A little teaser for the martyn inthelittlewood/scott smajor mean gills slow burn fic we’ve been working on - one and a half weeks left before exams are over and we can post the first chapter!
(Though this section may seem like a spoiler it really isn’t, trust us, there’s much more to this story than Martyn’s conflicting feelings).
Martyn busies himself with assorting a small plate of assorted meats and vegetables, primarily dried kelp and cured beef, as he tried desperately not to focus on the pet name that bounced around his skull in tandem with his incessant timer.
Tick. Darling.
Tock. Darling.
Tick- He closes a chest harsher than he should have, wincing at something tumbling inside but uncaring to open and check. This was not good, he needed to get a grip. His brows pinch and a frown tugs at his lips as he shuffles through the base, free hand coming up to push his fringe from his eyes as he ducks under the archway, squinting as the last few golden rays of light illuminate the island, the distant ocean glittering like a sea of diamonds. Though, from what he remembered, all of the life games had a certain beauty to them, he did not remember a sight as beautiful as the one before him, the island him and Scott called home offering a beauty unlike anything he could remember. Scintillating throws of orange and pink paint the distant horizon, brightening a cloudless sky and casting golden honey-warmth on the landscape, his skin warmed to its touch. The flowers and fauna Scott had decorated the island with bloomed and swayed in the gentle sea breeze, his own locks ruffled by the warm breeze and tickling his forehead as he meanders, the dry grass crinkling beneath his flip-flop clad feet.
Tick. Darl-
His brows furrow further, agitation winding in his chest. God, you’d think he’d never been addressed as anything other than his name with the way he was reacting to the silly little pet name. Martyn scolds himself internally, the continuous ticking drowned out by the argument he had begun to have with himself. Scott was a friend, nothing more, nothing less. He was a pretty man, that was undeniable, but Martyn had lots of pretty friends, that was no need to start thinking this much about someone, nevermind letting an off-handed comment effect him so much. Perhaps it was the newly acquired red-life adrenaline pumping through his veins - of course it was, becoming red was always a shock to the system, everything became so much more intense. He was just being silly - he needed to kill someone, that would do it.
Both hands come to grip the plate as he approaches the edge of the island, feet nearly sliding free from his flip-flops as he halts abruptly in his tracks, eyes locking onto the man before him. In the time it taken him to gather the small feasts worth of food Scott had hiked his shorts up, kicked off his boots, and now sat with his feet dangling into the ocean, palms flat on either side of himself as he leant back, cyan locks ruffled by the gentle sea breeze and turned towards the sunset. Martyn’s red gaze immediately draws to an expanse of ivory skin, oh yes, Scott was shirtless. Huh. For a moment he forgets to breath, and his heart jack-hammers in his chest to make up for the panic in his veins as his gaze follows the curve of Scott’s spine, catching on every dip and curve, appreciative of the blue scales that curved from the base of his spine and dotted his hips and sides. His gaze travels back up, breath hitching as Scott tilts his head to the side, gazing at something in the distance, the long expanse of his neck and angular shoulders illuminated by the last golden rays of the day. Oh, this was not bloodlust, Martyn realises, mind empty as he stares appreciatively at the dip of ivory skin at the joint between Scott’s neck and shoulder, this was- this was a very pretty teammate, a good man and a capable partner, with his back turned and completely trusting of the otherwise dangerous wild-card that inhabited the island with him. Something tightens in Martyn’s chest and his stomach churns uncomfortably, palms sweating and breaths shallow as he shamelessly studies the cyanette, unknowingly tightening his jaw.
Scott seemed to have no idea of the effect he was arousing from his partner, too consumed by his own thoughts to pay the frozen man behind him any mind. A hand comes up to carve its way through the locks at the back of his head, neck stretching further with the effort and the muscles in his shoulders and back flexing. Martyn’s red eyes follow the movement, sunlight glinting in their depths, mouth parching. The bastard.
The sunset was beautiful, it was undeniable, but Scott enchanted him in a way no earthly phenomenon could. The bright hues of oranges and pinks were nothing compared to the shock of cyan hair and ivory skin that graced his vision, and Martyn soon forgot about the scenery altogether as he gazed wantonly at the unassuming man before him.
Oh, he was in trouble. He was in more than trouble, he realised, eyes still unable to tear themselves from the dip of the curve between Scott’s neck and shoulder, blue scales gleaming in the golden light. No, he was fucked.
The eyes, ever present but always just out of sight, don’t need a voice to express their mockery. Martyn can practically feel their amusement enveloping closer as his heart thumps erratically against his ribcage, not possessing the willpower to tear his eyes from the expanse of Scott’s back and neck, not even to throw those watching a scornful scowl.
“Martyn, I know I’m pretty to look at and it’s definitely not the bloodlust having you staring a hole into the back of my head, but could you either kill me or feed me because I’m going to die either way and you won’t even get the time.” A wily smirk and a flash of yellow catch his red gaze as Scott turns, long lines of his chest and neck illuminated as his torso twists. The blond’s grip on the plate he held causes the wood to creak, knuckles white.
Oh yes, he was totally, hopelessly, dangerously fucked.
