Chapter One
Notes:Set in an ambiguous timeline called i do what i want. (Their Scottish safehouse period lasted a couple months, in which time the assistants manage to kill Elias, and the apocalypse does not happen. Killing Elias doesn’t harm anyone else because I say so. Jon and Martin go back to work after everything blows over, and Jon takes the Archivist role again like a less human-sacrifice-y Gertrude. He still needs to feed occasionally on living people, and it still bothers him, but he’s accepted it: at least he’s not killing anyone. Jon and Martin just go to work, research Powers, prevent rituals sometimes. Also they live together now.)
Jon ran a hand through his hair again, frowning. Something was off.
“Martin,” Jon murmured, squeezing his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Martin, wake up. I need to ask you something.”
Martin grunted, rolling over and blinking at him blearily. “What?”
“Does my hair look longer to you?”
Martin stared blankly at him. “...What?”
Jon sighed, raking a hand through his hair again to show its length. “My hair. Is it longer?”
“Oh, shit. Yeah, yeah definitely. That’s…do you think it’s dangerous?”
He flopped back down. “It’s only an inch or so. Doesn’t seem very sinister to me. Besides, it’s not like there’s anything I could do if it was.”
“Huh.” Martin nodded. “Okay. ‘M going back to sleep now.”
Jon watched with soft eyes as Martin curled up under the covers again. His boyfriend would probably be more worried in the morning, but for now all Jon had to deal with was his own unease.
It was nearly midnight now. Usually something this concerning would have Jon staring down the barrel of another sleepless night, but lying next to Martin, listening to his breathing, Jon found himself easy to reassure. He decided to believe that this was a side effect of the regenerative properties that allowed him to heal quickly. Jon was no fan of spontaneous physical changes, but at least this one seemed harmless. Jon had a hard time seeing the harm in anything, tucked so close into his boyfriend’s warm side. It wasn’t long before he fell asleep.
— — —
The thing was, Jon had always wanted long hair. Long long. One of the books his grandmother got him as a child had been a beautifully illustrated volume of fairy tales, and Jon had lingered for hours on a drawing of Rapunzel sitting at her tower window. He’d kept the book tucked in the back of his closet for years, and dutifully visited a barber twice a year even after leaving for college, but he’d never forgotten about it.
This whole situation was bizarre. Nothing that had ever happened to Jon had been quite this flavor of weird. For the first time in ages, he actually tried to See what was going on with him, and the answer stunned him.
The Eye knew him; this was a gift.
It was embarrassing, having such a private wish answered in such a visible way. Jon kept shying from Martin’s attempts to talk about it, even as he spent longer and longer amounts of time every morning brushing out his hair behind a locked bathroom door. It…fuck it, it felt just as wonderful as Jon had always imagined it would. There was something so luxurious about working through his hair with a soft bristle brush, pulling the oils down from his scalp to coat his hair until it shone to the tips. Jon was also thrilled to know his hair was just slightly wavy when it grew out. Over the course of about ten days, it grew from a ragged-shoulder length to almost reaching his knees. It kept getting stuck in his ass crack as he showered, which Jon pretended to be annoyed by but secretly loved.
Of course Martin had noticed. Obviously Martin couldn’t help but notice. Jon kept his hair in a braid most of the time, but just because he wasn’t going full mermaid in his daily life didn’t mean no one saw the change happening. Jon could only imagine the questions building in Martin’s mind. It made Jon’s skin crawl to imagine explaining that no, he wasn’t planning on cutting it short again, because then Martin’s eyes would widen slightly and he’d know, he’d know, that Jon wanted this. It was probably obvious anyway.
He managed to avoid the conversation for an entire week. Martin seemed a little comforted by Jon’s lack of concern, but sometimes he shot Jon’s hair wary looks. Jon could practically see Martin hunting for an excuse to bring it up, and after almost two weeks, Martin found his chance.
In Jon’s defense, he wasn’t the most coordinated person in the mornings. It wasn’t surprising to him when he tried to get out of bed one morning and stepped on the ends of his hair. His hiss of pain unfortunately woke Martin.
“What’s wrong?”
Jon flopped back onto their bed, defeated. “Stepped on my hair.”
“Wait, seriously?” Martin sat up, and Jon winced. Here it was. “Don’t you think it’s getting a bit long? Are you sure you want to ignore this?”
Jon turned away, busying himself by gathering his hair over one shoulder. He hesitated for a long moment.
“It’s okay if you’d rather not talk about this right now, Jon, but we’ve got to talk eventually. I can tell something’s bothering you.”
Jon made the mistake of looking over at Martin as he spoke. His boyfriend was clearly distraught, and it tugged at something in his chest to know that Martin cared so deeply for his wellbeing. Jon knew this unusual growth was no cause for concern, but there was no way to let Martin know he didn’t need to worry without spilling the whole story.
Jon crumbled at the concern in his soft brown eyes. He decided he could endure some mortification if it would ease Martin’s mind. He stood up again—more carefully this time—and sighed deeply. “Okay, we can talk. Just let me get ready first.”
Jon didn’t really want to brush his teeth before having this conversation, but he absolutely needed to take a moment to braid his hair, and doing his full routine gave him plausible deniability. Something about leaving his hair down left him feeling vulnerable, and Jon could only handle so much.
As much as Jon was dreading this conversation, he felt guilty at the thought of dragging out his routine on purpose, so it wasn’t more than fifteen minutes later that he returned to sit at the head of his side of the bed, back against the headboard. Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Jon steeled himself.
“Okay. Martin, you remember last month, when we interrupted a ritual of the Dark?”
“...Yes?”
Jon breathed out. “The Eye was…very pleased with our work. With my work, especially.”
Martin nodded expectantly, confusion on his face.
“Um, it decided to reward me.” Jon was staring nervously down at his hands, fighting the urge to play with the end of his braid as he waited for Martin to speak.
“Jon, did you want long hair?”
Jon’s face flushed. He managed a nod, not willing to speak.
He startled a little when Martin chuckled. “God, that’s a relief. So there’s really nothing sinister about this? It’s just hair?”
Jon closed his eyes. “Yeah.”
Martin frowned. “Something’s wrong, though, isn’t it. What, is it magically impossible to cut or something?”
Jon groaned.
“Oh, shit, is it worse? Talk to me, Jon, please.”
“Martin! It’s fine! Normal hair. No problems.” Jon realized he’d wrapped his arms around himself defensively. He was still blushing.
Jon could practically hear the moment Martin began thinking. “Oh. Oh. Is this embarrassing, for you?”
Jon wanted to hit him with a pillow. “Clearly,” he said stiffly, staring straight ahead.
The bed creaked as Martin shuffled over to lie against his side. He began stroking one of Jon’s thighs. “Sorry, Jon. Didn’t mean to upset you. I was just worried.”
“...And now you’re curious?”
Martin smiled. “I suppose so. Only a little bit, though; you’re not that hard to figure out.”
It had been months since Jon had experienced cold sweat and he was reminded of how unpleasant it was. “Aren’t I?”
“Mmm. Maybe a little. It’s fine if your hair is personal to you, Jon, but it feels like you’ve been hiding from me lately and I can’t imagine you’re enjoying that. Not that it’s bad you want to keep some things private! That’s fine! But if you’re worried about me doing or saying something wrong, we could at least talk about it? Or maybe…oh. Am I overthinking this? Jon, are you just embarrassed?”
Jon’s eyes dropped to follow Martin’s hand as it stroked his thigh. Reluctantly, he nodded.
He wasn’t prepared for Martin trying to pull him into a hug despite their awkward positions. “Thanks for telling me. Nothing needs to change, Jon. I just. I want you to know that I am absolutely dying to touch your hair.”
If Jon’s face was hot before, it was burning now. “I’ll let you know when you can.”
With Martin’s murmur of “Good,” the two of them drifted back into silence. Jon slid down to cuddle into Martin’s chest and waited for his heartbeat to slow. It took a long time.
— — —
Jon kept thinking about Martin’s hands in his hair. That night, when he locked the bathroom door behind him like usual, every blissful pass of the brush through his hair felt magnified when he thought of Martin doing it instead, working with the gentlest pressure, massaging Jon’s scalp with his fingers, running his hands through the full length of Jon’s hair. It was enough to make Jon shudder. During a particularly powerful stroke that coincided with an especially nice mental image, Jon actually moaned. He snapped back to reality right away and prayed Martin hadn’t heard, and kept the fantasizing to a minimum until his hair was back in its safe, innocent braid.
It took a couple days before Jon offered to let Martin touch his hair. He’d had to work up to it. If it hadn’t been for how badly Jon wanted to get over this intense desire to hide himself away, Jon might not have been able to persevere. It was just like the Eye, really, to give him a gift that made him shy from being Known.
But this was Martin, Jon reminded himself. Martin held Jon’s heart in his hands and Jon had been the one to put it there. Jon would trust him with this, too.
It still made him nervous.
They were getting ready for work one morning when Jon’s hand hesitated on the bathroom door lock. It was kind of silly that he kept locking himself in like this, wasn’t it? He gathered every bit of resolution in his body and pulled the door back open.
Martin didn’t say anything when he noticed Jon sitting on the closed toilet lid to brush his hair, but he stared. Jon only glanced up to meet his eyes once, but there was an intensity in them that made him look away quickly, face heating again.
It wasn’t until he began braiding his hair that Martin finally spoke. “Can I, uh, help?”
Jon looked up in surprise. “Oh. Um, that would be nice, actually. The different parts keep getting tangled while I braid, you’ll have to brush them out as you go. Are you sure?”
Martin’s eyes were locked on Jon’s hair. “Y-yeah. Very sure.”
Jon took a deep breath, then handed over his brush. Martin took the partially finished braid from him with careful hands and began to work.
Jon almost instantly regretted that the braid was so far along. It was absolutely wonderful to have Martin’s hands in his hair, but the drag of the brush and the tension of the braid were muted. Jon had been terrified to ask Martin to do this for him at first, but now he was internally wailing that he hadn’t asked for more.
Oblivious to Jon’s internal struggle, Martin finished up.
“All set. Jon, do you have a tie?”
Jon pointed to the counter.
“Ah. Right.”
Jon felt his braid jump a little as Martin wrapped the tie around the end.
“God, this is so long. It must be almost floor length now.”
“It is.”
They both seemed to hesitate for a moment.
“Right. Um, I’ll keep getting ready for work. All set, Jon?”
Jon stood up on legs slightly shakier than he thought they’d be. “Ye–yes. All good. Thanks, love.”
He almost squeaked in surprise when Martin pulled him in to kiss the crown of his head. Jon’s heart was beating very fast, but he could hear Martin’s smile when he said, “Love you.”
Jon rested his head on Martin’s shoulder, suddenly very tired. “Love you too.”
— — —
He kept thinking about it while at work, running a hand over the lower half of his thick braid, tracing the tie with his fingers. It was actually difficult to focus. Fortunately for him, there wasn’t much going on today aside from the usual (searching the Archives for more statements he could feed on, keeping an eye out for anything implying a Ritual), so Jon was free to zone out.
He kept stealing glances at Martin’s hands over their lunch break, only looking up when Martin captured his attention with a question.
“Jon? What’s on your mind?”
Jon blinked at him. “I—” he looked away. “When we get home, I want you to brush my hair.”
Martin gaped at him. “Really? Wow, uh, yes. Definitely.”
Jon glanced up to see that Martin’s entire face was bright red. Huh. He leaned forwards. “Does that interest you, Martin?”
He was rewarded with the sight of Martin looking away, fidgeting nervously. Jon sat back smugly. “You’re into it too, aren’t you?”
Martin froze. “‘Too’?”
He groaned. “Please forget I said that.”
“Not in a million years.”
Jon looked up. Contrary to the sharp, teasing look Jon feared, Martin’s expression was soft with fondness. It made Jon’s stomach squirm, in a nice way. “Oh.”
Martin began to laugh, all squeaky and light. Jon tried to suppress a grin and leaned over to bump Martin’s shoulder. “Oh, shut up. Yes, yes, we’re both messes. You can stop laughing now.”
It took them a while to get back to work.
Chapter Two
In any other context, the way Martin’s eyes widened when Jon handed him the brush would have been comical. Jon sat down in front of him and held out the end of his braid expectantly. It had gone a bit frizzy over the course of the day, as usual, and the weight was beginning to give Jon a slight headache; it would be a relief to wear it loose.
“Right now?”
Jon frowned, dropping his braid into Martin’s lap. “This is the usual time, yes. Is something wrong?”
Martin ran shaking fingers over Jon’s heavy braid. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m—I’m a little nervous, I guess.”
Jon shrugged, turning around to face away from Martin and pulling out his phone. “No need to be. I’ll let you know if you’re doing something wrong.”
He waited, scrolling a feed without actually reading anything, trying to follow the pattern of Martin’s breath with his ears, waiting to feel him shift over the mattress. When Martin finally moved to undo the end of Jon’s braid, Jon quietly turned off his phone.
The sensation of Martin unbraiding Jon’s hair was bizarre. With another person’s hands doing the work, Jon noticed for the first time that he had some faint awareness of what was happening at the ends of his hair just from the way the roots shifted against his scalp. It was powerfully intimate to feel another person’s fingers carding his hair loose, the sensations growing clearer the closer Martin got to his scalp. He finally released the last twists of Jon’s braid, and his scalp tingled as his hair spilled forwards for the first time all day. Jon started to scrub at his scalp the way he usually did to find relief from the feeling, but Martin’s hands pulled his out of the way and took over, rubbing in small circles, careful not to tangle Jon’s hair. Martin tried scratching lightly and Jon made a low noise, leaning into Martin’s touch so enthusiastically that he almost fell backwards into him.
“W-whoa! Jon?”
Jon groaned. “Don’t stop, Martin. God.”
Martin resumed his massage and Jon closed his eyes again, vaguely aware of making some kind of sound again. After a minute, Martin transitioned to running his fingers through Jon’s hair and Jon sighed in approval. Why hadn’t he asked Martin to do this earlier? Good lord, this felt amazing.
He felt Martin begin working through his hair with the brush. His boyfriend began at the top, almost instantly getting stuck in a snarl. Jon winced, straightening up a bit and pulling the brush from Martin’s hands.
“You need to start from the bottom. It gets all tangled otherwise.” Jon pulled his hair over his shoulder until he had the ends in his hand, then began demonstrating. “Like this.”
“I’m sorry, Jon, can I try again?” Jon was startled at the pleading note in Martin’s voice.
“Oh, of course! That was the intention.”
Martin relaxed like a deflating balloon. “Thank you, Jon. I promise I’ll try not to mess it up this time.”
Jon blinked. “I don’t care if you do. I don’t care if you just want to pet me like a cat, Martin; I don’t care if I have to spend an hour brushing out tangles once you’re done touching my hair. This feels wonderful.”
Jon was delighted he’d decided to face Martin while he spoke. He had no idea the man could turn that red.
“Okay! Okay!” Martin laughed a little. “God, Jon, you’re going to kill me.”
Jon turned back around and settled himself again with a content wiggle. Martin’s hands drew his hair back again, and this time when he started with the brush it slid smoothly. Jon heard him make a little awed exhale, and it took everything in Jon not to absolutely preen.
“It’s so shiny, Jon. What do you do to it?”
Jon hummed. “Just the brushing. I’ve started washing it less because it’s such a pain, but I think that’s been a good thing.”
Martin worked in silence for a few minutes. His touch was less clinical than Jon’s, and he often paused to stroke the hair flowing down Jon’s back, or shuffle the hair in his lap around to brush a new section. Jon glanced over his shoulder to confirm that yes, Martin did have his lap piled high with Jon’s hair. The ridiculousness of the situation hit Jon all at once and he found himself giggling.
Martin tugged gently on a lock of his hair. “What’s so funny?”
Jon waved a hand dismissively, laughter settling down into a smile. “This is absurd, isn’t it? With the way it’s been growing it will be dragging on the floor by next week, and I still don’t want to cut it. This is the—the clown shoes of long hair, but I love it.”
Martin leaned forwards to wrap his arms around Jon, pulling him back against his chest, and kissed his cheek. “I’m so glad you’re happy, Jon. Honestly, I love it too. It’s a little absurd, yeah, but in a nice way for once. Now settle down so I can finish.”
Jon turned back around obligingly, and Martin rewarded him with a long brush stroke starting at his lower back. His eyes actually rolled back from the pleasure and it wasn’t until Martin stopped that Jon registered the drawn out moan that had come out of his mouth. He blushed, ducking his head.
Martin did it again, and the drag of the brush drew a full-body shiver from him. He could practically feel Martin’s glee as he went again, starting slightly higher than last time. Jon’s moan this time was almost convulsive. Martin breathed out shakily behind him.
Jon had no clue how hot Martin’s face might be right now, but he could feel his own, and if Jon lay face down on a snowbank right now he could probably turn it into a puddle. It wasn’t long, though, before Jon stopped caring what Martin thought of him altogether, as the deep, strong brushing got closer and closer to his scalp. Jon felt like he was turning into a puddle.
Finally, Martin set the brush down. Jon missed it instantly. He was vaguely aware of making some noise of protest as he slumped back into Martin’s arms. Martin arranged him carefully so he wasn’t sitting on his hair, then pulled him in close, once again kissing the top of his head.
“Was that good?”
Jon nodded, not up for words yet. Martin began running his fingers through Jon’s hair again and he sighed in contentment.
He turned his head slightly, eyes hazy, to catch Martin’s eyes.
Jon was not prepared for the look on Martin’s face. His boyfriend was gazing at him with the most open admiration Jon had ever seen on anyone. He turned quickly away to escape the force of it, feeling almost naked, though something warmer and softer than discomfort squirmed in his gut.
“Will you…do this again?” Jon’s voice was rougher than he expected.
Martin snuggled into the back of his neck. “As much as you’ll let me.”
“That sounds perfect.”
His hair shifted across his back, a silky barrier between them as they sat tangled in each other. Jon thought it was the best sensation he’d ever experienced.
After a while, Martin broke the silence. “Do you think you’ll ever wear it down for a day?”
“Are you making a request?”
“...Maybe.”
Jon turned to look at him. “I’ll think about it.”
— — —
Jon was a little nervous to leave the house like this, but Martin kept looking at him like he’d hung the stars, and every time Jon glanced back at him he rallied all over again. Jon would do anything for his boyfriend. He felt a little more vulnerable than he’d like, navigating public transportation with such an unusual appearance, but Martin was practically oozing soft awe. For this date night, Jon was happy to be Martin’s eye candy.
The restaurant was pleasant. They’d been together long enough at this point to enjoy the times they sat in silence, enjoying the other’s presence without feeling a pressure to be witty or interesting.
Jon was feeling content and sleepy by the time they left, and the warm night air only increased that. A gentle breeze blew as they walked side by side, and for a moment it was like they weren’t in London at all. Jon closed his eyes for a minute and caught a glimpse of rolling green hills and perpetual mist. The wind fanned out the fall of his hair, and Jon was flooded with wonderful sensory input. He could feel himself grinning like an idiot.
“Something on your mind?”
Jon turned to him and caught his matching silly grin. “Nice weather.”
Martin tucked some of his hair behind his ear. “I love you, Jon,” he said, and Jon couldn’t not kiss him.
They decided to walk home instead of taking the Tube, clinging like drunks but too happy to care, trying to pick out stars in the smoggy sky. When they got back to their flat, it took Martin over half an hour to untangle the mess the wind had made of Jon’s hair, and by the time he’d finished they were happy but spent. They stumbled through their nighttime routine as quickly as they could before finally collapsing into bed together. Martin nestled against Jon’s side and immediately settled a hand in his hair. Jon fell asleep with a smile on his face, and for once, his sleep was dreamless.