at the thought that they’d been fucking Jon this whole time, causing all those little gasps and twitches. Martin squeezed his cock through his pants, hissing out a breath, his other hand white knuckled around the trim of the door.
“But for now,” Elias continued, as if he had never stopped, “unfortunately, that means you lose.”
As he’d done before, Elias gripped the tendrils writhing in Jon’s body, pulling them out at a leisurely pace. Jon quivered and shook, incoherent noises spilling endlessly from his mouth. With Elias finally quiet, it was easier to imagine Jon making those noises for Martin, picture them rising in intensity to the snap of his hips, to assume that the cut off sounds that stuck in his throat were unfinished versions of Martin’s name.
Again, as the tendrils slid loose, their ends twitched and pulled, yanking at Elias’ grasp. This time, Martin saw Elias’ grip slacken, allowing them to surge back into Jon in one sharp thrust. Jon cried out, his muscles shaking as he struggled against the things holding him tight. Elias shushed him, stroking a hand along his back while he pulled the tendrils free once more, holding them clear of Jon’s body and allowing them to dissipate into streamers of smoke.
Elias shifted to the side, both of his hands on Jon’s ass now, spreading him open. Almost like he was putting him on display, the angle perfect for Martin to see everything, the pale expanse of Jon’s flesh, his dick hard and leaking between his legs – and a jolt of arousal hit him, seeing those black things slinking around below the head of Jon’s cock, twisting and constricting.
“Jon,” Elias murmured. He settled into position behind Jon, his hands running up and down Jon’s bound sides, hips only barely teasing forward. “Would you like me to fuck you now?”
Jon made a pained sound in his throat. Waiting for Martin’s cock, so desperate for it he couldn’t even find the words. A strangely appealing thought – to make Jon utterly speechless.
“You don’t get anything you don’t ask for, Jonathan,” Elias said, and Jon moaned again. Martin didn’t know how Elias was able to hold back, couldn’t imagine being heartless enough to not give in then and there.
“Please, Elias,” Jon gasped, straining around his restraints. “What are you waiting for?”
Martin watched Elias shudder now, a tight smile on his face showing straight, even teeth.
“For you to beg me for it,” Elias answered. Martin wondered what it felt like – to be compelled like that, willingly. It seemed horrifying, tantalizing to place that kind of power in someone else’s hands. In Jon’s hands. To trust him not to misuse it.
“And if I don’t?”
Elias rolled his hips forward slowly and Jon threw his head back. “You will.”
“W-what makes you so sure?”
“Because you want to, too,” Elias said, quiet and sure. He slipped a hand between the two of them, rubbing at Jon in a way that had him jerking.
“Fuck,” Jon sighed. His chest heaved with quick, shallow breaths. “Elias, fuck me, please fuck me, please-”
Jon was cut off by Elias finally snapping his hips forward, burying himself in the Archivist, immediately beginning a brutal pace that gave credence to just how sorely his own patience must have been tested. One hand curled around Jon’s hip, the other twisting around the thick black thread crisscrossing Jon’s back, dragging him roughly onto his cock with every thrust.