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This has been a long time coming.
From the moment he met Jon's eyes across his desk, his voice unsure and hesitant as he asked so abruptly a question Elias had asked himself more times than he cared to admit:
“Am I… Elias, am I still human?”
From the moment he saw into the depths of his mind filled with doubt and worry and self destructive thoughts, he knew it wouldn't be long before he would be back, asking- begging for the one thing only Elias could give him.
So when Jon steps into his office that evening unannounced, looking so utterly defeated, Elias has to focus to hide his glee.
He doesn't speak, allowing Jon his moment of apparent quiet contemplation, as he shifts through his thoughts as he would sort through statements, tossing the unnecessary to the side as he searches for the perfect answer he knows he won't be able to find.
His expression shifts minutely as his mouth opens and closes in an attempt to form words. Elias finally relents.
“Care to take a seat, Jon?” He gestures towards the chair opposite, and watches as Jon's eyes flick between his hand and the proffered seat, hands fidgeting at his sides.
“You look like you have something on your mind.” He says, as Jon takes a few tentative steps towards his desk. He can almost taste the anxiety seeping from Jon's mind as he approaches, and he battles to keep his expression neutral.
“You know there are certain things I can't discuss with you, and you're aware your compulsion only gets you so far.” He tilts his head to the side, locking eyes with Jon who, still standing, rests his hands against the back of the empty chair.
“E-Elias I… I don't really know why I'm here.” Elias swallows, pushing the giddy self satisfaction down. He raises his hands, crosses his fingers and sets his chin on them, keeping his posture relaxed.
“Are you sure, Jon? I doubt very much that you'd come here with no cause at all.” He sees it then, the flicker of Jon's gaze from his eyes to his lips, so slight it would have been missed by anyone less observant.
“You can tell me. I thought I made myself clear enough that I am in no position to judge you for what you're becoming. In fact, judgement is the furthest from my intentions, Jon.” Elias doesn't miss the glimmer in Jon's eyes at his words, and he allows his lips to twitch into the faintest hint of a smile.
“I-I know. I think I know that. Perhaps that's why…” Jon balls his hands into fists against the fabric of the chair. He can smell it now, the fear; it's radiating from him in waves.
The fear of admittance, the fear of rejection, the fear of his own desires and it takes all of Elias's willpower to stay seated and not to just take from Jon what he knows he wants.
“Why what, Jon?” For a moment, their eyes lock, and Elias can hear his inner workings as if they were his own; a cacophony of doubts, and questions all being led astray by an underlying want, haloed by the strong tang of fear.
“There's no shame in desire.” He stands up from his seat, clasping his hands behind his back. “Desire is at the core of our very being; it's very human to desire, Jon.” He lets the words roll off his tongue as he takes slow, methodical steps around his desk, stopping just short of Jon.
“Now tell me, why are you really here?” Within a few heartbeats, Jon's thoughts go suddenly silent, the air in the room suddenly heavy, and within a few more, Jon is upon him.
His hands grab at the lapels of Elias's suit jacket and he feels his back make contact with the wall before Jon's lips are on his. He can no longer hold back a smile as his hands reach around Jon's body to pull him close, swallowing the groan that escapes Jon's throat as their hips press together.
He senses Jon's momentary hesitation as the press of lips softens and takes the opportunity to take Jon's hands in his own, twisting him bodily until their positions are switched with Elias's hands pinning Jon's wrists against the wall.
He takes the opportunity at Jon's gasp to slip his tongue between his lips, savouring the taste of coffee and tobacco and the undeniable notes of fear that he wants to savour like a delicacy.
He feels Jon's body go slack against his as his tongue presses against his own, eagerly pushing back, groaning openly as Elias rolls their hips together again.
He pulls back, breaking contact with Jon whose eyes are half lidded and glazed as he locks with them.
“Tell me what you want, Jon.” He leans back in, pressing his lips to Jon's throat, tracing the now-healed scar with his tongue as he feels Jon's throat bob with a heavy swallow.
“You. N-Need you. Need you to make me feel…” human, he can hear the thought that stays hidden behind Jon's lips, but is clear all the same. Elias bites into the skin of his neck, savouring the full body shudder it gains him, before stepping back from Jon entirely, letting his arms drop listlessly to his side.
“Of course, but not here.” He holds out his hand, both as a question and an invitation; one which Jon gladly takes.
It takes a surprisingly short time to get Jon naked and spread on his bed but now that he has him here, he’s in no rush. It turns out that when guided by a desire that confuses him as much as drives him, Jon responds to orders beautifully.
But Elias still has a lot of work to do.
Jon's thoughts are muddled, distracted and far too negative for Elias's liking. His posture is tense and, although his cock is responding in earnest as Elias's lips trace the contours of his skin, he knows he isn't t fully in the moment.
“You're beautiful, Jon. You know that, don't you?” Elias can almost feel the flush radiating from his skin as he runs his tongue up his chest, grazing a nipple on passing, before lifting himself onto his elbows.
“Tell me what's wrong. I need to know I'm not doing anything you don't want.” He saw Jon's eyes widen at the almost accusation, before they begin darting about, trying to fixate on anything but Elias's gaze.
“I just, don't understand how you say that so easily. Because I'm not, I'm just…” damaged, broken, monstrous, “not.”
“Oh Jon, I say it so easily because it's true, because you are.” Elias settles back, situating himself between Jon's legs, lifting his thighs to spread him wider as he reaches for the bottle to his side.
“Just see for yourself.” Elias shares his own view, laced with just a sliver of the admiration he feels as his eyes slowly slide up Jon's body. He hears Jon gasp as he raises a hand to cover his face, his cock twitching and body squirming as his mind is flooded with the image of his own body.
Elias slicks up his fingers as he eases Jon back out from his vision. His hand is balled at his side, gripping the covers as he speaks.
“I- I don't understand, Elias. I still don't understand.” How can you look at me like that? How can you see me like this and still think of me as beautiful? Elias runs his clean hand gently up and down Jon's side, pressing his slick fingers against his entrance, petting at his hole gently.
“You don't need to understand, Jon. Just accept that it's how I see you, how I think of you.” He pushes a finger past Jon's rim, sinking into his heat slowly, finding and pressing against his prostate, biting back a moan of his own as Jon's back bows beautifully.
He focuses on massaging that spot, of wringing wonderful sounds out of Jon as he slips in another, pumping and scissoring, stretching him until he slides in a third.
“Elias, p-please.”
“So lovely, you're going to look beautiful speared on my cock, aren't you Jon?” The question wasn't rhetorical and he sets his gaze heavy upon Jon's lidded eyes, awaiting an answer. He reaches over almost casually to pump more lube into his hand, reaching down to slick up his cock, fingers still deep in Jon sliding in and out at a pace he knows is too slow.
“Answer me and you can have my cock.” He slides his fingers out at that, resting the tip of his erection against Jon's entrance. He hears Jon whine in response, fisting the sheets.
“Yes, I will.”
“You will what, Jon?”
“I-I’ll look l-lovely for you.”
“Very good.” He presses firmly against his rim still not pushing inside. “Now, tell me you're deserving of this. Tell me you're good enough, that you deserve my cock. That you deserve to come undone for me, Jon.” He's gripping Jon's hips to hold him still, fighting back against his own need to just sink into him. But he can be patient.
“I… I am. I d-deserve it, Elias. Please, I do, I need it- ahh!” Elias pushes into him in one firm thrust, bottoming out and letting out a ragged groan of his own as the heat swallows him.
He wastes no time, setting a rough pace, goaded on by Jon's uninhibited moans, the way his whole body spasms with each thrust that grazes his prostate, the way his hands reach to grab onto anything that can ground him.
Elias sends him bursts of projections, shows him how he looks, how he feels and it almost pushes him over the edge with how tightly Jon clenches around him each time.
“You're fucking perfect, Jon.” He lets the mask slip ever so slightly, caught up in the sensations and sounds that his Archivist is making because of him. “You're wonderful, beautiful. Are you going to come for me now?”
He grabs Jon's cock, soaked with pre come and strokes him in time with each movement of his hips, and it isn't long before Jon's body tenses, inner walls squeezing Elias near painfully. He spills over his stomach with a cry of Elias's name, the sound being enough to push Elias over with him, thrusting into him deeply and spilling within him, squeezed dry by the aftershocks of Jon's orgasm.
He takes a moment to breathe, to centre himself again as he slowly softens and slips out of Jon, the sound of their breaths filling the now quiet room. Jon speaks so quietly, he almost misses it.
“Thank you. Thank you, Elias.” The words make his chest ache with a sudden and fierce possessiveness, and god he wants to consume him, he wants to mark him and make him his own.
If he were younger, his cock would be stirring back to life again, but for now he'll do what he can. He moves up the bed, settling next to Jon who shuffles close, resting his head against Elias's chest and wrapping his arms around his torso.
He can hear quiet sobbing, can see the shuddering of Jon's chest and can feel the coolness of tears against his skin. He smiles to himself as he runs a soothing hand up and down Jon's skin, lingering at each scar as he goes. He knows this catharsis is what Jon needs, and now, Jon knows it too, and knows where he can get it.
When Jon's body goes still and Elias can hear the telltale heavy breaths of sleep, he extracates himself from Jon's grip to go to the bathroom, casting back a cursory glance as he does.
Seeing Jon dishevelled and satisfied, spread on his bed covered in their combined fluids, he knows he's made his mark; and that it's deeper than any of the numerous scars littering his body could ever hope to be.