FIC: Delights Not Me [1/5]
Title: Delights Not Me
Pairings: None
Rating: R
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 any of these people.
Summary: Martin is asexual, but he doesn't really know what that is. He thinks he is somehow broken. Carolyn and Douglas, seeing his inability to begin a relationship, try to help. It doesn't go exactly to plan.
Beta by the lovely lady_t_220
Chapter One
It was difficult, at first, for Martin to distinguish this... wrongness from his regular, garden-variety social awkwardness. He had no close friends in school, and only a handful of acquaintances who would talk to him, so the usual bravado-ridden, uncertain, excited pubescent discussions about sex passed him by. He would occasionally catch snippets of these conversations, but they left him rather mystified and embarrassed.
Sex education was excruciating. It offered little-to-no relevant information, telling a group of blushing teenage boys, all awkward limbs and acne, that their “urges” were perfectly natural, and explaining the correct way to satisfy them with a woman once they were older. All of it was utterly alien to Martin; the images of genitalia on the flickering VHS were off-putting, and when the image cut to an animated penis inserting into a vagina, the cool-voiced narrator describing a “pleasurable sensation”, the boys in the class tittered and laughed and made crude comments. Martin felt his face burn and cut his eyes away. He had no idea what these “urges” were, and could not comprehend why they were all laughing. Why was it funny? It just sounded humiliating and revolting and, well... a bit scary.
He tried. He really, really did. If he thought about it properly, then maybe he'd get these... feelings that every other person in his school seemed obsessed with. He'd heard Simon and his mates talking about how “fit” some girls were, about things they wanted to do to them. Martin had no real idea what it meant for a girl to be “fit”, though he supposed it wasn't really to do with how good they were at sports. Objectively he could see that some women would be considered attractive, but they didn't really affect him. He tried looking at the girls in his class, but... nothing.
Of course, he was still a teenager, still going through puberty. He would get erections, but they did not really bother him. It usually happened when he was in bed or the shower, and he generally ignored them until they went away. Occasionally these erections were persistent and uncomfortable, so he would masturbate purely to get rid of them. It was... well, it was a diverting task, and vaguely pleasurable, but he had no real urge to do it unless absolutely necessary. He was generally glad (if vaguely revolted) when it was over and he could comfortably get to sleep.
One evening, Simon and Caitlin were both out with friends and his dad was downstairs, asleep in front of the telly. Martin snuck into Simon's bedroom, picked his away around the mess and clutter, and cautiously lifted the mattress. He found what he was looking for: Simon's collection of dirty magazines.
He was determined to see what all of the fuss was about. He was almost sixteen now, and people - fellow pupils, Dad, Simon, other family members - had begun to make teasing comments about finding a girl, at getting himself some experience, about how he'd be more relaxed if he “got some action”. He had wrestled with his thoughts for a long while. The concept of sex left him feeling vaguely uneasy, his stomach clenching and his skin prickling. Everything he knew about sex (admittedly not much at all) just seemed distasteful; even the idea of someone else's mouth on his made him shudder. On the other hand, everyone liked sex. They must do - it was everywhere. And it was a natural urge, as common as eating and drinking; not wanting to have sex was surely just as wrong as not wanting to eat. A disorder, of some kind. He could no longer separate his distaste for sex with his self-loathing at how pathetic he was for not wanting it. Well, maybe that could be changed.
Magazine secured, he held it against his chest to hide it as he crept back to his room. He closed his door and turned on the bedside lamp before sitting on the bed. He felt ridiculous, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, as though he were being watched. It took him a while to get up the courage to open the magazine: even the front cover, with a dark-haired woman lounging in a chair, her mouth open and her large breasts exposed, made the base of his spine prickle uncomfortably. Did people actually find looking at things like this pleasurable? He could not fathom it. What was he supposed to do? Imagine her here, with him? Imagine... kissing her, or touching her breasts? He did not want any of those things. He must be doing this wrong.
He took a deep breath and opened the magazine to a random page.
The woman on this page was naked. She was half-reclining on a bed, her eyes closed. Her painted lips were wrapped around two fingers of her left hand, and her right hand was between her legs. For a long time Martin just looked at her face, almost unable to make himself look... there. Finally, he did.
It wasn't attractive. It wasn't repulsive either, which he had half-expected. It was strange, and alien, this opening between her legs with its flaps of skin and sticky-looking wetness. It was fascinating in the same way that looking at a strange underwater creature was fascinating. He knew, from hearing how his brother and his friends spoke, that he was supposed to want to... touch, or taste, or... penetrate, but the idea just left him cold. Why would he want to do that? It just seemed so messy and intrusive. He felt almost embarrassed for the woman on the page, lying there like that to produce a reaction in him, and all he could do was stare at her numbly.
He closed the magazine and shoved it unceremoniously under the mattress. He'd have to find a way to return it to Simon's room later. Right now he could not stomach even looking at it any longer. He climbed under the covers and switched the light off, even though it was only ten o'clock. In the darkness, the image of the naked woman seemed seared into his eyelids and still he felt absolutely nothing.
He groaned and buried his face in his pillow. There was no escaping it: there was something wrong with him.
***
He was sixteen. A load of Caitlin's friends were around for her eighteenth birthday celebrations. Simon and some of his mates had stuck around to leer at the girls in short skirts for a while before heading out to the pub, and Martin had tried to just keep out of the way. A lot of Caitlin's friends tended to laugh at him, Caitlin's dorky little brother with his silly ginger curls. Some of the nicer ones would call him “adorable” and laugh at him a condescending rather than cruel manner, but he'd still rather not be around with them.
He barricaded himself in his room and buried his head in a book on the history of flight, trying to block out the heavy music and shrieking laughter from downstairs. He was just about succeeding when his door creaked open.
“Oh,” said a quiet, choked voice. “Sorry, I thought this was C-Caitlin's r-r-room.” Martin had a brief glimpse of a blonde girl with red-rimmed eyes before she began to close the door.
“Are you okay?” he blurted out, because irritating though Caitlin's friends were, he hated to see people upset. The girl hesitated, and then slid into the room, closing the door and leaning against it.
“I guess. Probably just drunk too much. Pretty stupid, huh?” She gave him a watery smile, wiping her eyes and streaking her mascara.
“It's okay,” he said. He had absolutely no idea what to do, but he couldn't just ignore her. “Um. Here.” He closed his book and scrambled to his feet, grabbing a box of tissues from his desk. She came over and took the box, another weak smile on her face.
“Thanks. You're sweet. I'm Alice, by the way. Martin, right?”
Martin was fairly certain that he wasn't sweet, but he didn't say anything. He just nodded.
“It's just...” she sighed, glanced around. “No, you don't want to hear this. I'll leave you alone.”
Really, Martin would have liked that. He couldn't bear it when people were sad and upset, but he had absolutely no idea what to do with a crying girl in his room. But he couldn't just let her leave, that would just be cruel. “It's... okay,” he mumbled. “You can tell me. If you want, obviously, you don't have to. You can go if you like, but if you want to talk then you can. To me.”
“Are you sure?” She sat herself on the bed and, without waiting for an answer, launched into a jumbled explanation that involved many different people. As far as Martin could work out, she had a crush on someone who didn't reciprocate, and said person had been 'getting off' with someone else downstairs and had proceeded to make a cruel comment to Alice.
“Um,” said Martin.
“I told you it was complicated,” Alice sighed. “I just... I don't know, maybe I am a lesbian, but I'm not sure. I really thought there was something going on with Jen, we've always been so close, and now-” her voice wobbled and broke. “I've never even kissed anyone though, so I'm not sure. Maybe I should try kissing guys? What do you think?”
Martin had absolutely no idea what he thought. The politics of friendship groups, of sexuality, of kissing wasn't something he had ever concerned himself with. “Er,” he said. It didn't seem to be enough.
Alice sniffed. “You're quite cute,” she said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Martin gawped at her. He suspected he resembled some sort of ginger fish, which was decidedly not “cute”.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Er, I- no, I-” he stammered. What was going on? Why was she asking that?
“Can- can I kiss you?” she asked. “I mean, not as a- a girlfriend thing, but just to see? I've never kissed anyone before. Have you?”
“Um. No.” And I don't really want to, his thoughts supplied. But maybe, said a reasonable part of his mind, It's worth a try. See what it's like - you never know, you might like it. There has to be a reason people are so obsessed.
“Well, we don't have to. I know I'm all gross at the moment. I suppose you don't want to kiss a girl who's been sobbing everywhere. It was a stupid idea.” She looked at her lap.
“Um. No, I mean- well, we, er, could. If you want.”
Her head jerked up, and she smiled. “Are you sure?”
She reached out and touched his face gently, shifting closer so their legs touched. He was suddenly very aware of his arms and hands. What was he supposed to do with them? He tried mirroring her movements, and touched her face too. It was still damp from tears, but it was okay. This was okay. Her other hand reached up and ran through his hair, so he did the same to her. Her hair was very soft, and it felt lovely between his fingers.
He was so busy concentrating on the pleasant sensation of her hair that he didn't realise how close her face was to his. His heart was thundering in his ears but before he could do anything she had pressed her lips to his.
Her lips were soft, if slightly sticky from her make-up. It wasn't particularly unpleasant, though, and over quickly. She pulled away and smiled at him. He tried to smile back, but wasn't sure if he succeeded, and then she kissed him again.
This time she didn't pull away, and then her mouth was moving on his, and that was strange. It wasn't awful though, so he tried to mirror her movements. He didn't hate this, so that was good, right?
Then suddenly her tongue was there, on his lower lip, and pushing past his teeth and it was hot and wet and invasive and then her hand was on his thigh and he did not want it there, it was all too much and too close and it needed to stop right now.
He pulled away, gasping.
“Hey,” said Alice soothingly. “Are you okay? Was that okay?”
“I-” He couldn't breathe properly. He needed her to leave. He needed to be on his own to get his head around this. “I - look, I just- could you... go, please? I'm sorry, I'm really sorry.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding hurt. “Oh. Right. Fine.”
He didn't watch her go, just stared at his hands clenched on his thighs as he tried to steady his breathing. One thing was certain - he never wanted to do that again.
What on earth was wrong with him?
Chapter Two
Pairings: None
Rating: R
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 any of these people.
Summary: Martin is asexual, but he doesn't really know what that is. He thinks he is somehow broken. Carolyn and Douglas, seeing his inability to begin a relationship, try to help. It doesn't go exactly to plan.
Beta by the lovely lady_t_220
Chapter One
It was difficult, at first, for Martin to distinguish this... wrongness from his regular, garden-variety social awkwardness. He had no close friends in school, and only a handful of acquaintances who would talk to him, so the usual bravado-ridden, uncertain, excited pubescent discussions about sex passed him by. He would occasionally catch snippets of these conversations, but they left him rather mystified and embarrassed.
Sex education was excruciating. It offered little-to-no relevant information, telling a group of blushing teenage boys, all awkward limbs and acne, that their “urges” were perfectly natural, and explaining the correct way to satisfy them with a woman once they were older. All of it was utterly alien to Martin; the images of genitalia on the flickering VHS were off-putting, and when the image cut to an animated penis inserting into a vagina, the cool-voiced narrator describing a “pleasurable sensation”, the boys in the class tittered and laughed and made crude comments. Martin felt his face burn and cut his eyes away. He had no idea what these “urges” were, and could not comprehend why they were all laughing. Why was it funny? It just sounded humiliating and revolting and, well... a bit scary.
He tried. He really, really did. If he thought about it properly, then maybe he'd get these... feelings that every other person in his school seemed obsessed with. He'd heard Simon and his mates talking about how “fit” some girls were, about things they wanted to do to them. Martin had no real idea what it meant for a girl to be “fit”, though he supposed it wasn't really to do with how good they were at sports. Objectively he could see that some women would be considered attractive, but they didn't really affect him. He tried looking at the girls in his class, but... nothing.
Of course, he was still a teenager, still going through puberty. He would get erections, but they did not really bother him. It usually happened when he was in bed or the shower, and he generally ignored them until they went away. Occasionally these erections were persistent and uncomfortable, so he would masturbate purely to get rid of them. It was... well, it was a diverting task, and vaguely pleasurable, but he had no real urge to do it unless absolutely necessary. He was generally glad (if vaguely revolted) when it was over and he could comfortably get to sleep.
One evening, Simon and Caitlin were both out with friends and his dad was downstairs, asleep in front of the telly. Martin snuck into Simon's bedroom, picked his away around the mess and clutter, and cautiously lifted the mattress. He found what he was looking for: Simon's collection of dirty magazines.
He was determined to see what all of the fuss was about. He was almost sixteen now, and people - fellow pupils, Dad, Simon, other family members - had begun to make teasing comments about finding a girl, at getting himself some experience, about how he'd be more relaxed if he “got some action”. He had wrestled with his thoughts for a long while. The concept of sex left him feeling vaguely uneasy, his stomach clenching and his skin prickling. Everything he knew about sex (admittedly not much at all) just seemed distasteful; even the idea of someone else's mouth on his made him shudder. On the other hand, everyone liked sex. They must do - it was everywhere. And it was a natural urge, as common as eating and drinking; not wanting to have sex was surely just as wrong as not wanting to eat. A disorder, of some kind. He could no longer separate his distaste for sex with his self-loathing at how pathetic he was for not wanting it. Well, maybe that could be changed.
Magazine secured, he held it against his chest to hide it as he crept back to his room. He closed his door and turned on the bedside lamp before sitting on the bed. He felt ridiculous, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, as though he were being watched. It took him a while to get up the courage to open the magazine: even the front cover, with a dark-haired woman lounging in a chair, her mouth open and her large breasts exposed, made the base of his spine prickle uncomfortably. Did people actually find looking at things like this pleasurable? He could not fathom it. What was he supposed to do? Imagine her here, with him? Imagine... kissing her, or touching her breasts? He did not want any of those things. He must be doing this wrong.
He took a deep breath and opened the magazine to a random page.
The woman on this page was naked. She was half-reclining on a bed, her eyes closed. Her painted lips were wrapped around two fingers of her left hand, and her right hand was between her legs. For a long time Martin just looked at her face, almost unable to make himself look... there. Finally, he did.
It wasn't attractive. It wasn't repulsive either, which he had half-expected. It was strange, and alien, this opening between her legs with its flaps of skin and sticky-looking wetness. It was fascinating in the same way that looking at a strange underwater creature was fascinating. He knew, from hearing how his brother and his friends spoke, that he was supposed to want to... touch, or taste, or... penetrate, but the idea just left him cold. Why would he want to do that? It just seemed so messy and intrusive. He felt almost embarrassed for the woman on the page, lying there like that to produce a reaction in him, and all he could do was stare at her numbly.
He closed the magazine and shoved it unceremoniously under the mattress. He'd have to find a way to return it to Simon's room later. Right now he could not stomach even looking at it any longer. He climbed under the covers and switched the light off, even though it was only ten o'clock. In the darkness, the image of the naked woman seemed seared into his eyelids and still he felt absolutely nothing.
He groaned and buried his face in his pillow. There was no escaping it: there was something wrong with him.
***
He was sixteen. A load of Caitlin's friends were around for her eighteenth birthday celebrations. Simon and some of his mates had stuck around to leer at the girls in short skirts for a while before heading out to the pub, and Martin had tried to just keep out of the way. A lot of Caitlin's friends tended to laugh at him, Caitlin's dorky little brother with his silly ginger curls. Some of the nicer ones would call him “adorable” and laugh at him a condescending rather than cruel manner, but he'd still rather not be around with them.
He barricaded himself in his room and buried his head in a book on the history of flight, trying to block out the heavy music and shrieking laughter from downstairs. He was just about succeeding when his door creaked open.
“Oh,” said a quiet, choked voice. “Sorry, I thought this was C-Caitlin's r-r-room.” Martin had a brief glimpse of a blonde girl with red-rimmed eyes before she began to close the door.
“Are you okay?” he blurted out, because irritating though Caitlin's friends were, he hated to see people upset. The girl hesitated, and then slid into the room, closing the door and leaning against it.
“I guess. Probably just drunk too much. Pretty stupid, huh?” She gave him a watery smile, wiping her eyes and streaking her mascara.
“It's okay,” he said. He had absolutely no idea what to do, but he couldn't just ignore her. “Um. Here.” He closed his book and scrambled to his feet, grabbing a box of tissues from his desk. She came over and took the box, another weak smile on her face.
“Thanks. You're sweet. I'm Alice, by the way. Martin, right?”
Martin was fairly certain that he wasn't sweet, but he didn't say anything. He just nodded.
“It's just...” she sighed, glanced around. “No, you don't want to hear this. I'll leave you alone.”
Really, Martin would have liked that. He couldn't bear it when people were sad and upset, but he had absolutely no idea what to do with a crying girl in his room. But he couldn't just let her leave, that would just be cruel. “It's... okay,” he mumbled. “You can tell me. If you want, obviously, you don't have to. You can go if you like, but if you want to talk then you can. To me.”
“Are you sure?” She sat herself on the bed and, without waiting for an answer, launched into a jumbled explanation that involved many different people. As far as Martin could work out, she had a crush on someone who didn't reciprocate, and said person had been 'getting off' with someone else downstairs and had proceeded to make a cruel comment to Alice.
“Um,” said Martin.
“I told you it was complicated,” Alice sighed. “I just... I don't know, maybe I am a lesbian, but I'm not sure. I really thought there was something going on with Jen, we've always been so close, and now-” her voice wobbled and broke. “I've never even kissed anyone though, so I'm not sure. Maybe I should try kissing guys? What do you think?”
Martin had absolutely no idea what he thought. The politics of friendship groups, of sexuality, of kissing wasn't something he had ever concerned himself with. “Er,” he said. It didn't seem to be enough.
Alice sniffed. “You're quite cute,” she said, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Martin gawped at her. He suspected he resembled some sort of ginger fish, which was decidedly not “cute”.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“Er, I- no, I-” he stammered. What was going on? Why was she asking that?
“Can- can I kiss you?” she asked. “I mean, not as a- a girlfriend thing, but just to see? I've never kissed anyone before. Have you?”
“Um. No.” And I don't really want to, his thoughts supplied. But maybe, said a reasonable part of his mind, It's worth a try. See what it's like - you never know, you might like it. There has to be a reason people are so obsessed.
“Well, we don't have to. I know I'm all gross at the moment. I suppose you don't want to kiss a girl who's been sobbing everywhere. It was a stupid idea.” She looked at her lap.
“Um. No, I mean- well, we, er, could. If you want.”
Her head jerked up, and she smiled. “Are you sure?”
She reached out and touched his face gently, shifting closer so their legs touched. He was suddenly very aware of his arms and hands. What was he supposed to do with them? He tried mirroring her movements, and touched her face too. It was still damp from tears, but it was okay. This was okay. Her other hand reached up and ran through his hair, so he did the same to her. Her hair was very soft, and it felt lovely between his fingers.
He was so busy concentrating on the pleasant sensation of her hair that he didn't realise how close her face was to his. His heart was thundering in his ears but before he could do anything she had pressed her lips to his.
Her lips were soft, if slightly sticky from her make-up. It wasn't particularly unpleasant, though, and over quickly. She pulled away and smiled at him. He tried to smile back, but wasn't sure if he succeeded, and then she kissed him again.
This time she didn't pull away, and then her mouth was moving on his, and that was strange. It wasn't awful though, so he tried to mirror her movements. He didn't hate this, so that was good, right?
Then suddenly her tongue was there, on his lower lip, and pushing past his teeth and it was hot and wet and invasive and then her hand was on his thigh and he did not want it there, it was all too much and too close and it needed to stop right now.
He pulled away, gasping.
“Hey,” said Alice soothingly. “Are you okay? Was that okay?”
“I-” He couldn't breathe properly. He needed her to leave. He needed to be on his own to get his head around this. “I - look, I just- could you... go, please? I'm sorry, I'm really sorry.”
“Oh,” she said, sounding hurt. “Oh. Right. Fine.”
He didn't watch her go, just stared at his hands clenched on his thighs as he tried to steady his breathing. One thing was certain - he never wanted to do that again.
What on earth was wrong with him?
Chapter Two