God knows what Elias did to finally make Jon snap at him - probably some ill-intentioned jab about Martin, knowing him. But Jon's bony fist catches Elias in the gut, right under the place where his ribs meet. "Fuck you," he spits, lip curled. He looks like he wants to rip Elias' throat open with his teeth.
Or rather, he doesn’t, really. He was shown it was coming, but dismissed it the way one would automatically swipe away a phone notification before wondering; wait, what was that about? He’s gotten a little too used to Jon’s stoic, stubborn insistence on ignoring him, to how adamant the Archivist is about Not Being Bothered by Elias. He doesn’t need to Look in order to See that Jon is bothered, upset but refusing to act on it - he’s Seen it a thousand times before. It’s routine.
As such, the punch takes him mildly off guard. Startles him, almost; the shock of Jon’s touch, finally, after all the distance, all but making him stumble.
Elias blinks. Looks Jon in the eye, at the feral fury he sees reflected in his expression, holding his gaze in a heavy, dangerous sort of silence. And then he laughs, a delighted, unexpected huff of air.
“Certainly,” he quips, catching Jon’s hand and keeping it there, pressed to his stomach, long, nimble fingers circling Jon’s wrist and holding tight. Touching. It’s wonderful, and Elias can feel the revulsion under Jon’s skin almost like he’s vibrating with it. How fun. “Though I was under the impression that that wasn’t your thing.” It’s a little mocking, words over-enunciated. Just to irritate him further. Elias’ grip tightens - an unnecessary but thoroughly entertaining show of strength.
I’ll break you the way you need to be, one day. Though it certainly would be preferable if you asked me for it, Jon.