Loathing, Unadulterated Loathing pt. 3
Summary: Tim's had the worst day ever. Maybe in all of recorded history. When he returns home from a particularly frustrating patrol, he finds himself calling you to be an outlet for his grievances.
CW: p in v (unprotected, don't try this at home), rough sex, hair pulling, choking, spanking (light, brief), they are still rivals, frustrated!tim, degradation, dirty talk, dacryphillia, Tim lowk catching feelings, no aftercare
Word count: 1.9k
Tim rips his cowl off, panting. He's had the worst day, ever- it was like the fates were out to get him, boiling his blood intentionally.
It had started off with a glass of orange juice being spilled directly down the front of his outfit, causing him to be late to class from changing and showering to scrub the stickiness off of his skin.
Then he tripped and skinned his arm almost running in order to not miss the big exam. He'd had to improvise, ripping a scrap of one of his layers of shirts off to wrap around his arm. If there was one thing he'd learned from being a vigilante, it was that a little scrape wouldn't kill him. Probably.
He hadn't studied the week prior, since he figured he already knew the material from a previous class- additionally, being Robin at night was eating away all his free time. Being a masked vigilante came with negatives, and less sleep was often one of them. He'd spent years behind the mask, yet he disregarded some priorities still. After all, his social life was flourishing, and so was his dating life. Everyone seemed to love Tim Drake.
However, this turned out to be a mistake, because that afternoon when the professor put the grades in, he did worse than he had thought. And the professor was worried about the dots of blood on the page that had escaped his makeshift binding. A note saying talk to me later about this was scrawled out in red ink next to the circles that had faded to brown.
His fingers had dug directly into the roots of his hair when you'd grinned and shoved the paper with the bright A+ on it in his face. Just what he'd needed after his grade came back, especially with that stupid note. Not. "C'mon, what'd you get?" You'd challenged, itching to best him again.
Always back and forth, back and forth- a nagging habit that had only worsened into a compulsion as you'd started sleeping together. You seemed to only make each other worse now, since there were more stakes involved than just showing up another student in class. It was something deeper now, something personal.
Tim's teeth had grit together as his eyes darted back down to his paper with a B- on it. He glanced back up at you. "None of your business. Leave me alone."
He crumpled up the paper into a ball without looking at it and haphazardly tossed it into a nearby trash bin. It missed.
You had snickered, continuing to follow him on campus and ignoring his death threats as you rubbed it in his face that you won this one. It was significant, as it wasn't as if you were pushing his face into the pillows every Thursday night. Tim didn't let you act out the same transgressions against him that he had the pleasure of doing himself to you.
However, the words "Guess you're finally starting to slip from the academic ranks, Drake," rang in his head after that. Tim Drake didn't slip. He never slipped.
The test scores had already put him into a sour mood, but it only worsened from there. The criminal that he was catching tonight was evasive- quick and acrobatic. And he was on patrol alone, since it was a quieter night.
They vaulted across buildings like it was something that they did for fun, snickering like something was hilarious. A normal person would have gotten tired after the first ten or so buildings, but this clown enjoyed the chase. They even did backflips as they leaped across the narrow slivers of air separating the brick structures.
And it wasn't as it was some prolific criminal, either, someone high-status like Harley Quinn or the Riddler. He got stuck with a chase over some random D-list villain calling themselves The Bendy. No, scrap that- E-tier, even.
They were nothing but a petty thief who had stolen a whole bag of money from a local grocery store's cash register after holding them up.
Tim felt insulted- this was more of a police job, whether the criminal was wearing spandex or not.
And yet here he was, feeling his body ache the longer he had to run across Gotham to catch this nutcase.
He was only involved because technically, this wasn't the first time The Bendy had stolen something- they had just lowered the bar from the previous theft of a rich woman's jewels from her home. But his breath still came in a frustrated huff of air as he snagged the end of their cape.
By the time the job was finally done, he was weary from the long day and the chase and covered in a handful of bruises. His skin stung where he cleaned his scrape out, matching his pride. He hadn't even taken a beating, but that low-level criminal had still made him look like a total fool. At least no one saw, he reasoned. But his temper wasn't so easily extinguished, after everything.
Tim kicks at a pile of clothes he still had to fold, throwing a pillow across the room and huffing. All that work- for nothing! His patrol tonight just to catch a petty thief; his intelligence, just to fail the test today; his work to keep you in your place, just for you to one-up him again.
His body was a little bruised and sore, but as he peels off his suit, he knows that there's only one thing that will make him feel better: the source of some of his frustration.
He snatches his phone up, pressing your number in. "Come over. Now." Is all he grits out, hearing your "what? What happened to hel-" as he hangs up, cutting you off before you can ask a multitude of questions.
Right now, Tim doesn't have time for any questions; he's already at the end of his fuse. He knows you'll come over anyways. As much as you loathe him, you're nothing if not curious. He's stopped mocking you for it, just in case you gain more common sense and stop coming over altogether. As much as your presence annoys him most times, the physical relief he gets is more than worth it.
It's not fair, he knows it's not fair, because you're only a quarter the reason why he's so pissed, why he needs this.
But he can't help himself- not when you're here and okay with it. Not when your lips meet his the second you walk in the door, letting him taste you as he guides you to the bed. Not when your clothes slide so easily off your frame as his impatient hands rip them off. Not when you feel so soft, so warm, like such a perfect outlet for everything he's been through today. He can't help it when pretty tears start to well up in your eyes and your thighs are shaking under him.
"Stop- running," he snaps in a heave of breath, fingers digging harshly into your hips when you squirm away from the pleasure.
Your lips part, almost drooling against the pillow as you mutter something about it being too much, already sensitive from finishing. Tim, wrought with frustration, hasn't taken it easy on you tonight, and the roughness only served to fry your brain faster. He thinks his bedframe might have cracked if he had gone just a little harder when it knocked against the wall in time with his thrusts.
When he pulls out slightly, he can see how his cock is coated in your wet gloss from when you'd soaked him. Tim shakes his head, knees pushing yours apart further.
"I can't stand- everyone running from me tonight, ugh," Tim groans against the back of your neck. Thankfully, you're too spacey to even think about what he's saying right now. Because if you did, it wouldn't make any sense.
His teeth dig into the side of your neck at your responding whimper, hand smacking your ass. "Take it, I just need you to take it-" his cock nails that sweet spot in you, and your thighs tremble. His nails bite into your hips, leaving marks. "Annoying bitch, always pestering me- fuckkkk," his thrusts start to get sloppy.
Tim closes his eyes and feels the stress leaving him as warmth fills you, his hips insistently jutting forwards a couple more times before he sighs deeply and leans back.
Even when he pulls out, you're still lying there, slumped on his bed. Tim rolls his eyes, some of that annoyance flickering back, alongside a strange new emotion. Something almost- no. Not that. But something that almost makes him think you look cute like that, all fucked out and tired.
He swats at your thigh impatiently after a minute crawls by. "Get up. I can't sleep here tonight if you're all strung out across my bed." One of his dark eyebrows arches up, hearing you only mumble as a response.
Tim considers, for half a second, gently picking you up, maybe even cleaning you off. Maybe letting you stay here, just on a different side of the bed so you don't infect him. Or even the impossible, having you curled up against him peacefully for the night.
As soon as the thought forms, he's shoving you off, seeing your form tumble to the floor. Impulsive, perhaps, but he couldn't stand the wave of sickening care that he felt towards you; it needed to be counteracted. To balance the universe again. "Ow!" You instantly yelp, and he peers over the side of his huge four-poster bed to look at you, jolted back into the real world, rubbing your back.
Your eyes find his, glaring up at him as you get up on wobbly legs, cheeks heating in humiliation. It was one thing to be fucked stupid by Tim; it was quite another to be shoved off the bed afterwards like some useless sex toy.
"I'm done- done with this," you find the words after wiping his dripping cum from your thighs and shoving your pajama pants back on. It's like Tim had channeled his frustration into you instead of quenching it altogether.
You didn't expect to be cuddled or anything after sex, but to be thrown out right away? It felt heartless, even for him.
Tim almost laughs, since you usually say that after he's done with you. But he falters at the look on your face- the way it's set: determined, rather than the usual tired expression that follows the declaration. He runs a hand through his shaggy hair.
"No, you're not. Listen-" he begins slowly. You shake your head, snatching your coat and spinning on your heel. "Wait!" He calls back after you. What he'd say, he's not exactly sure, but he never gets the chance to charm you out of it, as you leave in a huff.
Tim flops back on his bed, groaning. "Fuck." As if he needed any other reason to add to the list of why this day sucked. He sucks in a breath through his teeth, racking his brain for a plan. You were just such a satisfying lay, unfortunately; he couldn't afford to lose that. Maybe he'd find some way to suck it up and get you back in his sheets. Worn ragged by the day, his eyes flutter closed as he ponders on the new issue.
