While AO3 is down I will try to post some shorts to keep you fed.
Jason doesn’t mean to make a spectacle of himself.
Jason lives to make a spectacle of himself.
Tim realizes this the moment Jason kicks the door to the safehouse open with his boot, helmet tucked under one arm, leather jacket unzipped just enough to show a patch of chest hair peeking from his V-cut shirt. And the smirk that’s about to ruin Tim’s entire evening.
Roy whistles low from the couch. “You rehearsing that entrance, or—”
Tim is trying very hard to focus on the schematics glowing on his tablet.
Jason drops his helmet on the table. It rolls. He catches it without looking. Show-off.
“Mission went smooth,” Jason says, leaning back against the table, crossing his arms. The movement pulls his jacket tight across his chest.
Roy looks between them. Grins slowly. “Oh. Oh, this is gonna be fun.”
Jason’s gaze slides to Tim. Slow. Intent. “What?”
It’s the what that does it.
All lazy confidence and challenge.
“You’re bleeding,” Tim says, because it’s safer than saying, Why do you look like that? Why do you always look like that?
Jason glances down at his side like he forgot. “It’s nothing.”
That tone works on Jason. Always has.
Jason pushes off the table and drops into the chair in front of Tim, spreading his legs slightly as he leans back.
Roy stands up. “I’m gonna go… anywhere else.”
Tim grabs the med kit and kneels between Jason’s knees to get a better angle at the wound.
And that is when everything becomes a problem.
“Personal space,” Tim mutters.
“You’re the one kneeling.”
Tim’s ears burn. “I am trying to stop you from bleeding out.”
Jason’s grin sharpens. “You’re my favorite medic, you know that?”
Tim rolls his eyes, but his hands are steady as he peels back the damaged fabric. It’s a graze. Dramatic, but shallow.
Jason flexes under his touch.
Tim presses gauze harder than necessary.
Jason tilts his head, watching him. Watching the way Tim’s lashes lower. The way his mouth presses thin when he’s concentrating.
Jason’s voice drops just slightly. “You always get like this when you’re worried.”
“Yeah?” Jason reaches up and hooks a finger under Tim’s chin, tilting his face up.
Roy makes a choking sound from the hallway and then retreats completely.
Jason’s thumb brushes just barely along Tim’s jaw. “You look worried.”
Tim’s breath stutters. He hates that Jason can do this. Just stand there all swagger and heat and reckless charm and make Tim feel like the center of the universe.
Close enough that Tim can feel the warmth of his breath.
“Relax,” Jason murmurs. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Tim’s hands tighten in Jason’s jacket.
“You’re impossible,” Tim whispers.
“Yeah,” he says. “But I’m your impossible.”
And Tim, traitor that he is, leans forward the last inch.
The kiss is quick. Hot. Sharp. All teeth and laughter and challenge.
Jason tastes like adrenaline and gunpowder and something sweet Tim can’t name.
When they pull apart, Jason’s grin is victorious.
“See?” he says. “Worth the entrance.”
Tim shoves him lightly in the chest.
“Next time,” Tim says, trying to recover some dignity, “you wait for backup.”
Jason leans back again, smirk deepening. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Tim stands, shaking his head — but he can’t hide the smile.
Jason watches him walk away, eyes dragging down and back up again.
Tim pauses at the doorway. “What.”
There is a beat of silence.
Then Tim throws a roll of gauze at his head.
Jason laughs, loud and unrestrained, the sound echoing through the safehouse like something reckless and alive.
And Tim, despite himself, laughs too.