FIC: Thistle and Weeds

[chess_ka]

Title: Thistle and Weeds
Pairings: Martin / OMC(s)
Rating: NC-17 (Warning: non-con)
Disclaimer: Cabin Pressure is written by John Finnemore, and is a Pozzitive Production for the BBC! I am, in no way, shape, or form, associated with either.
Summary: Written for this prompt on the kinkmeme. Martin has a man he considers his boyfriend, but said boyfriend is a nasty piece of work who treats Martin appallingly. With a little help along the way from MJN, Martin begins to move on and find happiness.

Many thanks to lady_t_220 for being a lovely beta reader and helping me to get this fic cleaned up.

Thistle and Weeds
Part One: Tearing the Seams
Part Two: Alone in this Winter
Part Three: Hold On


Part Three: Hold On

Over the next few months Martin feels more and more himself. He finds he can look at himself in the mirror and just see him, rather than someone who was raped. The nightmares dissipate almost entirely, and he can now deal with physical contact from strangers without panicking. All in all, it is good progress; he stopped seeing the counsellor a few weeks ago, although she pressed him to call should he need to talk. So far, he has managed to push through any darker moments himself.

Now they are coming out of winter, although April is proving blustery, chilly and wet, so there doesn't seem to be much difference. March had been a busy month for MJN, what with another Birling Day (which left Martin with his dignity battered but his pockets rather fuller) amongst other things, but now the jobs have dropped off. Luckily, Martin has managed to line up several van jobs during MJN's quiet period, and Mr Birling's tip paid for a new exhaust on his old van so, all things considered, things were looking up.

It is a horribly wet and windy day and he has a moving job, taking small pieces of furniture and boxes of belongings from near Maidenhead to some bloke's new flat just outside Fitton. By the time he gets from the van to the door he is soaked to the skin, his hair plastered flat on his head. The man lets him in, cursing the weather, “Really sorry, I hoped it was going to be all right today...” and he is herded into the kitchen.

“Do you want a cuppa before we get started?” the man asks, already filling the kettle, which seems to the be only thing not packed, along with a couple of mugs. “It's hideous out.”

“That would be great,” Martin concedes, looking around the tiny flat.

“I'm Daniel, by the way.” The man offers his hand, which Martin shakes as he introduces himself. Daniel has a kind face, with glasses and dark, wavy hair. He is solidly built, slightly taller than Martin himself, and his voice has a slight Edinburgh tilt to it. “You must absolutely hate moving in this weather.” He hands Martin a mug of tea and leans against the counter, sipping his own mug.

“Well, yes. Not my favourite. But I can't afford to be picky.” Oh great, Martin, that's right, just start off looking like a pauper. Great stuff.

Daniel grins. “Who can, these days?”

“So what do you do?” There, that's safe territory. That question doesn't make him look like an idiot.

“I'm a lecturer at Reading Uni. English Lit.”

“Oh, wow!”

“Yeah, it's what I always wanted to do, to be honest. Well, the academia and research, not so much the teaching, though I like it now I do it. They've finally told me they're renewing my contract for next September, so I figured I could justify moving out of this dump.” He waves a hand around the small flat, which Martin privately feels he'd be ecstatic to live in. “I lived with my partner for years, but when he ran off to work in Canada I couldn't afford to keep the place, so I've been here for a while-” Daniel suddenly cuts himself off, clapping a hand to his mouth. “Shit! Sorry, you don't want to hear all that. Shut up, Daniel, shut up.”

Martin has to grin at this, because he knows full well what it's like to have his mouth run away with him. “It's fine, don't worry about it.” He is feeling much warmer with the tea, and definitely dryer considering the way his hair is beginning to curl.

“So, how are things?” Daniel asks. “I mean, removals and things. Bloody hell, you don't have to answer that, I'm just making conversation, tell me to stuff it if you like-”

“It's not too bad. I only do this part time, really. I'm a pilot.”

“A pilot? Like, aeroplanes? Well, obviously aeroplanes, I suppose.”

“Yes. For a charter company. It's brilliant, really amazing, but it's a bit hit-and-miss, money-wise.” White lies never hurt. “Hence the delivery.”

“That sounds fantastic,” says Daniel, looking genuinely impressed. “I got flummoxed when my TV had more than one remote, I'd have no idea what to do when faced with an aeroplane control panel.”

“It's fine once you get used to it,” says Martin. “Like driving a car.”

“Well that settles it,” Daniel laughs. “I'm shit at that as well.”
__________

Daniel is one of those rare people to hire Martin: he treats him like a person rather than a pack horse. Between them they get the van loaded up with Daniel's belongings - most of the furniture was rented with the flat, but how on earth does one man own so many books? - and Daniel follows in his car to Fitton.

The new flat is much more spacious, though distinctly lacking in most furnishings. Once they have deposited the boxes and what remains of Daniel's belongings, the flat still looks very empty.

“I'll treat myself to a bed and stuff at Ikea tomorrow. I'll rough it for tonight.” Daniel is burrowing through a box, and pulls out the kettle with a sound of triumph. “Care to warm the flat with me? Or do you have to get back?”

“No, no, a tea would be lovely.” Martin feels very grotty from all the lifting and carrying, and his hair is doing something truly alarming, but there is something very pleasant about Daniel's company. He is very easy to talk to, and Martin wishes he had more jobs from people like Daniel.

They sit on the floor in the living room, though Daniel makes them move a few times to decide where his sofa should go (“Look, when the new series of Doctor Who starts, everything needs to be in its optimal position.”) and drink tea with a packet of rather stale rich tea biscuits that were on the top of a box. Daniel tells him about some of his more interesting students, and Martin responds with tales of Arthur's culinary adventures. 'Fizzy yoghurt' makes Daniel snort tea out of his nose and Martin has to pat him on the back to save him.

Once the mugs are washed up, Martin pulls on his jacket to leave. Daniel presses the money into his hands (more than Martin charged, but he refuses to take any back), and then hesitates. “Look, tell me to bugger off if you like, but I'm new to this area and I don't really know anyone. I just wondered if you fancied getting a takeaway one night, or getting a pint somewhere? It's fine if you don't, I just enjoyed today and I never thought I'd enjoy moving.” He looks sincere and earnest, and Martin has enjoyed today as well, enjoyed it tremendously, and before he can even think about it he has agreed. Daniel grins and puts his number in Martin's phone.

It is only as he drives home that Martin wonders what it is that he has agreed to. His good mood dims slightly as butterflies squirm in his stomach.
__________

“Evening!” Daniel is smiling broadly as he opens the door.

“Hullo,” says Martin, feeling nervous. Daniel doesn't seem to notice as he leads Martin through the flat, telling him to hang his jacket in the hall.

The flat is much less empty now, with a sofa against one wall, with a coffee table in the middle and a television in the corner. Daniel's books are all stacked neatly on shelves, and Martin feels strangely relieved when he notices they are all in alphabetical order by the author's last name. It always reassures him to know that other people are anal about things.

“Much better don't you think?” Daniel comments from the small kitchen leading off from the living room.

“Definitely. It looks like you live here now.”

“Once I got the books out I felt better. That makes the place homely.” Daniel holds up a bottle of red wine questioningly. “Want some?”

“Yes please,” Martin takes the proffered glass. “My books are one of the few things I own I'd never part with. I have nowhere near as many as you, though.”

“Ah, to be fair, I teach English Literature,” Daniel smiles, leading them over to the sofa. “If I'm totally honest, though, I've not read all of them by a wide margin. They just look impressive, you know?”

“Ah, you've ruined the illusion!”

Daniel laughs. “Ah damn, that was smooth of me. Anyway, moving rapidly on before I can paint myself in a worse light, what's your takeaway of choice? I have pizza, Chinese or curry.”

“The pizza round here is dire, but the curry house and the Chinese are nice.”

“Hm, okay. I'll take an executive decision on curry then, if that's all right. I had a craving for lamb bhuna just the other day.”

_____________

Stop feeling nervous, Martin tells himself firmly as Daniel goes to the door for the food. This isn't a date, this is friends. You have nothing to worry about.

He hates that he feels so worried. He has been doing so well! And Daniel is nothing like Pete. Still, Martin couldn't help himself from tensing horribly when their thighs brushed from where they sat side by side. He hopes Daniel hadn't noticed.

Daniel is very easy to talk to, and even though Martin frequently stammers or stumbles over his words he doesn't seem to mind. They talk about their respective jobs - Martin tells the story about the Scottish cricket team and the fire truck, which goes down very well - and books, discovering a mutual appreciation for crime writing, and John le Carré spy novels.

“Of course, I'm supposed to appreciate 'The Canon' above all else-” here Daniel makes air quotes with his fingers, “But to be honest I'll take Poirot over bloody Anna Karenina any day.”

“I tried to read that,” Martin says, cleaning his plate with a piece of naan. “But I got so confused by the fact that everyone had about six names, and I lost track of the characters.”

“Well, Anna Karenina doesn't show up for ages. Then there's a horse race. And then she kills herself. The end.”

“Is that how you teach? Because I'm not sure I could write you an essay based on that.”

Daniel laughs. “I'm fairly sure some of my students have written essays based on that.”

Once the takeaway is cleared up (and Martin again is happy to see that Daniel hates leaving dirty dishes out, just as he does) and more wine has been poured, they settle again on the sofa.

“So,” Daniel begins, his voice taking on the significant tone of someone trying to be casual. “You have a girlfriend, Martin?”

Martin's stomach drops through the floor, but he tries to gather himself. “No, no, not got a girlfriend. No.”

“Ah. Er... boyfriend?”

“Not... not any more. He wasn't much of a boyfriend, either.” Please don't ask, please don't ask, please, please, please...

Daniel clearly recognises Martin's discomfort, because he simply nods. “Okay. Good. I mean, not good because of that, obviously, but just... yeah. Sorry.” Martin glances at him, and sees he has gone rather pink. “Jesus. I'm sorry, I've made a proper hash of that. Ignore me.”

“Daniel-” Martin feels as though he should say something, but his stomach is twisted in knots and his throat feels tight and he is clearly not as well as he thought because here he is being awkwardly flirted with by a very lovely and rather handsome man and it makes him feel sick to his very bones. He clears his throat, tries to explain. “It's not that... I mean, you're brilliant-” God, he sounds like Arthur. “But when I say he wasn't much of a boyfriend... I just.... I can't. Not right now.”

Daniel is staring at him wide-eyed and fuck has he just entirely misread this and made a complete fool of himself? “Oh god!” he whispers, mortified. “You didn't mean that at all, did you? Oh, damn.”

“No!” Daniel exclaims. “God, we're a right pair. No, that is what I meant, exactly. That was me trying to ask you out properly. I know, I'm terrible at it. But I understand, of course I do. No hard feelings.” He frowns, bites his lip. “I know this isn't really my place, but are you all right?”

“I'm... better. Than I was. It's just a bit soon, still.”

“Fine. That's fine. Thank you. You know, for telling me.”

They smile awkwardly at one another, and Martin realises with another horrible twist to the stomach that Daniel has a very lovely smile. Daniel swiftly refills their glasses and moves the conversation onto movies, and they spend a pleasant half an hour debating over which is the best Hitchcock film.
___________

The next day Martin can't stop thinking about Daniel. The other man genuinely seems to like him, which is completely outside of Martin's realm of experience. He listens to (even enjoys) his flying stories, and he is interesting and funny, and he can even get Martin to talk about things other than planes, which even he acknowledges is something of a miracle. And all in one evening!

He is also, and Martin eventually gives up trying to deny it to himself, attractive, with his kind face and warm brown eyes and broad smile. The idea of a relationship with someone like Daniel, someone genuine and kind, is appealing on so many levels. The fact is, and he cannot get away from this, is that the idea of having sex with someone, anyone, makes him want to be sick. He isn't sure he can even stomach hugs or kissing, let alone anything more intimate. It just isn't fair to try for a relationship with someone when he is in that position. Not fair to Daniel, and not fair to himself.

Still, he hopes they can stay friends, if nothing else.

___________

By evening, however, his thoughts have chased themselves back around the circle. He has resigned himself to the fact that after one day and one evening in Daniel's company he is hopelessly attracted to him. On one level he is glad that he is still capable of attraction; at least he isn't completely broken in that regard. He keeps thinking about all the non-physical sides of a relationship: having someone at home, someone to talk to and laugh with and go out with... he wants that so much it causes a physical ache in his chest. He has been on his own for so long that he no longer realises how lonely he is, but it's been brought home to him now.

He knows it's a bad idea, knows it's going to end in tears and anger and he's opening himself up to a world of hurt, but he has to try. Before he can lose his nerve he pulls out his mobile and calls Daniel.

“Hello?” Christ, even his Scottish accent is unbearably attractive right now.

“Daniel, it's Martin.”

“Oh! Hello, how are things?”

“Not bad. How are you?”

“Ah, I'm fine. Buried under a pile of marking at the moment. What's up?”

“I, er... oh God. I've been thinking, pretty much non-stop, about what you were saying yesterday.”

“You've decided that The 39 Steps is superior to Rear Window?” Daniel's voice goes a little strange, as though he is making himself talk normally.

“What? No! Obviously not. No, about... you know, boyfriends and things...” he trails off, unsure how to continue.

“Right.” Daniel pauses for a moment. “Martin, are you saying we could... try?”

“Er. Yes. Yes, I think so. I mean, what I said yesterday still stands, so if you don't want to I'll understand because God I'm not going to be an easy person to go out with but I've been thinking about you all day and-”

“All day?” Daniel interrupts. “Really? It's a good thing you can't see how red I've just gone. But listen, Martin. I don't know what happened, but I can tell it wasn't good. I'm not expecting anything, you know. If it doesn't work, then it doesn't work. You're not signing up to anything, we'll just... see how it goes.”

“Yes,” Martin says, voice strangely hoarse, his heart pounding in his ears and a curious mixture of terror and joy twisting through him. “Yes, good. That's... good.”

“Listen, why don't you come over tomorrow night? I'll cook. I'm a good cook, I promise. We can watch a film or something.”

“That sounds brilliant.” Martin thinks his voice sounds like it's coming from somewhere very far away. Parts of his brain are leaping about in celebration, both at successfully getting a date and at overcoming this seemingly insurmountable barrier, whereas other parts are warning about inevitable doom and gloom. When he puts the phone down he has no idea what to do with himself, unable to settle to anything so he eventually takes himself off to bed, where he lies awake for hours, staring at the ceiling.
_______________

“You,” Douglas begins, “Are looking happy.”

Martin sits back in his seat, glancing sidelong at the First Officer. “There's no need to sound so suspicious.”

“On the contrary, I have every reason to be suspicious. I have never seen you so... contented. It is positively Arthur-ish.”

“I doubt it's quite that bad,” Martin counters, still with an uncharacteristically airy tone. “I have yet to break into song, after all.”

“Ah, small mercies.”

The radio crackles into life. “Golf Tango India, you are cleared for take-off. Please proceed to your runway.”

Douglas finishes relaying with the Tower and they taxi to their runway. Once airborne, he glances again at the disturbingly relaxed captain.

“All right, out with it. You have a daft grin on your face the likes of which have rarely been seen in the common or garden Martin.”

“I just had a good couple of days! What's wrong with that?”

“Nothing, I'm very glad for you. Except my suspicions are increasingly aroused by you being happy about something that isn't flying.”

“Hullo chaps!” Martin is saved replying by the typically exuberant entrance of Arthur, who appears to be bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Anything going on at this end?”

“Oh, the usual. Flying the plane, trying to find out why Martin had a good few days...”

“Aw, that's great, Skip! Did you have pancakes?”

“I - what?” Martin frowns, although he is by now used to Arthur's frequent non-sequiturs.

“I had a great day yesterday, cause Mum and I had pancakes for breakfast! With maple syrup and lemon and sugar and jam and chocolate spread and bananas!”

“Not all together, I hope,” remarks Martin. Arthur looks horribly thoughtful.

“Mum didn't put them together, no. So... not pancakes, then?”

“No, Arthur, not pancakes.”

“Oh. Well, I don't know then.”

Douglas rolls his eyes. “Arthur, are you really saying that you can't imagine any other reason for Martin to be in a good mood?”

“Well, pancakes are a good reason!”

“Ye-es, but they aren't the only reason.” Douglas turns from Arthur to fix Martin with a stern look. “Come on, out with it. Or I'll get Carolyn on the case.”

“No, you won't!”

“Oh, won't I?” With a smirk, Douglas reaches for the intercom. “Carolyn? The pointy end here. We have a mystery.”

“A mystery? If it's to do with the food--”

“No, it's not-- although I am now intrigued by that as well.”

“Carolyn, ignore Douglas, please!”

“Ah, Martin, it's good to hear your dulcet tones. I take it this mystery is something to do with the ridiculous grin that was on your face this morning?”

Martin groans as Douglas cackles, pleased to have Carolyn onside. Within moments he is being fixed with the knife-like gazes of both Douglas and Carolyn, who has bustled to the flight-deck at the smallest hint of fun. Arthur's attempt at a similar stare leaves a great deal to be desired. Martin scrubs his face with his hands, resigning himself to an interrogation.

“Oh for- I'm seeing someone, all right! Happy now?”

Instead of crowing at their victory, Douglas and Carolyn exchange worried looks, and Arthur bites his lip. Martin feels rather angry at this. “Oh, you don't need to look like that! I am allowed to see other people, you know. I'm not broken. I did actually learn my lesson about dating wankers.”

They look shocked. “He was rather more than a wanker,” Douglas points out. Martin glares.

“We just want you to be all right, Martin,” says Carolyn in a concerned voice. Martin wishes, to his surprise, that they would make fun of him instead. “I mean, it's not been that long, really. Are you ready for this?”

“Oh, it's not been that long? Really? I had completely lost track of the time. It's not as though it's affected everything I've ever done since then, after all.” He carefully doesn't look at their worried expressions. “No one has ever, ever wanted a relationship with me, all right? And now there's someone who does, and I absolutely will not let this chance go because I'm scared. I need to take this step sometime and I'm doing it now, and if all you can do is patronise me then you can keep it.”

He's being unfair. He knows he's being unfair, but he doesn't care. Six months ago Douglas would have been insufferable on hearing that Martin was seeing someone, but instead they're making Martin feel like a victim again, something he has been trying very hard not to be. There is silence for a few moments, then Arthur mumbles something about putting the kettle on and scurries from the flight-deck.

“What's his name?” Carolyn asks, her voice normal again.

“Daniel. He's a lecturer at Reading.”

“Ooh, a professor?” says Douglas. “Very intellectual.”

“A doctor, actually.”

Douglas smirks. “Not a medical doctor? I presume you won't be making that mistake again.”

“Oh, hah bloody hah...”
___________________

The previous night, some of Martin's nerves about trying to start a relationship began to fade. Daniel was just the same as he had been before; he hadn't even tried to touch Martin, a fact for which he was extremely grateful. He had made some truly delicious carbonara (“With all the proper ingredients - I can be a bit of a food snob, I'm afraid.” Martin had conveniently not mentioned what he tended to live on) which they had eaten whilst chatting easily. Martin continued to be surprised by how very easy Daniel was to talk to, considering he found it awkward talking to anyone.

After they had washed up from dinner - Martin has insisted on helping, despite Daniel pointing out that Martin was his date - they drank coffee on the sofa whilst watching Vertigo, which had come into both of their top three Hitchcock films. It had been so comfortable curled on a sofa next to Daniel, close enough to feel his warmth but not quite touching. This was what Martin wanted: nothing fancy, nothing overly-romantic, just someone to be with whilst watching old movies. He wished he had had the guts to touch Daniel, even just to sit pressed against him, but he was worried about leading Daniel on, about giving the impression he was all right with more than he was. Still, Daniel hadn't seemed to mind.

Martin had left just after midnight. He had felt awkward in the hallway, because surely leaving should necessitate something but he had no idea what. Daniel came to his rescue - he simply leaned forwards and pressed a gentle kiss to Martin's cheek before pulling back with a shy smile. “We can do this again?” he asked.

Martin nodded dumbly, and Daniel grinned. Martin had driven back home feeling more light-hearted than he had done in months, frequently raising his hand to touch the place on his cheek where Daniel had kissed him.
_________________

The Leknes airfield is wet, and cold, and generally utterly miserable. It seems, however, that even this can do little to dampen Martin's spirits.

They are waiting in a cramped airfield café that mercifully has the benefits of being warm and containing hot drinks. Douglas and Martin have squeezed into a sticky table in the corner, their knees pressed together uncomfortably, and are waiting for Carolyn and Arthur to appear so they can head to the hotel. Martin is ignoring his coffee in favour of tapping away at his phone, a slight smile crooking his mouth.

“Will you be back to normal soon?” Douglas inquires.

“Hm, what?”

“Back to normal. I don't know if I can cope with this being a permanent change. You're far less... neurotic. It's no fun.”

“I apologise for not placing your amusement at the top of my priority list.”

“Ooh, sarcasm. Careful, Martin, I hear it's catching.” Martin decides not to dignify this with a response, though he privately feels pleased that the teasing is back. “Who are you texting?”

“Daniel. He wanted to know when we landed.”

“That's... rather sweet, actually.”

Martin glances up, pale eyes narrowed. “Yes, it is,” he says, slightly defensively, clearly uncertain as to whether Douglas is joking.

“Ah, here you are! I might have known you'd scurry away to find the nearest caffeine supply.” Carolyn's arrival is heralded by her typical insults, swiftly followed by Arthur's exclamation of, “Wow! Hot chocolate and whipped cream!”

“Ah, if it isn't our fearless leader,” Douglas drawls, somehow managing to look as though he is lounging in the cramped chair.

“Yes, it is,” agrees Carolyn. “And she demands that her lazy, lazy pilots get up and come along to the taxi. Chop chop!” She punctuates these last two words with twin taps on the head for Martin and Douglas with the end of her flowery umbrella, still damp from the rain outside.

“That hurt!” Martin exclaims as he trails after her into the freezing outdoors.

“Oh don't be silly, Martin. Your ludicrous hair should cushion the blow.” Martin scowls, and his hand comes up automatically to run through his ginger curls.

The hotel is slightly less dire than usual, although still not up to the standard that could be called “decent”. Douglas declares it “Barely Habitable”, and promptly adds it to the list he had begun to keep on his mobile. The list so far ranges from, “We Will Almost Certainly Die Here” to “If You Close Your Eyes and Think Really Hard, You Can Imagine It's All Right”. There are three hotels at the bottom end of the list. One is at the top.

There are three rooms: two singles and one twin. There is never any question about Carolyn sharing, so it is up to Martin and Douglas to duke it out over who will share with the overly-enthusiastic Arthur and his hideous snoring. Naturally the coin toss is won by Douglas.

As Arthur is testing the bounciness of his bed (“Not as good as my bed at home!”) and Martin is in the bathroom changing out of his uniform, Douglas barges his way into their room and promptly flops down on Martin's bed.

“Apparently the hotel restaurant is closed for refurbishment. So we're going to have to head out to fend for ourselves.”

“Aw, great! Can we get reindeer?”

“Reindeer?”

“Yeah! People in Norway eat reindeer and seal and penguin and things! I want to try!”

Martin reappears barefoot from the bathroom, buttoning up his shirt. “You know, I think it's mould under the sink, but I'm sure mould isn't meant to be burgundy in colour... Douglas, get off my bed.”

“Absolutely not, you aren't using it.”

Martin rolls his eyes and gives one of Douglas' overhanging legs a prod with his foot. “Well, you're going to have to move, aren't you, if we're going to find Arthur a reindeer-and-grated-penguin burger.”

“Do they really grate penguins, Skip?” asks Arthur, stopping bouncing to stare at them open-mouthed.

“Yes, Arthur, they do,” Douglas drawls, eyes closed and still refusing to move.

“Wow!”
________________

Martin is back home the following evening when suddenly there is a yell from one of the students downstairs. “Oi, Martin! One of your mates is here!”

“'One of my mates'?” he repeats from the top of the stairs.

“Mate, I'm as surprised as you.”

“Get lost, Will.”

His 'mate' turns out to be Douglas, who is holding Martin's flight bag. “You left this. I thought you might need it.”

“Oh, right! Yes, yes, thanks.” He takes the bag from Douglas, then hesitates. “You want a drink or anything? Don't worry, it's pretty tidy.”

Douglas nods and follows him through to the kitchen, where Will and Rob are cooking a huge saucepan of pasta. They nod at Douglas as he comes in.

“Hey, Marty, we're all out tonight,” says Rob over his shoulder. Martin has never been able to get him out of the habit of calling him 'Marty'. He sees Douglas' eyes gleam. “Real ale festival at the union.”

“Whoo, real ale!” whoops Will from beside him.

“Okay,” Martin replies, flicking on the kettle. “So I can expect to be woken at some godawful hour, is that right?”

“Ah, university memories,” rumbles Douglas, smirking. “I'm glad that real ale festivals are still going strong.”

The students head out half an hour later, after Will and Rob have practically inhaled their pasta (“Stomach lining!” Will exclaims, slapping his belly. Martin wonders whether he should dig out his earplugs.), and leave Douglas and Martin alone.

“Fancy a takeaway?” Martin asks. “Or do you have to get back?”

“A takeaway would be good,” says Douglas agreeably. “You're not seeing Daniel tonight?”

“No, he's got an alarming amount of essays to mark.”

It's not long ago, Martin reflects, that he and Douglas would never have been friends to the extent that they would spend time together out of work. But it feels strangely natural to be sitting with him eating beef in black bean sauce and trying to name all American states in alphabetical order.

A few hours later, a key rattles in the lock. Martin frowns: it isn't even eleven at night. The students couldn't be back this early.

“Oi!” comes a voice from the hall. A frighteningly familiar voice. Martin freezes, his body locking in place as his mind descends immediately into a frantic spiral of no no no no no no no... “I know you're here you fuckin' bitch!” comes the snarling voice again. There is the sound of heavy, stumbling footsteps. He is clearly drunk. Martin's flight instinct kicks in, scrambling out of his chair and desperately searching for an escape route, but the kitchen leads straight into the hall and oh god no.

Douglas stands up. Martin thought he had seen Douglas angry before, but it is clear that he hasn't, not until now: his face is eerily calm, his eyes hard as flint. The hand he places on Martin's shoulder is steady.

Pete appears in the doorway. His eyes are bloodshot and his jaw grazed with stubble. His face twists into an ugly grin on seeing Martin. “Ah hah, there you are, pet.” Martin's gorge rises at the sight of this man, at the sound of his voice, and he is powerless to stop the rush of memories. Pete's eyes flick to Douglas. “I see you've replaced me already. Fuckin' slut.” He lurches into the room and then stops as Douglas moves forwards.

“I rather think you should leave,” Douglas growls, his voice low and dangerous. “Before I call the police to report a break-in.”

“Break-in?” Pete sneers, stepping right into Douglas' personal space. Douglas doesn't flinch. “I just let myself in with my keys!” he jangles Martin's keys in Douglas' face.

“Well, I think we could still interest the police in threatening behaviour, sexual assault and rape, don't you?” Douglas doesn't move, doesn't raise his voice. Pete laughs, mockingly.

“Oh, is that what you've told him, you little bitch?” He fixes Martin with his eyes and Martin can't hold his gaze. He is shaking and frightened and hot shame is coiling in his gut. “Now you listen, old man,” he turns to Douglas. “He liked it. Always came running when I called, always did what he was told like a good boy. This is nothing to do with you- I'm just here to get what's mine.” He moves to step around Douglas, towards Martin, but is stopped by Douglas' hand on his chest.

“I would think very, very hard about this,” Douglas growls.

“Oh, I have.” Pete's smile is predatory again, he shoves Douglas' arm away and strides towards Martin but before Martin can even think to react Douglas has seized Pete's shoulder, spun him around, and punched him solidly in the face.

Pete stumbles back, cursing, clutching his newly-bloody nose. “You fucking bastard!” he all but screams at Douglas. “I'll do you for assault!”

“I would like to see you try,” Douglas says calmly, wiping his hand on his jacket. “Get the hell out. Now. And if I hear you've even looked at Martin again, I will personally see to it that you are very, very sorry indeed.” He seizes Pete's jacket by the shoulder and hauls him away. As they leave the kitchen, Pete manages to turn to look at Martin.

“Fuckin' bitch,” he spits, before Douglas shoves him bodily down the hallway. Martin sinks shakily into a chair, unable to process what has just happened.

Moments later, Douglas is back casually brushing his palms together. “What a nasty piece of work,” he comments. He places Martin's keys on the table in front of him. “Are you all right?”

“I'm... not sure.” Martin's voice is shaky.

“A cup of tea, I think,” says Douglas firmly. “Cure for all ills.”

“Douglas-” Martin begins. Douglas turns to regard him carefully. “Thank you,” he says helplessly. “So much. If you hadn't been here-”

“Don't think about that,” Douglas says in a stern voice. “I was here, and that's what matters.”
_________________

After a cup of overly sweetened tea, Douglas insists on Martin spending the night at his flat. Martin is far too shaken to even consider arguing, and instead throws some spare clothes into his flight bag and clambers into the passenger seat of Douglas' Lexus.

Douglas' flat is spacious, with leather sofas and wooden floors, and the spare room is comfortable (if rather flowery- it is clearly where Miranda sleeps when she stays). Martin, however, cannot sleep. He is tense and jumpy, almost giving himself a heart attack when a branch taps against the window. He cannot help but dwell on what would have happened had Douglas not been there tonight, how he had only been saved by chance. He is under no illusions: had he been alone, he would have been completely incapable of defending himself against Pete. The idea makes his heart clench, and he curls tightly in on himself under the duvet.

At about three in the morning he gives up sleep as a bad job and decides to get up. Douglas had told him to make himself at home, and he knows from experience that lying awake and fretting doesn't help. As he shuffles out of the bedroom, he notices that the living room light is on.

Douglas is awake as well, sitting on the sofa wearing a navy dressing gown and slippers. He glances up when Martin appears, and smiles faintly. “I suppose you couldn't sleep either.”

“Not a wink,” mutters Martin, throwing himself down next to him. “What are you watching?”

“A truly shocking Western. It was this or endless reruns of Top Gear.”

“Oh god. I think I'll take nightmares over Clarkson.”

Douglas chuckles. “Horrific Western it is, then.”

Martin wakes up to blinding sunlight coming through the living room window. Clearly he had nodded off at some point, and not in the most comfortable position judging by the twinge in his neck. As he shifts, a burgundy blanket falls from his shoulders; clearly Douglas had covered him up when he'd dropped off.

“Ah, good morning, mon capitain.” Douglas appears in the doorway holding two mugs. “Coffee? I'm doing scrambled eggs if you want some.”

Douglas watches Martin with worried eyes over the breakfast table as the younger man makes short work of his scrambled egg on toast. “What are you going to do today?” he asks, managing to convey several questions at once.

Martin swallows and takes a sip of coffee before replying. “I think I'll call Daniel, see if I can see him today. Much better than being on my own after... last night.” Douglas nods.

After a shower and a shave, he heads for Daniel's flat, glad that it is in walking distance of Douglas'. Douglas hadn't been impressed by the idea of him walking, but Martin insists he needs air, and that he's perfectly fine to walk for a few minutes.

Daniel lets him in looking worried. “Martin, are you all right? You don't look well-” and Martin is suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of relief and affection for this man who is not Pete, could never be Pete. He has not known Daniel long, but he already knows he would never, ever talk to him the way Pete had, would never treat him that way, that he is safe and good... he can do nothing but step forward, wrap his arms around Daniel and bury his face in a broad shoulder.

“Hey,” says Daniel, sounding surprised and concerned, his arms coming up to hold Martin close. “Hey, what's up? It's okay, you're okay...” Martin says nothing, just tightens his grip and presses his nose into the warm space between Daniel's shoulder and neck, breathing him in. Daniel's arms are strong and yet gentle, one hand carefully stroking his hair.

Finally, Martin takes a deep breath and pulls away. Daniel lets him go, though he keeps one hand resting on Martin's upper arm. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, frowning. Martin bites his lip.

“Not... not yet. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is! Come and sit down, I've just got a couple of e-mails to send and then I'm all yours.”

Daniel balances his laptop on his knees where he sits on the sofa, and Martin tucks in beside him. He hesitates for only a moment before resting his head on Daniel's shoulder, smiling as the other man's cheek leans into his hair. “You're very affectionate today,” Daniel murmurs.

“I'm working on it,” Martin replies.

The day passes pleasantly, even with the spectre of Pete in the back of Martin's head. He wishes there were some way to explain all of this to Daniel without actually having to say any of it, but he has no idea how to start. The hug in the hallway seems to have broken through a barrier for Martin, though, so when they are out for a walk in the park and Daniel deliberately brushes their hands together, he feels only a twinge of nerves as he slips his fingers through the gaps of Daniel's. Daniel looks at their joined hands, then at Martin, and he beams, and Martin feels for a moment that he would do anything to make Daniel look that happy again. He smiles back.

They stop for coffee and sandwiches at a café near the park before wandering home again. There, Daniel jumps on Martin's confession that he hasn't seen any of the rebooted Doctor Who and their afternoon is one of Christopher Ecclestone and Billie Piper and monsters and space and Martin spends it nestled against Daniel's side, with an arm wrapped securely around his shoulders.

After a dinner of stir fry, they stand shoulder-to-shoulder doing the washing up in companionable quiet. As Daniel is drying his hands, Martin edges into Daniel's personal space, wanting more but with absolutely no idea how to go about it. Luckily, Daniel seems to understand: he steps closer, cupping Martin's face with gentle hands and, giving him plenty of time to pull back, leans forward and presses their lips together.

Martin's heart stutters and then seems to swell in his chest. This is what kissing is supposed to be. He leans into Daniel, wrapping his arms around him, and tries to catalogue every moment. Daniel is kissing him slowly, never pressing forwards for anything more than a soft, gentle brush of mouths. Martin felt that he could have kissed for hours, but then that treacherous voice in his head starts up, telling him that he's going too fast, that soon Daniel will push for more... he makes to draw back, and Daniel releases him immediately.

“Daniel,” he murmurs, unsure what to do now. Daniel is slightly flushed and he doesn't look disappointed or frustrated. Rather, he is looking at Martin as though he is the most wonderful thing he has ever seen.

“All right?” he asks quietly, and Martin nods.

“I'm... fantastic,” he says quietly, feeling rather shell-shocked. “I've never... kissed anyone like that before.”

Daniel frowns then, one hand coming back up to rest a hand against Martin's cheek, thumb brushing tenderly against the bottom of his eye. “Martin,” he hesitates. Martin holds his breath, thinking he knows what's coming. “Martin, your last boyfriend... did he- did he abuse you?”

Martin closes his eyes. Nods slightly. Daniel whispers, “Oh God,” and then he is pulled against the other man. He goes willingly, leaning into Daniel's chest; Daniel strokes his hair, presses his lips against his temple. “I'm sorry,” he murmurs. “I'm so sorry that happened.”

“It's okay,” says Martin, his voice slightly muffled. “Well, it's not, but its getting better. Really.” He pulls away to look at Daniel, trying to convince him.

Daniel leads him over to the sofa, tugs him down onto it. With Daniel leaning against the back of the sofa, Martin leans against him.

“That's why I was scared about starting a relationship,” he begins. “I mean, I'd never been in a relationship before... before him.” At this confession, Daniel's arms tighten around him and he makes an angry little noise. “It went... very badly. It ended about six months ago now, but yesterday he... was drunk, and he came to my house... luckily my friend Douglas was there, otherwise-” he breaks off.

Daniel is silent. Eventually, Martin twists round to look at him, unsure about what his reaction will be. What if Daniel decides now that this is too much to deal with, so early in a relationship? What if he decides Martin isn't worth it? He steels himself.

Daniel's face is set in hard lines, and Martin knows he is going to be asked to leave. He begins to detach himself, mumbling, “Sorry. I'm sorry, it's too much, I'll just-” but Daniel catches his arm.

“Don't go!” he exclaims. “God, Martin, please. I'm just... I'm so angry. You should never, ever have had to go through that. Ever.” His face is earnest. “I swear, I will never ask you for anything you don't want to give. If all you want is to cuddle and kiss then that's fine. I mean it, Martin. Anything. Don't go.”

Martin cannot speak. He feels completely overwhelmed. He leans up, wraps his arms around Daniel's neck, and tentatively presses a kiss to his lips. Daniel responds enthusiastically, pulling him close and sinking his hands into his hair. They kiss deeply, and Martin trusts Daniel to take control, to show him what to do; Daniel nibbles along his upper lip and then runs his tongue gently over the lower, not pushing, just exploring. Martin tries to mirror his movement, sucking on Daniel's plump lower lip, nervously touching the tips of their tongues together.

For long, blissful minutes they stay tangled on the sofa, and by the time they break apart, flushed and breathing hard, Martin can scarcely believe that it was yesterday evening that he was petrified in his kitchen, waiting for a new nightmare to start.
_______________________

Martin spends a great deal of time at Daniel's over the next few weeks. Whenever he's not flying, or out with the van, and when Daniel is not at university, he escapes his house for Daniel's flat. He doesn't stay the night- he thinks about asking, but always loses his nerve, kissing him goodbye and heading back home. They watch Doctor Who and old movies or go for walks or just sit on the sofa and talk. For the first time in far too long Martin feels that he can say he is truly happy.

They spend a lot of time kissing, indulging in long sessions of truly wonderful snogging. Martin's confidence with kissing has grown and grown; he kisses Daniel with everything he has, pressing as close as is physically possible. He doesn't dare do more, though; if there is any hint of things progressing he still feels nervous and skittish, but Daniel always senses this and lets him pull away without a murmur of protest.

Martin, however, is growing more frustrated with himself. He wants more, he just doesn't dare. He can always feel panic sitting just behind the slow burn of arousal, and he is terrified of triggering a panic attack, of pushing Daniel away. Eventually, after yet another night of lying in bed, stroking himself and imagining Daniel's mouth, Daniel's hands, Daniel's voice, he makes a decision.

The following evening they are sat on the sofa watching a rather terrible film. Martin's head is on Daniel's shoulder, his legs lying over Daniel's. Martin turns his head slightly, nuzzles against the hinge of Daniel's jaw; Daniel understands, shutting off the TV then twisting around so he can cup Martin's face in his hands and kiss him, coaxing his mouth open with touches of his tongue. He leans backwards, awkwardly trying to shift their positions without breaking the kiss, so they are lying on the sofa with Martin half on top of him.

Timidly, Martin shifts the hand lying on Daniel's chest and begins to fiddle with the buttons of his shirt, letting his fingertips dip between the buttons to touch the warm skin of his chest. Daniel shifts slightly, helping Martin unbutton his shirt and letting it fall open, before pulling him back for a kiss. Martin explores Daniel's chest tentatively, running his fingers over the faint scattering of hair, sliding his palm down to the soft stomach. As he rubs a thumb over one nipple, Daniel groans softly against his mouth and his confidence rises. He kisses away from Daniel's mouth, nipping at his jaw and then kissing down his throat, sucking lightly at the pulse point, all the while teasing at Daniel's nipple.

Daniel shifts again, taking off his glasses and putting them on the coffee table out of the way, before stretching out on the sofa so he is lying fully on his back, Martin's weight on top of him. Martin hisses as warm hands slide under his T-shirt and stroke over the planes of his back and he tenses, pressing his face into the juncture of Daniel's neck and shoulder.

“You're all right,” Daniel murmurs, “You feel amazing, you know.” He strokes Martin's back in long, reassuring sweeps until the tension melts away and Martin tilts his face blindly towards Daniel's to claim a kiss. Daniel tugs at the hem of Martin's shirt, seeking permission, and Martin pulls back, sitting up so he can yank the shirt off over his head. He stays there, straddling Daniel's hips, flushed from arousal and from the feel of Daniel's gaze raking over him. Martin is under no illusions about his body: he is skinny enough that his ribs show slightly, with no muscle definition or fat on him. But Daniel is drinking him in greedily, large hands resting at his waist. One hand creeps up to the nape of his neck, tugs him forwards for a kiss. “You,” Daniel whispers roughly between kisses. “Are... utterly... gorgeous.”

Martin can only whimper helplessly against Daniel's mouth and press closer. It is utterly delicious being this close, skin to skin. Daniel is warm and solid and his hands feel amazing as they explore Martin's body, his mouth hot on his neck as Daniel nudges his head aside to give him better access. Martin groans at the feel of Daniel's hot tongue on his throat, followed by a teasing nip of teeth. He is so hard, cock straining against his jeans, and he can feel that Daniel is the same. They press desperately together, minute shifts of their hips causing sparks of pleasure in Martin's brain. How has he gone over thirty years of his life without this?

“D-Daniel,” he gasps. “Daniel, please.”

“Please what?” Daniel groans out. He looks utterly wrecked, his dark hair rumpled, face and neck flushed. Martin has never seen anything so incredible in all his life. He kisses him as though his life depends on it, deep and hungry and needy. When he finally pulls away, panting slightly, Daniel rests their foreheads together. “Please what?” he repeats.

“Please, I want... god, can I touch you? I want to touch you.”

“Yes,” whimpers Daniel. “You too, Martin, you too, please.”

They are both so far gone it's a miracle they can separate to fumble off their jeans. Martin gets a leg stuck and Daniel can't work his zip and soon they are both breathless and giggling, kissing sloppily as they struggle with their uncooperative clothing.

“Oh, bloody hell!” Daniel exclaims eventually, kicking his legs like he's going swimming to force his jeans and boxers down his knees and Martin collapses in a fresh fit of giggles. It suddenly occurs to him that maybe sex is fun.

Eventually they are both naked, and now that the laughter has stopped Martin feels suddenly shy. Daniel pulls him down into their previous position and kisses him tenderly. “You can change your mind if you want,” he murmurs, as though his erection isn't pressing insistently into Martin's hip.

Martin shakes his head. “No,” he says firmly. Daniel smiles, kisses him again.

“C'mere then,” he says, voice roughening slightly, “On top of me, yeah, that's it...” Martin gasps as their erections press together, and all shyness is forgotten as he presses open-mouthed kisses against Daniel's jaw, until Daniel turns his head and kisses him good and proper. They stay like that for a while, kissing hungrily with Daniel's hand resting on the small of Martin's back, small noises of pleasure escaping them as they gently roll their hips together.

Daniel breaks the kiss eventually, and nudges Martin to lean back slightly before he licks a long stripe across his palm and slides his hand down between them. Martin chokes slightly as Daniel's broad hand wraps around them both, trembling from the sensation and barely able to support himself on his wavering arms. God he is close already, just from the feel of Daniel's hand on him, and shit he can't come now, not so soon, but it's so good, too good... he buries his face in Daniel's neck, whimpering and gasping with pleasure, clutching desperately at the other man's shoulders.

Daniel's thumb rubs across the head of his cock, and his mouth is at Martin's ear, “God, you're so wet. Feel so good. I want to make you come, God, I really want to...”

“Oh God,” Martin groans, pushing his hips into Daniel's grip, their cocks sliding hot and heavy together. “Oh God, I'm close, Daniel, God-”

His breath stutters and heat is gathering in his belly and then Daniel is nudging his head up gasping out, “Let me look at you, I want to watch you come, I bet you're fucking gorgeous when you come...” and he pushes back slightly and then Daniel's thumb strokes over the head again and he is gone, moaning helplessly.

When he comes back to himself he feels punch-drunk, cradled against Daniel's chest as the other man kisses his temple and strokes his back, his soft voice murmuring, “Amazing, that was amazing, Jesus Christ, I nearly came just from seeing that...”

Martin can feel that Daniel is still hard, so hard he must be aching, and he feels suddenly mortified that he hasn't done anything to help here. He kisses Daniel desperately, reaching down between them to wrap his hand around Daniel's cock. He has no real idea what to do here- it becomes apparent that stroking a cock is very different when it's someone else's, with the change in angle and no idea what feels good- but Daniel reaches down and covers his hand, whispering, “Tight, and fast, oh Christ,” and he thrusts up into their hands, gasping and groaning as he nears his climax. Martin lets himself be guided, learning what Daniel likes, watching his reactions, and then Daniel cries out, shudders, and his hand is bathed in warmth as Daniel falls apart beneath him.

He watches in amazement, unable to believe that he just produced that reaction. As Daniel's breathing steadies he opens his eyes, and grins happily, reaching up one hand to stroke Martin's cheek.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Martin can only nod, and Daniel lets his head fall back on the cushion with a satisfied sigh. Martin lies out on top of him, pressing his face into the warm space between Daniel's neck and shoulder. Daniel's arms come up immediately and encircle him, the fingers of one hand playing with the damp curls at Martin's nape.

After a few minutes Martin is beginning to feel distinctly chilly as the sweat cools on his body. Daniel groans and shifts under him, so he pushes himself away so the other man can sit up.

“Bed time, I think,” Daniel says, stretching. He fidgets for a moment, watching Martin. “Will you... I mean, will you stay the night? With me?”

Martin watches him wide-eyed, and Daniel seems to read his silence as refusal. “Oh God, sorry, no, it's fine, don't worry. Too much, too soon. I just-”

“No!” exclaims Martin. “No, I- I'd like that. To stay.”

“Really?” Daniel grins, standing up and pulling Martin to his feet as well.

“Really.”

It is wonderful to crawl into Daniel's comfortable bed and curl up beside him. Daniel reaches for him as soon as they are under the covers, and he pillows his head on Daniel's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.

“Martin?”

“Mm?”

“I didn't... I mean, I didn't push you too far today, did I? It was all right?”

Martin nuzzles at Daniel's jaw, wrapping an arm firmly around his waist. “I think I was the one that started it,” he reminds him.

“Well, yes, I know, but... I don't know. Sorry, you're not made of glass, I know that, but I don't want to push you to do anything you don't want to do.”

Martin is quiet for a moment, absently tracing patterns on Daniel's stomach. “I was nervous,” he admits. “Really nervous. But I was nervous about starting this, I was nervous about kissing you... I think every new step is going to scare me. But you make me feel safe, you make me feel like I can do it. I trust you.”

This time Daniel is quiet. Then he presses a fierce kiss into Martin's hair. “I'm glad.”

Next Chapter: Plant Your Hope With Good Seeds