“Uh. Tim, it’s the middle of July and also eight o’ clock at night.”
“I know, I just…” he stumbled forward and face-planted into Jason’s chest. Jason grunted at the the impact and blinked down at him uncertainly.
“Timbo, did you skip sleeping again this week?” he teased lightly, leaning back slightly so he could sneak a hand between his chest and Tim’s forehead.
“No, I… jus’ wanna snow day. Day in. Stay in,” he mumbled nonsensically.
“Tim, you’re burning up!” Jason exclaimed, grabbing the smaller man’s shoulders and peeling him away from his chest.
Tim groaned at the loss of contact. “Ngnnn. Feel like shit.”
“Well, you didn’t look like shit five minutes ago…” Jason rubbed a thumb across Tim’s cheek and flinched away aghast at how much foundation rubbed off, revealing fever-reddened skin. “Holy shit, how much makeup are you wearing?! Did you go into work like this?”
“Mmmfgh. Yeahhhhh. Now I wan’ a snow day. It’s so coooold,” he whined deliriously, swaying perilously in Jason’s grip. He shot forward in alarm as Tim tilted away from him, quickly ducking down and pulling one of Tim’s arms over his shoulder.
“Okay, Babybird, we’ll take a snow day-”
“…so c-cold… snuggle…”
“Yeah, we’ll snuggle up together right after we go see Alfred about some hot chocolate,” Jason reassured him. “Some very special 'hot chocolate’-”
“Mmm?”
“Yep, Alfie will fix up us up with blankets and snacks and antibiotics and a fuck ton of fluids,” Jason rambled cheerfully as he steered Tim towards the entrance to cave.
“Soun’s good…n’ then…”
“And then what, Timbo?” he asked absently as he opened the clock in the study and began their descent one step at a time. “ALFRED?!”
Tim flinched at the shout. “Shhhh, you’re fine, it’s all fine, we just gotta make sure Alfie’s down there, okay, Timmers?” They both breathed a tiny sigh of relief when they heard Alfred’s faint reply drift up the stairs.
“Master Jason?”
“Sick Timmy incoming, Alfie!”
“Good Heavens, again?”
Jason snorted lightly then choked when Tim tried to pull out of his grasp.
“Mmgrhph! Not sick. Cold!”
Jason rolled his eyes and pulled him closer. “Okay, well, then stay close to me, silly. I’ll keep you warm. We’re almost there.”
They took a few more steps in silence and then Tim mumbled, “Jay?”
“Timmy?”
“Jaaaaaaay?”
“Yeeeeees?”
“After Alfie…” Tim paused and looked up at him - later Jason would swear he saw a lucid, mischievous spark in Tim’s fever-glazed eyes before the next words left his lips - “Do you wanna build a snowman?”
“Oh my fucking G-”
“Master Jason!”
Tim began giggling uncontrollably while still steadily meeting Jason’s gaze, now with a touch of amusement, and it was then that Jason began to strongly suspect that Tim was both a) fully aware that he was actually very sick and b) not nearly as delirious or misinformed about the weather as he pretended to be.
“You little troll,” Jason growled, “I don’t care if you’re sick, if you start singing, I swear…”
Tim continued giggling throughout his entire examination and consequent treatment, sporadically humming snatches of a vaguely familiar tune until Jason growled obscenities and swatted lightly at the back of his head, thus proving, once and for all, that it takes more than a fever and some chills to take the sass out of Tim Drake.
Hello my lovelies! After a very hectic past few days I’ve finally gotten the chance to sit down with my computer and go through all of the postings. I’m currently checking in with anyone who hasn’t posted yet to get an idea of where the unaccounted gifts currently are. If you haven’t received a gift yet, or haven’t been notified of your gift being posted, and would like an update, you’re more than welcome to send me a message or ask and I can let you know the status of your gift!
More barista!Tim and @jaytimsecretsanta Christmas in July day 10: Exotic Vacation (that actually isn’t that exotic)
Tim smiled, not even paying attention to what was playing on the t.v. in his apartment. Jason’s arms were wrapped around him and they were laying on his couch, his head pillowed on Jason’s chest.
After their first date, they’d spent more time with each other away from Tim’s work and Jason’s night job. Even if they didn’t go out often, Tim was more than happy to spend a night in on his couch with Jason at his side.
The shot of the movie they were watching changed, panning out from a palm tree and waves crashing on a beach. Tim sighed.
“I could use a vacation in a place like that,” he muttered.
“So let’s go,” Jason mumbled into his hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of his head.
Tim raised an eyebrow and sat up, bracing an arm against Jason’s chest so he could look him in the eye.
“What?” Jason asked.
“What do you mean, let’s go?” he asked.
“I mean, let’s go. You want to go on a vacation so let’s go on vacation. Let’s go to the beach. I could probably steal one of Batman’s planes and we could go to a private island,” he said with a smirk.
“We can’t just go on a vacation,” Tim said.
“Why not? You want to go.”
“Yeah, but I have work and you have work. We can’t just up and leave whenever we want. My boss would kill me.”
Jason sighed. “You obviously want to go, though.”
Tim shrugged and laid his head back down on Jason’s chest. “I know I want to go, but we can’t. Maybe some other time.”
Jason tightened his grip around him and looked back at the movie they were watching.
~~
Tim was humming along to the music playing over the speakers and wiping down the counters when the door was pushed open behind him. He turned with a smile, his greeting dying on his lips when he looked over the three masked men holding guns.
He swallowed. “Can I...can I help you?” he asked.
The one in front leveled the barrel of his gun at Tim. “You’re coming with us.”
“What?” he asked, gripping the towel tighter in his hands.
“You deaf?” the one behind the leader asked. “He said, you’re coming with us.”
“Don’t think about struggling,” the leader continued. “Boss said we can mess you up as much as we like as long as it’s not fatal.”
Tim set the towel down, balling his hands into fists to hide the shaking. As scared as he was, he wasn’t going to let it show.
“Let’s go,” the second one who’d spoken snapped, stalking over to him. He grabbed Tim by the collar and pulled him out from behind the counter.
The one who hadn’t said anything, stepped forward. He grabbed Tim’s wrists and looped rope around them, tying it off sharply. A sack was thrown over his head and Tim sucked in a harsh breath.
Tim stumbled when he was pushed forward and he tried to keep his breathing under control. He didn’t need to start hyperventilating or have a panic attack when he was surrounded by men with guns and couldn’t see anything. The air was hot and stuffy under the sack. He fought to relax and breath, but his anxiety wasn’t abated when he was thrown into the back of a van.
He felt it move underneath him and sat up, drawing his knees to his chest. Wherever he was going, he hoped Jason would still be able to find him.
After what felt like forever, and many falls because of how sharply the driver was taking the turns, they finally came to a stop. Tim looked around even though he couldn’t see anything from underneath the sack.
Rough hands pulled him from the back of the van. They dragged him by his shirt collar and he fought to keep up with their quick strides. Metal squeaked and he was shoved through a door, the floor changing underneath his feet and nearly making him trip again.
He was turned and pulled backwards, landing harshly in a metal chair. The sack was pulled from his head and Tim looked around. A larger group of men with guns stood around him and a man wearing a cheap, gaudy suit and smoking a cigar stood in front of him.
“So this is the pretty boy Red Hood has his mitts all over,” he said in a smoke roughened voice as he knocked the ashes from the end of his cigar. “Those idiots better be right about him caring about you as much as he does. I’d hate to splatter your brains all over the place because he couldn’t be bothered to make an appearance.”
Tim stared at him, his heart beating quickly in his chest. This was different from the time he’d been robbed at gunpoint. Tim could tell that killing wasn’t a problem for this guy and it wouldn’t matter what he said if Jason didn’t show up.
“You’re quiet,” he continued. “I like that. You won’t get on my nerves.” He turned to face the front entrance. “Red Hood better not keep me waiting long.”
Tim kept his eyes forward as the minutes ticked by. He didn’t want to look at the men surrounding him. They shifted on their feet often and Tim was worried if he looked the wrong way, they were bored enough to start hurting him. He tracked the amount of time that passed by how much the boss smoked of the cigar. It was almost down to the bud and there wasn’t any sign that Jason was nearby.
“Well,” the boss said, flicking his cigar to the floor. “I guess he’s not gonna show. It’s a-”
The door clanged open and Tim swallowed, heart jumping into his throat. A broad figure stood there before he started forward. The men around Tim pointed their weapons at him and the boss started to chuckle, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Looks like you finally showed up. I thought you weren’t gonna make it. Was worried my boys were wrong about your little toy.”
“He’s not my toy,” Jason growled. Tim swallowed. He’d never heard so much anger in his voice before. “But that doesn’t mean you’re allowed to touch him.” He stopped a few feet from the boss, hands clenched at his sides. “Are you hurt, Tim?”
“N-no,” he said. He swallowed his voice sounding shaky and small to his own ears. “But this isn’t what I meant by wanting an exotic vacation.”
Jason chuckled. “If you can still make jokes like that then you’re going to be just fine. Maybe next time you’ll listen when I say I want to take you away. Don’t worry, I’ll have you out of here in five minutes.”
The boss growled. “Think again, you’re not getting out of here ali-oof!”
Tim blinked. Jason had moved without anyone noticing and punched the boss, sending him sprawling to the floor. Most of the gunmen stared before they realized they were holding weapons in their hands. By the time they started shooting, Jason had his own guns out and shot the first two in the legs.
He weaved and dodged as pained screams filled the air. Tim watched, enraptured as the men rushed past him, leaving him mostly unguarded. He looked around, hoping to escape their notice since he hadn’t been tied to the chair.
He stood, ready to run, when someone grabbed the back of his shirt. He choked when he was pulled backwards and felt cold metal press to the side of his head.
“Stop right there, Hood.”
The boss had recovered and slipped around the rest of the group without Jason noticing. Jason shot the man he was grappling with in the leg before shoving him to the floor by the throat.
“One more step and your pretty boy gets it,” he hissed.
“Don’t you dare,” Jason hissed, voice filled with wrath and anger. He raised his gun and pointed it at the boss. Tim squeezed his eyes shut, worried the next shot was going to go straight into his brain. “Open your eyes, Tim,” Jason said, gently.
He blinked reluctantly and looked at Jason’s helmet, wishing he could see his eyes. The eyes he’d gotten so familiar with.
“Duck,” Jason said. A shot rang through the air and Tim dropped his weight without thinking. Another shot exploded over his head and he twisted back to find the barrel that had been pressed against his head had discharged. The boss’s eyes were wide. He staggered back and looked down, pressing a hand to his chest. It came away bloody and he looked up at Jason before falling to the ground.
“Come on,” Jason murmured as he walked over to Tim. He pulled Tim to his feet and Tim threw his arms over Jason’s head since his wrists were still tied. He squeezed tightly as his whole body started to shake. “Let’s get you home,” Jason murmured.
If you enjoy my work, please reblog or consider buying me a ko-fi!
AO3 Link: All Revved Up & Nowhere To Go
Pairing: JayTim
Summary: Tim dips out of prom early; he definitely doesn’t expect Jason Todd to pick him up.
Comments: My Secret Santa for @assclass-more-like-assholeclass. First time participating in the @jaytimsecretsanta exchange~ Hope you like it!
Tim watched the dance floor with tired eyes, the world around him glowing and kaleidoscopic. Brilliant stretches of colored cloth draped across the banquet hall, pearl-colored streamers tangled in their folds – and the lighting, dim and sheathed by decor, made the space look like a sprawling neon storm.
“ Oh my god,” Cassie said, emerging from the fray, her coiled up-do loose with curls. Her cheeks were flushed and her dress wafted like starlight – a swathe of dark blue powdered in tiny beads of glitter that caught every bit of flickering light. “Why aren’t you dancing? ”
Tim, sitting in relative darkness at one of the abandoned tables, opened his mouth to comment – but lost his words to the sight of a hand curling around Cassie’s waist from behind.
“Have you seen Tim dance?” Conner Kent laughed, slipping next to Cassie, pulling her closer by the hip. The red in his cheeks climbed to her ears and she bit her lower lip, looking like a girl swept up and into a fairytale, all magic and stardust, paired with a real-life knight in shining armor.
“Ha ha,” Tim replied, with no real bite. It gave him the opportunity to take in Conner’s appearance for the umpteenth time; slicked back hair, sleek rented suit, a boutonniere that could pass for a small, fledgling midnight sky – and dark, warm eyes and impossible dimples and squared shoulders that made Tim shift uncomfortably in his chair.
Conner said, “This dance was expensive – come on, dance with us,” and he held out a hand, looking brilliant and kind and smiling like as he always smiled, ever since they’d first met in first grade.
Tim saw it though, the way that Cassie’s grin wavered, just for a moment; he’d been friends with her for nearly as long and knew what this night meant, and thought, blandly, that this was what it felt like to be a third wheel.
“I’ve got to go to the bathroom,” Tim prompted, rising from his chair with casual grace. He was good at acting when he wanted to be, and so he donned an easy smile and shooed them off. “Have fun. I’ll find you later?”
Conner’s brows did that thing , the one where he was trying to read between the lines; it meant he suspected Tim might be lying but couldn’t quite get to the heart of it – but Cassie, unaware, let out a startled gasp as a slow song bled into the room.
“I love this one! Oh my god , we have to dance–” and Tim watched her long, slender fingers curl around the cuff of Conner’s sleeve as she took a few steps backwards, beckoning him back to the lazy, romantic sway.
Conner gave Tim a questioning look as he was tugged backwards, and Tim, being Tim, offered a wry two-fingered salute. And then Tim turned, not really wanting Conner’s lingering attention, equally burnt out of watching anymore awkward, budding adults practice the twelve-inch rule.
Sighing, he set off.
Around the hall, music reverberated. It was a gust of notes competing with the soft breath of air conditioning, interlaced with the tinkling sound of silverware against china as some prom-goers finished their desserts. Laughter spilled from unexpected places, and small clusters of girls stood off the the side, grinning as they stood, barefoot, heels dangling from their hands.
They were pretty. Everyone was. It felt likes a spell had been cast over the bargain bin populace of Gotham High, a Cinderella-like magic that gave the gift of spilling gowns and golden crowns, pearled cufflinks and lavish silk ties.
And Tim, stepping into the bathroom and pausing in front of the mirror, wondered how one could look the part and still somehow not fit in.
Dark hair, combed back.
Bright eyes, too blue against the paleness of his skin.
A suit, all sharp edges, all business – just like his dad. How could anyone put on a suit and have it feel like anything but?
Throwing on the tap, Tim doused his hands in water and ran them back through his hair, loosening the gel that held it so rigidly in place. It came apart like rebellion, and he thought, if his reflection were in a magazine, it would be fashion . Here – amidst a dance set on formality, he simply looked undone.
When the door opened behind him, ushering in a handsy couple, Tim made up his mind.
Prom – it just wasn’t for him.
There was no enchantment to boredom, no real magic in celebrating high school to begin with.
Slipping out was easier than it should have been; dipping past teachers as he tugged his tie loose felt less like stealth and more like escape. The ground buzzed with bass-line as Tim weaved between elegant, draping pinafores and glitzy tulle dresses, bumping shoulders with grinning athletes holding cups that reeked of contraband liquor.
One of Conner’s teammates caught Tim’s eyes and tried to say hi , but Tim was already halfway out the door, pulling his phone from his pocket.
I’m sorry, but can you come pick me up?
Tim typed the text as he walked, his eyes scanning the hotel’s lot. It was packed to the brim with cars, and Tim lamented the fact his dad was one of those dads – one who was making him work to save to buy his own.
His phone vibrated and Dick replied: Already?
The sound of Tim’s shoes scuffing pavement almost seemed to echo. A couple of times, the front doors to the hotel opened behind him and he was caught in a sudden, sweeping draft of outpouring music. Against his neck, the notes seemed to chase him, as if trying to lure him back.
Yeah, he typed another text to Dick. For measure, he added, I’m bored.
While it was true, it wasn’t the entire truth. That had more to do with a crush long withered that somehow still had roots and, every once in a while, chose to remind Tim at incredibly inconvenient times.
Why was Conner Kent so impossible to get over?
The question haunted him, even though the answer was simple.
Because no one else knew him like that. No one else knew his favorite movies by heart, could recite quotes back and forth with practiced ease. No one else really got him, or knew what he’d gone through years back, when his mom had passed and his dad had lost it and Tim had spent nearly every other night climbing out of his window and clambering into Conner’s car, where they drove off and into the night, telling tall tales of where their lives would take them.
Tim had always thought they’d be side-by-side...
...but sports and tech scholarships didn’t really go together and that meant none of their college applications matched up.
With a sigh, Tim glanced down at his phone, where Dick had sent the message: I’m sending Jason .
Tim froze.
“Jason?” he asked aloud. No one was close enough to hear, and there definitely wasn’t anyone nearby to diffuse the definitive confusion in Tim’s tone.
Jason.
Jason.
Dick’s younger, somewhat-recently adopted brother, all leather jackets and quick wit – the type of guy you didn’t just talk to, because one sharp glare meant murder. Even though Tim wasn’t feeling prom, this alternative left him feeling a bit like: I’m too young to die .
He’d never been alone with Jason, much less shared more than a muffled hello , when Jason had dropped by the diner to complain to Dick about something, only to catch Tim in the storeroom instead. And, from unintentional eavesdropping, Tim had only learned a whopping three things: one, that Jason was less than two years older than him; two, that Jason had been to juvie, and three: that he apparently liked literature which, when looking at him, made absolutely no sense.
Not that Tim wasn’t an advocate for not judging books by their covers, but Jason’s cover was pretty Mad Max , and Pride and Prejudice just didn’t seem to fit the bill.
He was an enigma, really.
But Tim supposed that he was as well.
It took a few rounds of pacing before Tim got a text, and for a split second, he thought it might be Dick. Instead, it was Conner, asking where he was – which, for a moment, stoked that pitiful little undying fire until Tim made the conscious choice to snuff it.
Tried to find you, he lied, before adding: Headed home. Have fun. It earned a slew of replies; Conner asking again where he was, then asking why, then asking if he was okay.
And Tim – he didn’t answer right away because he was annoyed. He typed out and deleted just go dance three times before rolling his eyes, but the delay was a mistake; Conner came looking for him, and Tim was an idiot, standing on the hotel’s sidewalk in plain sight.
“Hey,” Conner said, and Tim noticed that Cassie wasn’t with him, which, really, didn’t mean much of anything. Conner had a knowing look when he said, “You’re bored, aren’t you?”
Tim took that and ran with it because it wasn’t entirely untrue. “I’m dying,” Tim said. “But seriously, go have fun.”
The expression that crossed Conners’ face was unfamiliar – not guilt, but close. He said, “It’s not...it’s not because of me and–” and was forced to stop, his words overlapped by someone else’s voice.
“Oi, Timmers. We got a date, or what?”
Tim frowned just before tossing a look over his shoulder, completely caught off guard by the fact that Jason was pulled over less than ten feet away, hazard lights flashing in a no-parking zone, eyes glued to Tim as he leaned across the middle consul and into the passenger seat.
“Who is that?” Conner asked, bewildered.
And Tim, having lost all sense of self-preservation for the sake of what felt like an opportunity, replied, “My date.”
Conner’s brows crinkled in concern.
“Tell Cass I said bye,” Tim smiled. Before he’d realized it, he’d turned and when his fingers met with the cold metal of the car’s handle he glanced back, offering Conner a small, departing wave.
Tim didn’t wait for a rebuttal before he pulled back the door and slid inside, the seat cool through the fabric of his pants. As he drew the seatbelt across his chest, he lifted his gaze, catching Jason’s eyes on his boutonniere, on the suit – on Tim’s general state of formal disarray.
“Can I help you?” Tim asked, because Jason seemed like the type you had to hold your own to and not give an inch.
The question earned a quirked eyebrow, and under the glow of the interior lights, Tim learned fact number four: Jason’s eyes were green. They were also intense, and even though Jason was barely older, his jawline was sharp, giving him an expert glare that Tim suspected could compete with his own.
Flicking off the car’s emergency lights, Jason leaned between them to grip the shift and tapped the gas beneath his foot. The engine hummed happily, anxious for him to release the clutch.
“All revved up with no place to go,” he sang, voice low and teasing.
Tim couldn’t help but feel like it was a pass at his attire, but his response came before he could really digest. “Meatloaf?” he asked. “Really?”
It was satisfying to see Jason look even the smallest bit surprised. “ I was nothing but an all-American boy– ”
“Could you not?” Tim interrupted, flattening invisible creases in his lapel. Then, to no one in particular and born from complete bewilderment, he asked, “Meatloaf?”
“Classic rock,” Jason emphasized, and he finally let off the clutch, giving his car the opportunity to peel out of the lot.
When the seatbelt didn’t constrict, Tim found himself clutching the edges of his seat. He could feel Jason’s eyes on him, but when he peered over, Jason was quick to look away.
Tim said, “Prom,” like that explained everything.
“I can see that,” Jason replied.
“What else do you see?” Tim asked, because sarcasm without sarcasm was tragedy.
Jason caught him completely off guard, however, when he said, “That the boutonniere I bought for you looks good.”
Tim parted his lips, completely prepared for some smart-mouthed reply, only to close them, bewildered. “You...what? Dick bought me this.”
Saying it was embarrassing; it was enough that he hadn’t had a date , but his dad had forgotten the damn boutonniere (because he had a knack for forgetting anything important ) and so Dick (his boss), acting as the older brother Tim didn’t have, had surprised him with a brilliant little burst of red orchid.
“Correction. I bought it,” Jason stated, “because Dick would have bought a fucking carnation.”
As Jason cut off a car with little to no remorse, Tim asked, “Is that bad?”
“In France, they give them out at funerals,” Jason remarked.
Tim was unimpressed. “I mean,” he said, “that kind of felt like a funeral.”
Jason snorted, then threw his head back as he grit out, “Come on baby, don’t fear the reaper –”
“Stop–”
“– baby, take my hand, don’t fear the reaper, ” Jason continued, his grin carrying into the lyrics as he lifted his fingers from the stick-shift and motioned to Tim, come hither – and Tim felt a heart-pounding rush of panic as he reached for Jason’s hand and forced it back down, fingers unintentionally interlacing in the process.
“ Baby, I’m your man,” Jason practically hummed, and Tim could feel heat rise on his skin at the unexpected lyric. When Jason’s eyes darted over at Tim’s sudden quiet, he laughed, loud and honest.
In revolt, Tim jerked his hand back and crossed his arms over his chest, irritated. For the umpteenth time, he thought, I just want to go home.
But Jason, before his humor really even faded, asked, “So really, though. Why’d you cut out early?”
“Of the dance?” Tim asked, his head lulling Jason’s direction. He wasn’t really sure why Jason would be interested in the first place.
As they entered a darker stretch of highway, shadows played across the dashboard, folding across the seats with each rare, passing light. Headlights beaded the distance, and Jason’s looked like foggy breath over old, cracked speedway.
“It couldn’t have been that bad,” Jason said.
“Did you go to prom?”
“You can’t just ask people if they’ve gone to prom, Tim,” Jason countered. His fingers were loose against the wheel when he chuckled and said, “I missed it.”
“Missed it?” Tim questioned. Then the pieces fell together. “Oh, yeah. Because you were in…” but the words trailed off. It felt like being caught knowing a secret, and he shook his head and returned his attention to the road. “You didn’t miss anything, to be honest.”
Jason smirked. “You afraid to say it?”
Tim wasn’t sure what he was. It hadn’t really occurred to him, until now at least, that he’d been picked up by someone who’d been incarcerated – and it wasn’t as if he had a clue what Jason had done.
“You were arrested,” Tim stated.
Jason sighed, and it sounded almost wistful. “Yeah. And it turns out there’re no winter formals in juvie.”
“What did you do?” Tim asked, eyes wandering the blackened spills of shadow between street lamps.
The question caught Jason as funny. “What do you think I did?”
At that, Tim did look at him, humorless. “How would I know?”
“You know a lot more than you let on,” Jason pointed out, and Tim wasn’t really sure what to make of that. He was frowning when he said, “If you don’t want to tell me, just say so.”
His tone came across clipped, and so Jason noticed – and Jason was still smirking when he glanced Tim’s direction again. It gave Tim the impression that Jason didn’t really care if Tim knew or not, but that he liked to tease.
“A truth for a truth,” Jason said. “I’ll tell you my dirty past, and you tell me the haunting story of Prom Night.”
Tim rolled his eyes, but Jason was already talking.
“My dad, he was a pretty cool guy,” Jason said. “Super smart. Stole the shit out of cars – taught me. I picked the wrong one though – belonged to the Bruce Wayne – got caught.”
Tim absorbed that – saw Jason in a new light. The way he sank into the seat of his car, the way his fingers fell loose over the gear shift, the way he seemed at home in the driver’s seat. Tim could only imagine him joyriding.
“Did you race?” Tim asked.
Jason’s eyes looked like fire. “When I knew I wouldn’t get caught.”
Tim hummed in thought. It seemed fitting, somehow. Even sitting, Jason seemed to emanate energy; he was all moving lines and forward momentum.
“So,” Jason pressed. “Let me guess. You couldn’t stay because they kept playing Despacito on repeat.”
That earned wry look. “Wouldn’t have taken you for a Belieber.”
“Oh no,” Jason’s gaze drifted skyward. “He didn’t mean it.”
Tim looked up, following Jason’s gaze. “Who are you talking to?”
“Jim Morrison. He’s up there, and he heard you say that.”
“Take the highway,” Tim said, a quickened verse with only a hint of melody, “to the end of the night ...” and when Jason looked at him, Tim said, very pointedly, “Des-pa-cito.”
Whatever Jason had expected, it wasn’t that, and so he ended up laughing, hard . He tossed furtive glances Tim’s direction, shaking his head all the while – and, as they passed a heady strobe of a low-sitting street lamp, Tim happened upon fact number five: Jason had freckles that fell like constellations over his skin.
Tim said, “My best friend and I are going to go to different colleges.”
And it took a moment for Jason’s laughter to dim a bit, for him to think on what Tim had just said.
“You decided this on the dance floor?” is how he replied.
Tim huffed, scraping fingers back and through his hair. Warm air blasted from the car’s heaters, and so he slowly began to work off his jacket around the restriction of the seatbelt.
“I don’t really believe in long distance things,” Tim decided to say. “There are other factors as well, but...I guess, it’s hard for me to enjoy these moments because it seems stupid. They just feel like the end. ”
The thought sat a bit heavy, and Tim felt like an idiot as soon as he said it.
“ The end ,” Jason pronounced dramatically, which made Tim scowl. “If you tell me that my boutonniere didn’t get one dance because you were too busy pining over philosophy–” he glanced over, pinning Tim with a searching look. And then, when Tim looked defeated, Jason said, “You have got to be kidding me.”
Tim shrugged. “It was boring!”
“Where’s your inner Whitney? Didn’t you just wanna dance with someone?”
Tim sank low in his seat, arms folding across his chest, a bit petulant. “No one wanted to dance with me.”
That had a marginal effect – in fact, Tim’s seatbelt failed to restrain him as Jason nearly screeched to a halt, pulling over onto the side of the road. The world smelled like burnt rubber and gasoline, and Jason jammed the car into park.
“What are you doing?” Tim asked, as Jason fiddled with the dial on his radio. A thousand songs battled for dominance as he surfed, until he paused on a slow, sultry song that sounded like something from a diner jukebox.
When Jason lifted his attention to Tim, he was serious. “May I have this dance?”
Tim said, “ What?”
But Jason licked his lips and Tim couldn’t help but notice, and then Jason was shifting – unlatching his own seatbelt in order to get out of the car, making his way to Tim’s side. He rapped on Tim’s window, to which Tim slowly, anxiously rolled down the window.
“No.” Tim said, before Jason could even ask again, but Jason dipped low and rested his elbows on the ledge of the window, close enough now that Tim felt the uncomfortable sensation of butterflies in his stomach.
“Dance with me,” Jason said, and Tim thought it was odd, how much he felt like he could just go along with it. After all, it didn't seem like Jason would let him not. So he was moving before he realized it, opening the door with reluctance – quickly tugged out by Jason who, Tim realized, was nearly a head taller.
“This is ridiculous,” Tim said, stumbling over gravel on the road’s edge. It didn’t keep Jason from dragging him to the front of the car, where dirt tangled with the headlights and ghosted long, pouring light. A car drove by, making Tim feel self-conscious, but Jason’s fingers laced with his and drew him close in a way that made Tim think that he hadn’t had much practice on the dance floor either.
The music came, soft and slow. It didn’t fall heavy like in the hotel; it drifted and sauntered, folding out and into the night.
“Fun, right?” Jason asked, and Tim peered up at him dryly. It wasn’t not fun, it was...silly. Different. Jason’s hands were warm, and when one of them dropped to Tim’s waist, he felt the heat through the thin fabric of his button-up. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he’d left his jacket in the car.
“Next time we’ll have to wear matching colors,” Tim said.
“You could just wear leather.”
“There are dress codes, Jason,” Tim mentioned. “Save Indiana Jones for Comic Con.”
Jason stepped forward, bringing them closer, until Tim felt like he might be able to breathe Jason in.
“Are you asking me on a date, Timothy?”
It was simple banter, but it did something. Tim felt his heart pick up and he cursed his existence – his quick wit struggled to surface, until he finally asked, “And who would I be? I can’t pull off Sean Connery.”
“Let my armies be the rocks and the trees and the birds and the sky…” Jason quoted, managing a perfect impersonation.
This time, Tim laughed. “Okay. You can be Sean Connery. I’ll be Indiana.”
Jason said, conspiratorially, “We named the dog Indiana.”
Shaking his head, Tim pulled away as a song the song changed, feeling remnant warmth and a bit lightheaded. He was tired, and Jason was hard to keep up with.
“So,” Jason prompted, stretching his arms high enough that his shirt lifted above the waistband of his denims. “How was Roadside Prom?”
From the car, a commercial blared, and Tim laughed again as he rolled his eyes. Then, very seriously, he said, “Kind of disappointing. Prom usually comes with dinner.”
It occurred to him, only after he’d said it, that it definitely sounded like a proposition, but before he had time to properly panic, Jason sighed.
“Well, I do know this diner…”
Tim narrowed his eyes just before deciding to tap his chin in thought, caught up in Jason's pace.
“My adoptive older brother owns it. It’s like, a pretty big deal…”
“Hmm,” Tim hummed.
Jason added, “And actually, there’s this part-timer that works there and to be honest, I always try to drop by when I might see him, but he doesn’t seem to have, you know, a regular schedule. Probably because of school. Preparing for the end and all of that.”
“ What?” Tim asked.
Fact number 6: Jason apparently had a thing for Timothy Drake.
“Do you want a burger or not?” Jason asked, headed back to the car.
Tim wondered if he could pass the flush off as cold, or if Jason would see right through him. He also recounted all the times he’d seen Jason, all the unnecessary refills, the way Jason’s gaze had seemed cutting, when it was entirely something else.
“A milkshake,” Tim said slowly, turning, feeling on fire - spontaneous. As he tugged open his car door, his eyes danced up to Jason, whose gaze sauntered back.
“A milkshake,” he agreed.
Tim felt his phone vibrate in his pocket and pulled it out, not entirely surprised to see a text from Conner letting him know that he and Cassie were leaving and that he hoped Tim was okay - and also, who was that guy?
Tim wasn’t too sure how to reply, but he thought about what Jason had said - about things ending, and happened to look over to Jason, who was fiddling with radio stations, trying to find his way back to something recognizable.
JayTim Christmas in July 2018 - Day 23 “Rainy Day”
"No," said the little prince, "I'm looking for friends. What does tamed mean?"
"It's something that's been too often neglected. It means, 'to create ties'…"
" 'To create ties'?"
"That's right," the fox said. "For me you're only a little boy just like a hundred thousand other little boys. And I have no need of you. And you have no need of me, either. For you I'm only a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes. But if you tame me, we'll need each other. You'll be the only boy in the world for me. I'll be the only fox in the world for you…" [1]
Tim sank into the cushion of the window seat and let the words wash over him, his mind wandering as Jason coaxed the story out of yellowed, musty pages. He gazed out at rain sheeting down from the steel-grey sky in shifting, incessant torrents, the sound of it a gentle white noise under the warm, smooth timbre of Jason’s voice. He felt himself drifting off, carried along by the waves of soothing sound.
"…So I'm rather bored. But if you tame me, my life will be filled with sunshine. I'll know the sound of footsteps that will be different from all the rest. Other footsteps will send me back underground. Yours will call me out of my burrow like music. And then, look! You see the wheat fields over there? I don't eat bread. For me wheat is of no use whatever. Wheat fields say nothing to me. Which is sad. But you have hair the color of gold. So it will be wonderful, once you've tamed me! The wheat, which is golden, will remind me of you. And I'll love the sound of the wind in the wheat…" [1]
Jason paused to turn the page, breaking Tim out of his trance. He hummed thoughtfully. The older man, facing him on the other end of the seat, looked up.
"Hmm?"
"I was just thinking," Tim began softly, " 'Create ties'…'a fox like a hundred thousand other foxes'…’wheat fields'…" He trailed off and wriggled his toes under the blanket Alfred had thrown over them, tickling Jason's leg as he looked up to meet his gaze playfully. "What are our 'wheat fields' I wonder?"
"Are you trying to insinuate that you've tamed me?" Jason teased, clutching a hand to his chest melodramatically and recoiling as if offended. Tim smiled.
"Well, you've tamed me, at the very least."
Jason huffed a quiet laugh, his eyes soft, then looked away, a fond grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Tim followed his gaze out through the window - through the deluge, across soggy Manor lawns, and into the dark void of the forest beyond - and one again lost himself in swirling eddies and the hushed roar of the rain. This line of storms didn't look like it would be letting up anytime soon and patrol would likely be a miserable, sodden mess tonight.
The silence stretched between them, comfortable and warm, like the blanket they shared, and Tim relaxed into it, wrapping himself up and sinking into it, languidly reveling in this rare moment of tranquility - a rarity in lives such as theirs.
"The sky," Jason blurted out suddenly, turning his gaze back to him. Tim tilted his head in confusion.
"What?"
"You know how the sky gets in the summer sometimes?"
"Uhhh..."
Jason chuckled and looked down at his knuckles. He rubbed a thumb over his rough, calloused skin absentmindedly as he explained, "In mid to late summer, when the humidity is up but the clouds have cleared out for once, and you look straight up, usually right before dusk, but sometimes at dawn, the sky turns this hazy, steely, purple-y blue that is somehow deep and intense, but also faded and hazy and ethereal all at the same time...
"That is the color of your eyes," Jason finished quietly. He looked up, meeting Tim's wide-eyed gaze, and nodded, as confirming it to himself. "Every time I see that sky now, and, heck, even when I don’t - every time I look up at the sky, it reminds me of you." He huffed an embarrassed laugh at himself and shook his head.
"I've never been much of a 'blue-skies-and-sunshine' kind of guy, even back when I wore the short shorts and shitting sunshine was practically part of the job description" - Tim ugly snorted, slapping a hand over his nose and mouth, but not before Jason heard him and grinned. “Give me a dark stormy night any day of the week,” he continued, “but more and more these days I cherish each and every clear day Gotham spares us, and I stay up past dawn more these days than I’d like to admit, hoping to see that certain blue just because it reminds me of you.”
They stared at each other for a long moment before Tim cleared his throat and looked away, heat rising to his cheeks. Jason was still grinning at him, half-sappy-romantic and half-teasing, as if he could tell how discomfited Tim was by his forthright honesty, and it was hard for Tim not to laugh in embarrassment and grin back at him, but he took care to keep his expression mock-serious as he considered his response.
"Hmmm, well, I guess... trees?"
Jason squinted and leaned forward. "Trees?"
Tim fought down a smile. "Yeah, you know the trunks. Every time I see a thick, strong trunk I'm reminded of your thighs-"
Jason burst out laughing, completely obliterating any lingering traces of the previous quiet, contemplative mood. "Tree trunks remind you of my legs?!"
"So thick," Tim teased, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Jason howled.
When their mirth had died down, Jason stood and announced his intention to go see what Alfred was cooking up for dinner. Tim smiled to himself. Jason liked to act as if he was only going down to pester Alfred and mooch the food, but Tim and Alfred both knew -- and Jason knew that they knew -- that he deliberately threw himself into Alfred's path specifically so he would get conscripted to help.
Alfred didn’t like accept help -- he’d say it was his job to look after them, not the other way around -- and Jason always seemed afraid let the family see him care too much -- as if it might make disagreeing with them over the other things that much harder -- but this little farce let them get around all that. Their family had a lot of “little farces” if he was being honest. No one would ever admit to any of it out loud, and Tim often rolled his eyes at the lot of them -- himself included -- but he also loved the little secret ways that Jason would show he cared; he loved that hidden soft side Jason pretended not to have.
Dragging his thoughts back to the present, Tim acknowledged and replied that he'd be down in a few minutes, then turned back to the window, pulled the blanket up over his chest, and curled into the residual heat, hoping to savor the peaceful, contented mood for just a few moments longer.
As he stared out at the rain, his thoughts turned to the roof of Gotham Cathedral, and then to the walls of the Gotham University School of Architecture[2]. Both were covered in copper sheeting that had oxidized over time, taking on a patina that could look blue on some days and green on others -- a color perfectly beautiful, unpredictable and organic. This led him to think back to the time they had once burned copper in high school chemistry class. The resulting blue-green flame had burned itself into his memory, so ethereal in the dark room, a surreal blue green blaze that was almost almost electrifying.
Actually, the color of oxidized and oxidizing copper was really not very far off from Robin's Egg Blue, he realized with a sense of irony, and it was funny, he thought, that even though the color of the oxidation and the flame were nearly the same, the patina often seemed heavier, as if weighed down by the years of wear it took to form, while the other seeming more intense, having been born of the heat and violence of rapid change.
Tim had a feeling he’d be turning to stare at the copper roofs around Gotham more often now. There was one such roof on his patrol route, the color of it so bright, but so deep, and in the right light almost as vibrant as copper on fire. That color, sometimes worn and heavy, sometimes bright and lively. Always intense. Just like his eyes…
“The wheat, which is golden, will remind me of you. And I'll love the sound of the wind in the wheat...”
~*~
[1] All Italicized excerpts are from Antoine Saint-Exupéry's (1900-1944) Le Petit Prince, trans Richard Howard
[2] I based this off a real-world building; the Penn State University School of Architecture.
JayTim Christmas in July 2018 - Day 29 “Date Night”
(<< Continued from Day 17 “S’mores”)
Jason slapped his shoulder lightly. "Hey. I thought we went over this; none of that sexy stuff! This is a PG-rated, all fluffy fun bonding trip. No seducing me into sexual activities with your well-affected, sloppy cuteness," he teased.
"Kissing is hardly sex."
"It is if we start tongue-fucking each other!"
~*~
Tim let out an ugly snort before he contain it and Jason burst out laughing, which set him off laughing as well. “O-okay, okay, so… so b-bonding,” Tim choked out between laughs. “We hiked up here, we set up camp, started a fire, ate dinner, made s'mores… Now what? Do we sing campfire songs and cuddle? Or is cuddling too sexual? ‘Kumbaya’ sound good to you?”
Jason rolled his eyes. “Yes to cuddling - jeez, I think we can manage to sit together and hold hands without it turning into a porno for the bears, ya know - but no to singing. We came out here work on our relationship, so I guess that means we should, I dunno, talk or something.”
“About what?”
“About the things we never talk about,” Jason replied soberly, “The stuff we never get around to or the stuff we are afraid to talk about or-”
“So like… things we want to work on?”
“Yeah, or things that are bothering you, all the things tha-”
“A gun safe.”
Jason blinked and tilted his head quizzically. Tim’s expression had taken on a serious, contemplative cast. “If you’re going to sleep in my apartment - the real one, the one that 'Tim Wayne’ walks in and out of in broad daylight - and bring guns over then you need to help me pick out a gun safe for you to store them in,” Tim explained, meeting his gaze firmly. “It’s great that you’re storing the ammo away from the weapons and keeping the safeties on and all of that, but I need more if you’re going to keep guns at my place on a regular basis. At any of my places - apartment, safehouses, or my cave.”
Jason nodded. “I can do that.” Tim’s expression lightened and he nodded his appreciation. Jason took a moment to compose himself then blurted out,
“Date nights.”
“Date nights?”
“I love patrolling with Red Robin then crashing at your place afterwards, but that’s not 'dating’,” he informed Tim bluntly. “Eating dinner and chatting it up on a stakeout is not a 'date’ and fixing up each other’s wounds might be re-bonding flesh, but it’s not 'bonding’,” he explained, doing his utmost to keep his tone even and unemotional.
He’d been sitting on these complaints for a long time, not wanting to seem too demanding or needy, so it was tough to not let it burst out all at once. “I know you’re a busy man, and you do fantastic work, but sometimes I feel like you’re all 'go, go, go’ and there’s never really any time to take a break. Like there’s never any time for 'us’.”
Tim’s face crumpled in dismay. “Jason…”
“I’m not finished,” he said, holding up a hand. Tim waited, his hurt expression screaming concern. “All of that was fine before, when we were just feelin’ this out, figuring things out between us, but I feel like we’re ready to go further than that. That’s why I asked for this trip, that’s why I wanted us to talk seriously about what we need from each other. So…yeah. Date nights,” he finished lamely, leaning back with a sigh.
“I… yeah. No. Definitely. We can do that,” Tim replied faintly, looking sick.
Jason frowned. “Are you sure? You don’t look all to keen on the idea…”
“No, I…” Tim closed his eyes and shook his head vigorously, swallowing convulsively. When he opened his eyes again it was with a pained, apologetic expression. “I’m just so sorry you felt that way. I had no idea. If I had known-”
“Hey. Tim. Man. Chill, okay?” Jason reached out and grasped his hand, squeezing gently. “Breathe. I’m not mad and, like I said, that was fine before. We were keepin’ casual and that’s fine. I just… moving forward I want more. That’s all,” he reassured him, lifting their hands and giving them a little shake as he smiled down at Tim gently. Tim relaxed only slightly and smiled back weakly, as if not entirely convinced yet. Jason huffed a laugh and pulled their hands into his lap.
“Besides, even if I was upset about this - and I’m not - we came out here to talk things out, right? It’s okay for us to be honest and express what we’re really feeling, even the negative things, as long as we communicate and work together to get to a better place. Right?
Tim’s searching stare could have bored holes into the rock beneath them, but eventually he seemed to find whatever he was looking for behind Jason’s eyes and relaxed with a barely perceptible sigh. “Yeah, I guess as long as we’re here and in the mood to be open with each other we should try to discuss as many of our concerns and needs as we can, so we can work them out now before they become issues later.” He squeezed Jason’s hand gently, as if looking for confirmation.
Jason took the cue and squeezed Tim’s hand firmly, knocking it against their legs as he leaned into him playfully. “Exactly. Sorry, if I scared you. I just get intense, you know?”
“Y-yeah,” Tim replied breathlessly, swinging their hands and shooting him a sly grin. “I get pretty intense sometimes too.”
“S'all good,” Jason replied, pressing a soft kiss into Tim’s hair. “As long as we’re on the same page, it’s all good.”
Tim nodded and for a few minutes they both stared into the crackling flames of their campfire without speaking. Jason enjoyed the quiet moments sharing each other’s warmth and that of the fire; it was a comfortable, companionable silence. Jason could just make out the yips of a few coyote in the distance and at one point the howls of far-off wolves. After a few minutes Tim shifted.
“So… does this count as a date?” Tim asked, something about his tone making Jason draw back to get a good look at him. Tim was sporting a grin that he tried to hide by turning his face toward the flames.
“Yes. Yes, it is,” Jason replied slowly, biting off each word carefully. “But this is a special kind of date, a date weekend. Don’t think this counts for the next three weeks or some shit like that!”
“So we’re gonna do one date night per week?”
“At least. We’ll start out once a week and adjust from there.”
Tim smiled up at him in earnest. “Sounds good to me. What about these special date weekends? How often are we going to do these?”
“As often as I can drag you away from your precious duties, you crazy work-a-holic,” Jason replied blithely. “Let’s aim once every other month.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Tim replied, before turning back to the fire and yawning so widely Jason swore he heard his jaw crack.
“You know what else sounds like a plan? Sleeping. Let’s turn in, Timbo,” Jason said, standing with a stretch that popped several tendons and joints across his back, hips and knees. Ahhhh, the perks of being a vigilante!
“But it’s only nine o’ clock.”
“Yeah, but it’s pitch black out here and you’ve been averaging four hours a night for the last week and a half. Time to go pay off your sleep debt,” Jason replied, grabbing Tim’s wrists and levering him up.
Tim allowed it, but once he passed vertical he sagged limply into Jason’s chest and peered up at him from under his eyebrows, batting his eyelashes ridiculously. “You just want to get me into your sleeping bag, you horn dog.”
Jason laughed out loud. “I’m the horn dog? You’re the one who keeps throwing yourself at me.”
Tim grinned sleepily. “Guilty. Okay. Let’s sleep, that way we’ll be fully rested when I make you teach the birds how to sing come sunrise.”
