27. "I'm pregnant" With DickTim (but perhaps both are very much cis and the person who said it is drunk or got hit on the head or idk)
it took me a sec to figure out what i wanted to do for this prompt; and then when i did, how to execute it, but. i had a lot of fun writing this prompt, lol. i hope you enjoy!
“I cannot believe the love of my life would betray me like this,” Dick says, pressing his hand to his heart, dramatics fueled by the way Tim’s eyes are dancing. “How could you, Timmy?” His voice wavers with suppressed mirth.
Tim bites back laughter. He’s unfairly pretty, wearing one of Dick’s old university tees over lounge pants; face flushed pink with both amusement and the wine they’d been drinking. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“No— I was gonna spend the rest of my life with you! But you— I can’t recover from this.” He shakes his head. “I’m sorry, baby, but—” He blinks rapidly, wiping a non-existent tear from his eye. “It’s over.”
Tim clutches his hands over his chest. “You can’t leave me.” There’s a flash of something playful and wicked on his face before his eyes go wide and round. He steps forward, clutching at Dick’s arm with one hand, the other falling over his stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
Dick chokes. “You’re—”
They stare at each other for a moment, and then—Dick’s not sure which of them cracks first, only that they fall into each other, both of them shaking with laughter as they sink to the floor.
Eventually, their mirth fades; giggles slowly coming to an end. Tim lets go of Dick’s arm so he can pull it around his shoulders, settling against Dick’s side. Dick slips his hand under Tim’s t-shirt, cupping his hip and stroking his skin with his thumb. Tim hums, resting his head on Dick’s shoulder, tipping back to look up at him.
“Love of your life, huh?” he whispers, stroking his fingers over Dick’s forearm.
Dick’s face warms. “I— Well.” Dick is an affectionate person, especially when they’re alone. There’s nothing he loves more than to wrap himself around Tim and remind him—physically, verbally—that he loves him. Call him a sap, a sentimental fool, he doesn’t care. But—hearing the joking phrase echoed back at him… it trips him up, a little.
Tim’s eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. It’s a soft, sweet smile, one reserved for Dick alone. It never fails to make him feel all gooey inside. “You’re the love of mine, too,” he murmurs, turning so he can smear a kiss on Dick’s neck.
Dick would swear his heart was doing quadruple somersaults in his chest. “Yeah?” His voice is almost embarrassingly breathless.
“Yeah,” he whispers, reaching up to stroke over Dick’s cheek.
Dick leans into it, then turns to kiss Tim’s palm. He lets the kiss linger for a moment. Then, he scoops Tim up, manhandling him into his lap; earning a startled intake of breath and then a surprised, pleased smile as Tim winds his arms around his neck. Dick cups his face, peppering kisses all over it, until Tim is shaking with giggles again.
Then he stops, nose against Tim’s cheek, lips at his jaw. “So… about that pregnancy,” he says, leadingly.
Tim huffs a laugh. “I can’t get pregnant, Dick. You know that.”
Dick sucks a kiss into his jaw, delighting in the sharp intake of breath that gets him. “I dunno, Timmy,” he murmurs. “Won’t know unless we try, will we?”
Tim grips his shoulder with one hand. The other tangles in his hair. “You— You know, you might be right. Might, uh. We might have to try a few times. Just to make sure.”
Dick’s hands slip under Tim’s borrowed t-shirt. “I vote we start now,” he says, trailing his mouth down Tim’s jaw.
Tim gasps again, fingers tightening in Dick’s hair. “Motion granted,” he says, and tugs Dick’s head back to capture his mouth in a searing kiss.
been sitting on this one for a bit, because i felt like it wasn’t finished, but i re-read it today &? it is. so enjoy this tiny bit of domesticity based around a headcanon i have~
under a cut even though it’s really short~
AO3
Tim doesn't cook much. It isn't that he *can't*—he’s more than capable of following a recipe. He used to do it all the time when he was younger, and burned through the meals Mrs. Mac brought. Now he just doesn't see the point. Why bother standing over a stove, prepping a meal for one, when he could spend his time better elsewhere?
Tonight, though... tonight is special.
Well—not really. It's just a Thursday. No significant holidays or anniversaries Tim is aware of. Just—a normal, boring day. But that’s the point. Jason is coming over, like he does so often now, and Tim is making him dinner. Because he can, and he wants to, and Jason deserves it. He’s always shoving food at Tim—over half of it homemade—and Tim… Tim wants to return the favor. Wants to express his appreciation, his affection, in the language Jason knows best.
So, here he is, standing at a stove in an empty apartment. For once, though, he isn't thinking of cold, empty halls or broken promises. Instead, he's smiling, humming off-key to himself as he stirs a pot of noodles.
He’d opted for something fairly simple. He doesn’t cook much, after all, and his skills are a bit rusty. Pasta is easy. Throw in tomato sauce, spinach and mushroom, breaded chicken, and parmesan—perfect.
He did buy boxed pasta, he’ll admit. And already seasoned breadcrumbs. But he made the sauce, chopped the vegetables, and grated the parmesan himself.
He’s draining the pasta when the door opens, and shuts again. Jason. He’s a little early, but that’s alright. He can hear him walking; the thud of heavy boots on hardwood. He knows it’s on purpose. Jason can be deathly silent if he wants to be. It makes Tim smile a little wider, that he isn’t.
“Somethin’ smells good, babybird. What’d you—“
Tim doesn’t have to look over his shoulder to know Jason’s rounded the corner to stand near the island.
“You’re cooking,” he says. Tim can hear his surprise, and smiles to himself.
“I am,” he agrees, adding the pasta to the simmering sauce and stirring.
“Huh. Need a hand?”
“No. It’s just about done,” Tim says. He flicks off the burner, reaching for the plates he'd set out. He offers Jason one, and they serve themselves, one after the other. Tim pours sparkling juice. Wine would be better, but they have patrol soon, and it’s better not to risk it. Jason doesn’t waste time digging in, and he hums appreciatively around his first bite.
“Damn, Timmy. You’ve been holding out on us.”
Tim shrugs, feeling warm. “It’s— I’m not— It’s no big deal, really,” he says. He’s no chef, not really. He can get by in the kitchen well enough to make things taste good, which was really all he needed growing up.
Jason bumps shoulders with him. “Don’t. This— It’s nice, babybird. What’s the occasion?”
“No occasion,” Tim says, shaking his head. “I just—wanted to.”
Jason says nothing for several moments. Then, out of the corner of his eye, Tim sees him swallow. “…thanks,” he says, quietly.
If you're okay with prompts right now can I ask for jason and tim putting on relationship weight together
yes you can! <3
this ended up fairly short but i hope you enjoy it, nonny~
also i apologize for any mistakes <3 i was halfway done when my cat decided to sit in my face, and like? who was i to say no. so i wrote the rest on mobile lmao
Tim has gotten softer around the middle.
The realization hits Jason while he’s still half-drowsy from sleep, curled around Tim in their bed. They’d flipped during the night, with Jason now in Tim’s place as the big spoon; feathery strands of hair tickling his chin, his arm wound around Tim’s waist. And under his hand, splayed over Tim’s stomach… there’s more give than there used to be.
He can’t help but feel it; smoothing his palm over the padding over Tim’s ribs, the soft curve of his stomach. Something swells in his chest, made up of too many feelings for him to name.
It’s not that he hadn’t noticed, exactly. Something he’d insisted on, when they moved in together, was that, as long as they were both in Gotham, they should share at least one meal a day, out of costume. It had taken some time to find a rhythm, but… they had.
He’d noticed the extra weight he picked up pretty quickly. It was hard not to—especially with Tim constantly using him as his own personal pillow. Jason used to fake gripe about it, until he figured out that the surest way to make Tim sleep was to offer himself up as a bed. Even the most complex case wasn’t enough to keep Tim from drifting off, once he was resting on or against Jason’s thigh, chest, stomach.
After that, well. Even his most sincere attempts to bitch about it fell flat.
Anyway—between that and the adjustments he’d had to make to his armor, he’d definitely noticed his own weight gain. Tim— Maybe he’d noticed his cheekbones weren’t quite as sharp, or that there was something a little bit more solid in the punches he threw, but—
The rest of it slipped past him.
Until now.
Now… all he wants to do is explore. Spread Tim out on their bed and find all the parts of him that have changed. He wants to lavish them with attention, and affection, because by god, Tim deserves to be soft. Deserves to take care of himself, to indulge himself.
(And maybe—maybe—there’s a part of Jason that wants to lay claim to it, too. Because this is because of him. Not just the food he’s made, or the request to eat together but— It’s their closeness. It’s choosing a quiet evening together over going out or staying late at work or pouring over casework. It’s ending patrol at three or four am instead of five or six to get an extra hour or two in bed together. It’s not burying themselves in a case alone, stress eating away at them, because they have a partner right there to help.
It’s love and trust, safety and support, commitment and contentment.)
Jason resists the urge, though. The last thing he wants to do is disturb Tim’s sleep. God knows it will take a lifetime, maybe two, to repay the debt he’s stacked up, and Jason won’t get in the way of him shaving off what he can.
They have the rest of the day. Last Jason heard, Tim doesn’t have anywhere to be today, and he knows neither of them have any pressing cases. Maybe… maybe after breakfast, before Tim disappears to his study, when he’s still relaxed and a little sleepy. Coaxing back into bed won’t be hard. Neither will convincing him to let Jason take the lead for a bit. Tim is entirely too willing to indulge Jason—the power he has is almost overwhelming.
He supposes it goes both ways.
Mm…
He tucked his nose in the back of Tim’s neck, cuddling closer to him.
It’s probably about time to start breakfast, honestly. But Jason is warm, and comfortable. Maybe he can indulge himself, a little. Fifteen more minutes won’t hurt anything.
"You know, no one would believe me if I told them how much of a tease you are." damitim 👀
<333 thank you for the prompt~
this was a fun one ;)
Tim crowds Damian against the wall. Damian lets him, chin tipping subtly to expose more of his throat. Tim bites him; just barely avoiding leaving a mark.
"You know," he says, lips still pressed against his skin, "no one would believe me if I told them how much of a tease you are."
A tremor shakes Damian's frame. "That is because it isn't true," he says; voice low but even. His lashes nearly kiss his cheeks as he looks down at Tim, green-blue eyes darkening.
"No?" Tim asks. He skims his teeth over Damian's pulse; relishing in the sharp intake of breath that gets him. "So it wasn't you making eyes at me across the ballroom all night?"
Damian's tongue darts out; wetting his lips. Tim wonders if the taste of champagne still lingers in his mouth. Barely restrains himself from stretching up to find out.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Timothy," he says. 'Timothy' comes out in the same cadence he uses for 'beloved.'
"Brat." Tim wraps his fist around Damian's tie, pulling him down and locking their mouths together. He tangles his other hand in his hair, tugging at the strands until Damian makes a noise that could only be described as a whimper.
The kiss is fierce; heated, all teeth and tongue. Damian's hands slip under the coat of his tux, fisting in the silk of his dress shirt. He tries, at first, to match Tim's punishing pace---but soon enough, he gives up, taking only what Tim gives him.
When Tim pulls away his lips are swollen and shining, chest heaving as he pants. His pupils have blown wide; face flushed. He looks halfway to debauched.
Tim intends to take him all the way there.
He tugs Damian's hair again, just to hear that sweet sound again. Damian gives it to him, eyes fluttering.
Then he lets go, loosening Damian's tie and undoing the top three buttons of his shirt with practiced ease.
If there is one thing Tim loves about Damian's growth spurt, it's that Tim is at the perfect height to suck marks beneath his collar. He leaves a trail of them. Damian stays quiet, despite the way he shudders and quakes. The only sound he makes are ragged breaths.
When Tim glances up at him, he sees that full lower lip trapped under his teeth.
He smirks, just a little. He so loves testing the baby bat's control. It's so much more fun now that the only blood comes from Damian's nails, raked down his back, or when teeth press a little too deep. (Not that Tim hasn't fantasized a time two, about all the fun they could have with a well-kept knife---but. Damian is still young, and there will be time for that later.)
He kisses the last mark; the tenderness of the gesture draws another whimper from Damian's throat.
He rises onto the balls of his feet, nipping Damian’s earlobe before whispering, “Hmm… I suppose a little teasing isn’t so bad after all, is it, Dami?”
“Beloved,” Damian breathes; turning his face to tuck his nose against the side of Tim’s head. “Please.”
Tim steps back, carefully disentangling Damian’s fingers from his shirt, only to thread them with his own. Damian looks thoroughly debauched now. He allows himself a smile, smug and pleased.
“Upstairs, darling. You can wait that long, can't you?" Tim loves to make it sound like he has a choice in the matter.
Damian shivers again; closing his eyes. His hands tighten around Tim's. For a moment, Tim thinks he might say 'no', or the one word that will call the whole thing off---
But he doesn't.
Instead his eyes open again, and he nods, a gentle dip of his chin. "Yes, beloved."
Damian says 'beloved' the same way others would say 'sir', or 'master.' Reverence wraps around the word; snaking between each syllable. Tim's toes curl, and his smile grows. He wonders if he looks as hungry as he feels.
He thinks, by the expression on Damian's face, he might.
"Let's not waste any more time, then," he says, and tugs Damian up the stairs.
Could I have number 47 for the pairing Jaytim, please? If not, have a wonderful day!
@deepwithintheabyss
i hope smut is okay <3
bodyguard au, with jason being involved with the martha wayne foundation & tim working as his bodyguard. is tim a vigilante undercover? is being a bodyguard his actual job? is this a no capes au? reverse robins? alternate canon, where jason didn't die? i dunno, this is just what came out when i started writing ^^;
anyway! i hope you enjoy <3
edit: some sentence structure things i didn't pick up on before. funny the things you notice after you hit post <3
“No one needs to know,” Tim murmurs, breath ghosting over the shell of Jason’s ear. The resulting shiver rolls down his spine to his toes, where they curl in his shoes.
“I thought— I thought you were supposed to be keeping me out of trouble,” Jason manages, in a voice that stays mostly even, and only a little breathy. He doesn’t pull away from Tim, though; not even when those long, clever fingers start untucking Jason’s shirt.
“I’m supposed to be keeping you out of danger,” Tim corrects. “A little trouble is good for you, now and then.” His hands are hot on Jason’s hips, walking him backwards.
Jason doesn’t resist. “You’re a bad influence,” he accuses. “I— I’m pretty sure this isn’t what Dad had in mind, when he hired you.” His knees hit his office chair. He sits.
"Maybe not," Tim says—and sinks to his knees. Jason is scarcely able to breathe. Like he can tell, Tim smiles up at him; something almost predatory in the curve of his mouth. "Call it a bonus, just for you." He pops the button on Jason's slacks.
Jason’s face is hot. The office is hardly the place for this—especially not when Jason has a meeting in an hour. But… It doesn’t even cross his mind to refuse. Not when Tim is looking at him like he wants to devour him. “S-sweet of you,” he manages.
“I’m a real gentleman,” Tim agrees, lips quirking. He eases Jason out of his slacks and boxers. Cool air brushes his dick, already flushed and half-hard, making Jason shudder—a whine following when Tim’s eyes darken, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Jason’s thighs are trembling.
Ice blue eyes dart up to meet his as Tim begins to roll up his sleeves. “Lock the doors, Jay,” he says. “We wouldn’t want anyone coming in and seeing you like this, would we?”
The noise Jason makes is strangled. His cock twitches. He has to be red down to his neck, at least. He fumbles for the button on his desk, hitting it clumsily.
Tim doesn’t tease—verbally, at least. Instead, he wraps his hand around Jason's cock; bending his head to lap at the head like a kitten
The sight of him is one of the hottest things Jason's ever seen. His breaths turn shallow; fingers digging into the armrests.
Tim looks up at him—meeting his gaze with his mouth on Jason’s cock. He almost whimpers. “I love the way you taste,” Tim murmurs. There’s nothing Jason can do to stop the shudder that rolls through him, nor the way his teeth sink into his lip.
Fuck. The things Tim does to him.
Tim skims his lips and tongue over Jason’s cock, lavishing it with attention while Jason does his best not to squirm. It’s hard. Tim knows exactly how to drive him wild, and exploits that knowledge ruthlessly, leaving Jason putty in his hands.
Tim hums, pleased as Jason's cock finishes hardening. He kisses the underside, just above his thumb—and then drags his tongue up to the head, drawing a stuttery moan from Jason. The chair creaks under his grip. Tim glances up at him, lust-dark eyes glittering with amusement. Then he closes his lips around the head of Jason’s cock and sucks.
“A-ah!” Jason throws his head back. “F-fuck, Tim,” he whines. Arousal thrums in his veins.
Tim swirls his tongue and bobs his head, taking more of Jason in his mouth. His hand moves in short jerks, squeezing and slackening like the fluttering of walls around him.
Jason throws his head back, forearm braced over his mouth to muffle the way he moans, embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.
Tim keeps going; enveloping more and more of him with the wet heat of his mouth. Jason can’t help but move, now, little twists of his hips that make the chair squeak beneath him. His breaths come in sharp, rough pants now; broken only by small hitched moans and whimpers. He tangles his hand in Tim's hair, silk strands winding around his fingers. Tim makes soft noises of his own; appreciative hums that make Jason's toes curl.
Finally, his mouth meets his fist, both of them working in tandem; sending wave after wave of pleasure rolling through Jason's veins.
Then—Tim lets go of him, and swallows Jason’s cock.
Only the steady hands on his hips keep him from bucking up into Tim's mouth. His mind is spinning; brain leaking out of his ears—or maybe just his dick. Tim's throat works; the muscles squeezing Jason's cock. He moans, low and deep, pressing his arm harder against his face.
Eventually, Tim has to pull off, panting a little as he goes back to those little kitten licks—coupled now with gentle sucks to the most prominent veins, and the underside of his glans. He works a hand into Jason's boxers, palming his balls and giving them a light squeeze.
Jason whimpers. “T-Tim—”
Just as Jason gets used to the feeling of Tim's lips and tongue, Tim swallows him down again. This time, he does— something with his tongue or the muscles in his throat that has Jason seeing stars. His belly is tight. His skin tingles. He feels a hair's breadth from exploding.
Two fingers press on his perineum as Tim swallows around him.
Jason lets out a strangled cry. "C-close," he manages, hand tightening in Tim's hair.
Tim hums, making Jason's toes curl. Then he eases off until Jason's cock is resting on his tongue. He tightens his lips and sucks, pressing on Jason's perineum at the same time.
Jason shoves two knuckles in his mouth, biting hard to strangle his shout. His thighs clamp tight around Tim, hips jerking upward; stopped only by the hand still holding him down. Tim works him through the orgasm with lips and tongue; the gentleness bliss up until it isn’t, until everything is too much.
He pushes weakly at Tim's shoulder, and Tim goes. A little bit of come dribbles out of his mouth. Jason whimpers when Tim’s tongue flicks out, catching it before it can fall off of his chin and stain his well-fitted suit.
Tim settles back onto his heels, looking pleased—with himself, but also with Jason, which has his stomach doing flips. "There we go," Tim rasps. He tucks Jason back into his slacks with exceeding gentleness, and fixes his fly before rising to his feet. "C'mon. You'll be more comfortable on the couch," he says, offering Jason his hand.
It takes Jason a second to muster the energy to move, but when he does, he lets Tim pull him to his feet and then to the sofa Jason keeps in his office. It’s mostly for Dick and Steph, both of whom like to drop in on him and hang out—and sometimes nap, in Dick’s case. But—sometimes Jason uses it too, like now, with Tim sitting down and pulling Jason after him, adjusting until Jason is lying against his chest, legs curled up beside him.
He’d grabbed Jason’s thermos on the way over. He opens it, the scent of one of Jason's favorite tea blends filling the air. Tim takes a drink, humming appreciatively before offering it to Jason. Sometimes Jason forgets Tim likes tea—though he thinks he can be forgiven, the way the man mainlines coffee.
“I didn’t, um— What about you?” Jason asks, when he lowers the thermos from his mouth. Tim is still tenting his pants.
“Later,” Tim says, still hoarse but not as bad as before. He cards his fingers through Jason’s hair. “You should rest.”
Jason’s mouth twists, even as his body betrays him; slumping more fully against Tim’s warmth. “The meeting—”
“You’ve got time,” Tim cuts him off. “We can go over your notes together in a few.”
Jason huffs, but lets himself melt into Tim’s touch. “Bad influence,” he mutters, just to keep from going quietly.
“Best influence,” Tim counters, sounding amused. “You needed to relax.”
Jason makes a face. Tim’s probably right, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to admit it. “Quiet, m’resting.”
He feels more than hears the quiet laugh he gets in response. Tim lets him have the last word. Jason is sure, somehow, he’ll find a way to be smug later, though. Tim’s annoying like that.
hiiiii tauria! how do u feel about 18 and jaydick for the prompt meme?
i feel very good about it! ty for the prompt, bean <3 this was rly fun, & i think it turned out pretty cute~
“This is, without a doubt, the stupidest plan you’ve ever had,” Jason says flatly. Dick would be offended if he didn’t know that, the more Jason grumbled, the more likely he was to agree to something. “Of course I’m in.”
“I knew I could count on you, little wing,” Dick says, hooking their arms together as he rises up to kiss Jason’s cheek. He’s careful not to spill the coffee Jason was sweet enough to bring him, when he’d asked the other man to meet him here.
Jason pinks. Adorable. “Yeah, well.” Jason raises his drink to his mouth, taking a slow sip of his tea. “Only because I think the look on Bruce’s face’ll be worth all the rest of it.”
…Dick is looking forward to seeing his expression, too. “It won’t be that bad,” he says.
Jason is unimpressed. “Okay, one, I have been to a gala before. It will be that bad. And, two, even if I hadn’t, you bitched about the last one the entire two weeks leading up to it, and three days after.”
Dick flicks his nose, relishing in the indignant expression that gets him. “It won’t be that bad, dummy, because you’ll be there with me.”
This time, the flush stretches all the way to his ears. Jason scowls. “You’re a sap, dickface,” he accuses. He doesn’t take his arm from Dick’s, though.
“I’m not the one who recites love poetry at four in the morning,” Dick says, sunnily.
Jason’s flush darkens. “You— you were supposed to be asleep,” he hisses.
“I know.” And having to lie there and keep pretending had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done in his life. It had also been the moment he’d decided he was done. He didn’t want to keep—hiding it was the wrong word. They weren’t hiding anything. But they hadn’t announced it, either, and Dick… wanted to. Wanted the whole world to know how gone he was on Jason Todd.
Inviting him to be his date to a gala had seemed like the best way to go about that. Jason would be far less anxious if he could spend at least half the night antagonizing Bruce, and, well. Dick was always game to needle Bruce a little bit. It was good for him.
Jason huffs a little. He doesn’t seem upset by Dick’s deception. Flustered, definitely, but not angry. “Surprised you managed to keep still that long, Dickface.”
“You have no idea how hard it was,” Dick says, as seriously as he can. “It was so sweet, Jay. All I wanted to do was kiss you.”
Jason is quiet for a moment. “...you could’ve.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. So, you know. Next time, you don’t hafta pretend.”
Dick couldn’t suppress his grin even if he wanted to. “There’s gonna be a next time?”
Hello! Idk if you're still taking quick prompts but if you are jaytim with fanboy tim and dadbod Jason? (If you are no longer taking ty even so!!)
i always welcome prompts ❤️
i'm SO sorry for how long this took ^^; i've been working on it since you sent me the prompt, but i had too many ideas that just didn't end up going anywhere. to tell you the truth, i'm not sure this one really captures what you want ^^; if it doesn't, just lemme know~
AO3
“You’re not as sneaky as you think you are, replacement.” Jason’s shadow falls over Tim; a not-so-subtle menace in his set jaw, the coil and flex of his muscles.
Tim’s shoulders tighten. He doesn’t look up from the schematics of his bo staff. Instead, he brings up the taser module, making a (likely nonsense) note in the margins. Idly, he says, “Oh?”
Peripherally, he sees Jason cross his arms. “Cut the shit, Drake. You’ve been watching me. I want to know why.”
Fuck.
Tim knew it was only a matter of time, but… he’d still been hoping for more of it. “I watch everyone,” he says, because he does. He makes another note.
Jason huffs. He snatches the tablet from Tim and tosses it aside, ignoring Tim’s protest.
“I was working on that!”
“Bullshit,” Jason snaps. “You were—spying.”
Tim wrinkles his nose. Without the tablet to focus on, he’s forced to look up and meet the full force of Jason’s glare. It, unfortunately, does not make the man any less attractive. Especially when combined with his tight work out top and low hanging sweatpants. Especially, especially when his face is still flushed from exertion; curls a tangled mess and sweat glistening on his skin. Tim’s throat is dry. He forces himself to swallow. “I wasn’t.”
Spying sounds so—illicit.
He was just…
Observing.
Jason in action is a beautiful thing. The way he moves—silent, even in his heaviest boots. Graceful, despite the sheer bulk of him. Every blow is precise. Every movement sure. He’s aware of his body, keenly, in a way that lets him make deadly use of every inch of it.
It’s captivating.
Tim doesn’t get to see it often. Both of them have their own bases of operation, and on patrol, he usually has his own opponents. But sometimes, if he’s lucky, Jason will stop by the Cave to take advantage of Bruce’s combat simulators at the same time Tim is there.
Tim is never low on projects. It’s not hard to linger; keeping his hands busy and his head lowered, while he watches Jason train.
Unfortunately, Jason is just as attuned to his surroundings as the rest of them. Maybe even moreso, considering. He was bound to feel eyes on him, bound to connect them to Tim.
Maybe it could have gone on longer if that was the only time Tim watched him. Maybe he would have chalked it up to professional curiosity, or research.
But no. Tim’s old crush had to resurface, and now he’s hyperaware of Jason’s presence whenever they’re in the same room, drawn to him unconsciously, thoughtlessly. He catches himself when he can, but it only takes a second for his attention to slip back Jason’s way.
It’s all Dick’s fault. Dick and that stupid photo. He hadn’t even meant to take it! He’d just been sitting in the cave, going through the memory card when Dick twisted into some feat of acrobatic flexibility while mid-conversation. Tim had snapped the photo on a whim.
He hadn’t realized Jason was in the background, finishing his weights routine. Hadn’t realized the camera had captured, perfectly, the moment he wiped his brow with the hem of his tank. Not until he was getting ready to print the photos, and that one popped on his computer screen. Jason’s presence had been obvious, then, and Tim’s eyes has been drawn to his midriff. To the plushness of his relaxed muscles, the way his belly sat over the waistband of his sweats. The trail of dark hair starting at his belly button, the pink stretch marks at his hips and stomach. The faded autopsy scar, barely visible. His love handles.
Tim’s mouth had gone dry. He’d wanted, very much, to get his hands, his mouth on that warm, soft flesh. Sink his teeth into the fat on his hips; drag his nose through the trail of dark curls; follow the lines of his scar with his tongue.
He’d snapped his laptop shut and buried his burning face in his pillow until he had no other choice but to get up and take a cold shower.
That should have been it.
Jason was hardly the first attractive man Tim had met, let alone worked in close quarters with. (Hello? His embarrassing pre-teen crush on Kon? Not that he’d known that for what it was, then.) But for some reason—Jason tripped him up. He just couldn’t stop noticing him.
His body, first. The softness of his muscles at rest. The curve of his bicep. The broadness of his shoulders. The way his shirts always seemed to hug his pecs. His thighs.
The hard line of his jaw; the way he never lets his stubble get very far. The plush bow of his lips. The bump in his nose; the way it was a little crooked, broken one too many times. The way certain curls always, without fail, fall in his face.
His hands. Large palms. Scarred knuckles. Long, broad fingers. His nails are always clean and well trimmed.
Then the way he moves, in and out of costume. Going from a predator, violence incarnate, to something softer, but no less steady. No less sure.
It was awful. Horrible. Embarrassing. Especially since he thought he’d left behind all of this years ago. Yeah, his crush on Robin-Jason had been far worse than his crush on Robin-Dick—but he’d been older, and Jason had been… closer to earth. Grounded in a way that felt like Tim had a chance of maybe, one day, reaching him.
Then he’d come back as Hood, and. Well. Thinking he was hot wasn’t new, but sometime between all the murder attempts and the reconciliation…, Tim had put it behind him. Jason was Jason. Annoying, delighting in finding just the right buttons to push. The kind of mother hen Dick could only dream of being, but without Alfred’s subtlety.
He delighted in toying with Tim. Confiscating his caffeine, dangling it above his head with a smug smirk until Tim reminded him (with a well-placed jab) that he had bat-training too. Chucking granola bars at his head whenever he felt Tim needed them—which was any time he came in the Cave and found Tim working. Dragging him off mid-patrol to stop at a food cart, because Tim just had to try something they offered. Bantering with Tim long after Bruce lost patience with them both. He’d quickly become one of Tim’s favorite people to work with. They just… clicked.
It—
Maybe wasn’t surprising, that he’d fallen again.
Not that it mattered. He’d fallen terribly hard once again, and now Jason had noticed. Because of course he had. Tim might be subtle, but the entire family lived for untangling subtleties. And, again. Situational awareness. Jason had it in spades, beaten only by Cass. Maybe Alfred.
He’s going to kick Tim’s ass. Again.
Jason narrows his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Drake, but I haven’t done shit, okay? I’ve been playing by all Daddy’s precious rules—“
Tim’s eyes widen. “What—“
“So whatever you think I did, or I’m gonna do, you can stop.” He pauses. “I thought we were—okay.”
Tim stares at him. Now that he’s looking at him—really looking, instead of bracing for shouting—he can see the hurt hidden under the anger. His body language is aggressive, sure, but isn’t that always Jason’s first line of defense? He rushes to assure him.
“We are. Jason, we’re fine. I’m not—I know you’re not planning anything. I’m not worried about you going back to crime lording, I promise.” Though, ‘following all Daddy’s rules’ is a stretch. Tim is pretty sure Bruce didn’t approve of liberating weapons from illegal shipments, or child predators conveniently disappearing. But Tim isn’t going to say anything, now or… ever, probably. As long as Jason isn’t threatening any of them, or setting proverbial (and literal) fires all over Gotham, Tim doesn’t care if some of his methods were a little more severe, a little more permanent, than Bruce’s.
He does, however, care that Jason thinks Tim believes he’s going to betray them.
Jason falters. He looks… unsteady, in a way Tim hasn’t seen since the early days of their reconciliation. “Really.”
“Really,” Tim promises.
Jason’s brow knits, then smooths, dogged determination replacing surprise. “Then why the fuck are you always watching me?”
Tim can’t fight the blush in time. It spreads over his cheeks—a slow, creeping warmth his pale skin does nothing to hide. “…no reason?” he tries.
Jason raises an eyebrow, cocking his head in a near perfect imitation of Alfred.
Tim’s mind races, forming and discarding half a dozen plans in minutes. He can see no way out of this that doesn’t damage their relationship. A distraction, maybe—but Jason will be back.
Maybe it’s better to come clean, then. Just—get it out there, and over with, if he’s going to ruin things anyway.
So Tim sighs, long and loud, and covers his face with his hands. “You’re really hot, okay?” he says into his palms, half hoping they’re enough to muffle him, distort his words so that Jason hears something different. Less damning.
Silence.
It stretches on for long enough that Tim dares to peek up at him through his fingers. Jason is staring back at him. His arms have fallen to his sides now, and the flush on his face is no longer just from his earlier workout. His mouth is parted, just slightly.
Tim’s movement, however, seems to jolt him back into himself. He shuts his mouth. The blush darkens. Spreads. He pushes a hand through his hair. “I, um.”
“Sorry,” Tim adds quickly. “I don’t— I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. Um. I’ll stop…” He gestures, vaguely. “And, um, I’m just… gonna… go.”
Jason swallows hard. He grabs Tim’s arm before he can skirt around him to go—somewhere. Smother himself with a pillow, maybe. “You, uh. I don’t…” He clears his throat. “Do you really think…” He uses his free hand to gesture broadly at himself.
“Yes,” Tim says, immediately.
“Oh.”
Jason visibly flounders. He doesn’t release Tim’s arm. He also doesn’t look away, scrutinizing Tim’s face intently as Tim’s stomach flips and flutters. This isn’t going the way he expected. At all. He’s good at thinking on his feet in the field, but when it comes to people… he’s always done better with a script to follow. A part to play. He doesn’t know his role here, what Jason wants from him.
Finally, Jason seems to gather himself. He straightens, meeting Tim’s gaze evenly, despite the lingering pink.
“You think I’m hot. Is that—all, or…?”
Tim’s first impulse is to deny it. But… in for a penny, in for a pound. It’s not like it can get much worse. He hopes. “No. It’s, um. More than that.”
“Oh.”
They stare at each other. Tim is redder than Jason—he can feel it—but neither one of them is unaffected.
“Do… would…” Jason clears his throat. “Would you like to get coffee, sometime?”
The question is a lifeline, and Tim grabs on desperately. He knows how to do this part. “I never turn down coffee. There’s a place near mine that also makes really good tea?”
Jason smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the corners, and fuck— Tim is so gone for him it’s pathetic. “I’ve been. Tomorrow, at… five?”
“Perfect.” If it wasn’t, Tim would clear his schedule.
“Great.” Jason nods, and then they stare at each other. The moment drags. Tim feels his face burn hotter; sees the flush on Jason’s face grow darker. Awkwardness sits like a stone on his chest.
His throat works once. Twice. Then he managed, “I’m just gonna…” He gestures vaguely, with his free arm, toward the stares.
Jason nods, “Oh—yeah. Right. And I’m going to—shower.” His hand stays on Tim’s arm; the heat of his skin burning like a brand. Tim waits, but Jason doesn’t let go. Finally, he flicks his gaze toward it, prompting Jason’s to follow. He jerks away as if burnt, leaving Tim almost too cold.
“Ah—sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Tim assures. “I’ll, um. See you to— later.” Tomorrow, definitely, but also probably at dinner, given the time. Maybe on patrol, too.
“Mhm. Have— uh. Have a good night.” Jason almost seems to wince as he says it, but Tim smiles.
“You too.”
And then he makes for the stairs—not quite running, but close.
He needs—a minute. Or two. Or, you know. A few hundred. First to mourn that absolutely terrible bit of social interaction, but— also.
He has a date with Jason Todd!
The urge to pump his fist is strong, but he resists. He can’t, however, do anything to stop the giddy smile from spreading across his face.
angst 17) “stop making empty promises!” really sounds like a relationship falling apart, or someone once again promising to stay safe but both know it's a lie
thank you!
so, i didn’t… actually end up including the dialogue phrase on this??? but a plot bunny grabbed hold of me & refused to let go, so? here we are!
warning for hurt no comfort <3
Read it on AO3
Tim’s arms are wrapped snugly around his waist. The pressure feels like the only thing holding him together. In the next room over, he can hear the low murmur of Jason’s voice—a sound that normally soothes him, but now makes his stomach twist painfully. He feels—like he’s unraveling.
Jason falls silent. The quiet hangs over their apartment. Tim swallows. The click of his throat is almost overwhelmingly loud.
Then, he hears footsteps. Jason’s shadow falls over him. Tim looks at him. He looks at Tim. Something that feels an awful lot like defeat hangs between them.
“That, uh. That was Roy. It’s… I gotta be outta here at six am,” Jason says carefully. There’s a wariness in his eyes, tension in his shoulders—like he’s bracing for a fight.
Tim is too tired to give him one.
Even if he wasn’t…
Even if he wasn’t, Tim wouldn’t argue with him. Not about this.
“Okay,” he says.
At least he won’t have to get used to sleeping alone. Jason hasn’t slept in their apartment since they started fighting. Hell. Tonight was the first time he’s seen him out of uniform in almost three days.
Tim doesn’t even know where he’s been sleeping. He thought— He thought he knew all of Jason’s safehouses. Hadn’t realized just how little he’d been keeping track—how much he trusted Jason to keep their… to keep Tim’s database up to date.
“Okay?” Jason echoes.
Tim lifts his shoulder. “Okay.” He pauses, and adds, quietly, “Be careful.”
He sees Jason swallow. Watches the way his eyes dart around, searching Tim’s face. Tim doesn’t know what he sees—only that it makes his face pinch. “I… I don’t want to leave things like this,” he says. “Is… How can… What do you need from me, Tim?”
The ache in his voice hurts.
The way he hasn’t moved any closer hurts worse.
Tim doesn’t know how to tell him he doesn’t know. Doesn’t know how to say he’s not sure there’s anything left to fix. So instead he says, “Just come back.”
He won’t.
Why would he?
Jason’s tolerated him for longer than most, but even Tim’s parents couldn’t stand to live in the same house as him for more than a few weeks at a time. It was a mistake to move in together. Tim never should have agreed; never should have let himself fall for the conveniently placed rental ads, never should have even started taking up a drawer at Jason’s old place.
He knew better. Or—he should have.
This would have happened anyway, of course, but maybe it would have taken longer.
“I will,” Jason promises. “I— Fuck, Tim. I swear I will. And I’ll call, every chance I get.”
Tim could almost believe him. Might have, if he hadn’t lived a lifetime of empty promises. “I’ll be here,” he says.
