( not even jason is a hundred percent sure where people stand with jason most the time. it's complicated. he hears the tension in tim's tone, though--grabs back onto the bottle to follow him over to the table and out of the kitchen. )
You can. But it's not needed. ( is it recommended is the true question here, isn't it. jason reaches back into his belt, pulls out the knife in the back of it to pop open the top of the bottle before he's setting it down in front of tim. tim can handle pouring his own shots, probably. it's a little safer than letting jason pour the shots for them at least. )
I generally drink it with coke. ( which he didn't bring either. ) How was the hangover? Bad?
[Which, considering the likelihood for concussions in their line of work, is probably not a lie. However, Tim did spend some quality time earlier with a saline drip to combat the dehydration, but like hell he's going to mention that to Jason. The whole attempted cup-eating thing is embarrassing enough, no need to give Jason any further evidence that he can't hold his liquor. Instead, Tim shrugs again, like it's no big deal, and pours each of them two fingers' worth of rum. HE IS REALLY BAD AT THIS OK. Tim hands Jason a glass and holds up his own.]
Here. I don't really have anything to mix it with, though. Cheers.
Yeah, I bet. ( between all the concussions, getting their heads bashed into shit--jason's had worse headaches than hangovers. and that's jason. tim didn't have close to the amount jason had--hell, he doubts he'll ever have that much in his system at once.
but jason's also. jason. so there's that. tim holds out the glasses and jason takes his own, lightly tapping the glasses together before raising it up to his mouth and downing the amount inside it. last time, he picked the drinks, poured the shots, so he'll let tim do it this time.
it's less likely to end in cup devouring that way. ) Mixers are just filler anyway. ( he pauses for a moment, turns his head towards tim. ) You wanted to know my ulterior motives?
[Tim leans back against the table and takes a drink - not the entire thing, because he's not that much of a fool, but a sizeable swallow, and - ugh. It feels heavy on his tongue, thick going down his throat, and it leaves a sharp afterburn in his mouth. Even if this is the good stuff, it's still kind of awful. Tim tries his hardest to keep a straight face while he swallows, and - yep, he fails spectacularly. To his credit, at least he doesn't cough and gag. That would be an extra layer of embarrassment he just doesn't need right now.
Jason turns to Tim, and he has Tim's full attention. Yes, of course he wants to know what thoughts Jason's keeping locked away in his mind, but no, he can't act like an overzealous child, desperate for answers.]
Well, yeah, sure I do. [Tim looks down at his glass, gently swirling the rest of his drink around the inside of his glass.] I just didn't figure you'd tell me directly. Don't I have to guess? [He hums thoughtfully and looks back up at Jason, half smirking.] I know - you've decided that you really like being bitten, and I'm just the man for the job. Am I hot or cold?
( tim makes a face--the kind that's two seconds away from coughing and gagging, jason's familiar enough with it. the burn going down's never pleasant, but it's something one gets used to after a while, isn't it? he appreciates it, at least. but tim, trying so hard not to let it get to him, has jason's lips twisting into a small grin. )
Ha. If I needed someone to help me with my biting kink, I wouldn't get them drunk first, Timbers. ( something something consent issues. but he's not denying liking being bitten, which says something all in of itself. ) I'll give you a nice even "warm" for the attempt.
( he doubts that helps any. maybe that's the point: keep tim on his toes trying to figure out just what the hell jason's aiming for here. )
[Look, Tim's not used to how alcohol feels yet, this is his - what, third time ever drinking? And he's doing his honest best just to keep at it, mainly because this is something Jason wants to do with him, and that in itself feels like a rare gift, even if Tim is being kept on his toes.
That's nothing unusual, though; Tim's always on his toes around Jason, always a measure on his guard. Jason's a wild card, defies prediction with perfect accuracy, and Tim's both smart and experienced enough in dealing with Jason to stay somewhat wary.
... Even if he is, at present, willfully impairing himself in Jason's presence. Despite that sense of vigilance rattling in the back of his mind, Tim finds himself overtaken time and again with the desire to offer Jason a measure of trust. Maybe it's not the smartest thing to do, statistically speaking, but Tim's pretty sure it's the right thing to do.
The bit about having a biting kink is - not actually that surprising itself, but the fact that Jason admits to it - to Tim - is, a little. Tim ducks his head, and couldn't honestly say if the sudden warmth spidering across his face is a result of that revelation or the rum or both.]
Ha. So - what, d'you just want to see what stupid thing I'm going to do this time? Get a good laugh?
( on the other hand, jason--for once, for once--he's letting himself relax a little. lowering his guard. letting tim in, which isn't something he does easily. his shoulders are loose, posture a lot more lax than usual. still guarded, yes, but significantly less guarded than usual.
tim ducks his head down, and jason allows a short laugh to pass his lips, the grin still playing at his lips. he shifts his weight on his heels, moves to lean back against the table and makes himself comfortable as tim goes for the drink again. )
Nah. I can get a good laugh without getting you drunk. ( like proving to tim that he can, indeed, break into his nest. messing with his shit. seeing how long it takes for him to notice that shit's been moved out of place. that's plenty to get a good chuckle out of jason. dicking around with people tends to be a lot more fun when they're sober enough to realize they're being fucked with. )
I wanted to see how long it'd take for you to spill. ( is he going to be more specific than that? nah. that takes the fun out of it. waiting to see what tim thinks he means by it? much more fun. )
[Tim laughs quietly, gaze quickly flicking back up to Jason.]
Spill? What, my drink? I think - [his face scrunches up, mind reaching back through the haze of memory] - wasn't it after my third drink, last time?
[He grins behind the glass as he brings it to his mouth for another swallow of rum. Is he playing coy, intentionally misinterpreting Jason? Maybe. Probably. Two can play the vagueness game, after all.]
( he's definitely playing stupid. tim isn't that drunk, and he's not dumb. jason tilts his head back towards him, raises a brow as he watches him go for the glass again. of course, he'd already finished the same amount, but jesus, tim. )
You're smarter than that, Tim. You know exactly what I'm after. ( even if he doesn't, it'd be interesting to see what tim thinks jason's going on about. ) And it's not a mess, so I'd recommend keeping a good grip on that glass.
[Jason's not dumb either; Tim should've guessed that deflection wouldn't work. Stupid, he thinks, it was a stupid move, but he can't exactly backpedal on it now, can he. No longer grinning, he taps the lip of the glass against his bottom teeth, heart pounding.]
No, Jason. I don't.
[It's a lie, a goddamn lie. There are at least a couple of things Tim can think of that Jason could be hinting at, but what is emotional honesty. He turns toward the table, sets his glass down and reaches for the bottle; his glass is still half full, but Jason's is empty.]
( he can't back his way out, and the lying bit's only going to get him into even deeper shit. jason turns, angles his body to face tim and reaches a hand out to grab onto his shoulder, moving to try and turn tim's body back around towards him. it's hard to watch his face, read his expression, when he's not facing jason, after all. )
Don't try and bullshit me. I know you. I've been reading you since before you even knew I came back from the dead. ( his free hand moves out, to grab onto the bottle before tim can. jason likes booze maybe a little more than the average person would, sure, but he's not particularly interested in it right now--so he tries to push it a little further down the table, out of tim's reach. thank you, mildly longer arms. )
[Tim doesn't resist being turned around - he could, or could try, at least, but he doesn't, and Jason's got him cornered now, both physically and verbally. Alarm bells sound in the back of Tim's mind; Jason's got half a foot of height and a not insignificant bulk of weight on him, and Tim's fought guys bigger than Jason when he was even smaller, but this is Jason. Tim of all people knows exactly how dangerous Jason can be.
Tim feels threatened, yes, but this doesn't seem to be a true threat. He doesn't want to fight Jason. Does he? No, he doesn't want to fight him, Tim is tired of fighting Jason, but he can't just give in, either. He's hardwired to never give up, never give in, keep fighting, why is this so complicated. Why is everything with Jason a complication.
Just tell him. Tell him what he means to you. Tell him - no. You don't just tell Jason Todd something like that. Not if you're Tim Drake.
He's caught at an impasse, stuck between the impulse to advance and the resistance to retreat. Tim considers his options, quickly calculates likely outcomes. Squares his tense shoulders, turns his face up, defiant, to meet Jason's eyes with his own, blue and blue, reaches for the bottom corner of his jacket to hold him just as much in place as the hand on his shoulder.]
OK, fine. You think you know me so well? Then you tell me, Jason - what exactly am I bullshitting you about? What big, dark secret am I keeping from you? Put up or shut up.
[It's not a fight, exactly - not yet, anyway. But it's not giving in, either.]
( tim is absolutely capable of taking him on; jason's more than aware of just how strong he is, how capable he is in a fight. like he said: he's been watching tim since well before he told bruce he was back. and has been watching him ever since. but the hand on tim's shoulder isn't rough; it's a constant pressure, a soft grip, but it's in no way trying to retrain him, or keep him down.
he could, if he wanted to; jason could turn this into a fight, shove tim over and try to use brute force to assert control over tim. but he won't. tim faces him, eyes bright, shoulders tense--and a hand on jason, too.
blue focuses on blue, and jason's not relenting. he keeps his gaze steady on tim, lips pursed and those fingers against tim's shoulder digging in a little. his mouth opens, closes again--opens, again, and if tim thinks it's hard to tell jason how he feels?
imagine the shit going through jason's brain. maybe this isn't a good idea. maybe he's misreading. maybe tim's been bullshitting him this whole time. maybe he should just keep his mouth shut and let it drop. it's not like anything--good could come out of it anyway, right? look at how fucked up jason's gotten everyone else he's gotten close to.
jason isn't a quitter--but now, here, he lets tim win this stare down, focuses his eyes down on tim's mouth for just a moment before averting them entirely and removing hand from the other's shoulder, raising both of his hands up to his shoulders, palms out. )
Fine. You don't want to tell me? I'll drop it.
( he surrenders. it's not a fight, and he's not going to let it morph into one. )
Tim doesn't expect this. He huffs out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, blinks hard, like he doesn't believe what he's just seen. Pauses, processing what just happened.]
You're full of shit, Jason.
[He could leave it at that, let Jason go, and maybe that's what he should do, but he doesn't. Tim's fingers curl into the corner of Jason's jacket - no, don't leave, stay - and he takes a half step forward, closing distance between them.]
You think you know me? Do you?
[He can feel the blood rushing into his face with every thump of his heartbeat echoing in his ears. Tim shakes his head, eyes narrowed as he continues staring up at Jason.]
If you knew me at all, Jason, if you knew me even half as well as you think you do, you wouldn't need me to tell you anything. You wouldn't - you wouldn't - you -
[Tim cuts himself off, biting down on his bottom lip in agitation. He wants Jason to know him well enough that this sort of argument is rendered unnecessary, and the fact that they can't ever seem to move any farther than this is beyond frustrating for him.]
You've been watching me for years, Jason, but I've been watching you since before you even knew I existed. Do you know what it's like to watch you, Jason? Do you? Do you know how much I -
[Nope. Nope, nope, nope, he's said too much already, this is - this is turning into an outright disaster, isn't it.]
( jason is full of shit. he doesn't need tim to tell him that, to tell him how fucked up he is, how badly he's handling all of this. he knows well enough how much he's ruined--everything. this. tim. everything in between. he's backed down. let tim win. dropped it. didn't push any further.
but tim isn't backing down. he can see tim looking at him, eyes staring straight into him out of his peripheral vision. feels it when tim's grip on his jacket tightens. those words cut into him like knives--no, he doesn't need tim to say it, doesn't need to hear it out loud because he can see it in his eyes plain as day. jason's isn't well-versed in. any of this, sure. but he's known tim long enough to notice the way tim looks at him and not anyone else.
there's some part of his brain that's still says he should just back off. that he should let tim keep ragging on him, just stand here and take it because he is entirely full of shit, yes. but he does know tim.
both of his hands raise, gloved fingers moving to slide along tim's jawline, hands gently, gently cupping his face as he leans in and presses his forehead against tim's own. keeps his eyes locked on tim's even with the close proximity. )
I don't know what it's like to watch me. I don't need you to tell me anything, you're right--but I want to hear it.
[The thing is, Tim's full of shit, too, calling Jason out like this when he can't even be straight with Jason himself. He's scared of fucking this up, much more scared than he's ever been of any physical damage Jason might cause. Broken bones can be mended, stab wounds and bullet holes can be stitched and left to scar and heal over time, but feelings? Those are so much more fragile, and while Tim's sure his body can recover from whatever physical punishment he's dealt, his ability to heal from an emotional rejection is much less certain.
But that rejection he fears doesn't seem to be coming - unless Jason's setting him up for a long, cruel downward tumble, and Jason may've done shitty things in the past, but Tim refuses to believe that's what he's about to do now. Not with Jason's hands wrapped so delicately around his face, not with Jason leaning in so close Tim can feel every breath he takes breezing across his own mouth. Of course Jason wants to hear Tim say it - how big of an idiot is Tim, really, to need this spelled out. Tim inhales a shaking breath, bracing to lay himself completely bare in Jason's hands.]
What do you - what do you want to hear from me, Jason? That I -
[He's so close; it's like staring at the sun, too intense for more than a moment. Tim's eyes close, and he sighs out a soft sound, not quite a laugh.]
Do you want to hear that I thought you were this incredible, beautiful creature the moment I first saw you? That watching you move is like seeing a force of nature at work? That I envy you for your strength, and your power, and that sometimes, you're the only thing I can think about? Do you want to hear about how I thought you were special, even before you did the impossible? That I still do?
[The hand curled in Jason's jacket relaxes, shifts up his chest, stops at his heart with two fingers gently pressed to his shirt.]
Why else do you think you're the one I texted when I couldn't sleep? I wanted to see you, I wanted to be with you, I -
[I wanted you, but that still feels like too much to say. Tim inhales a sharp breath and slowly exhales, slipping his hand up to rest along the side of Jason's neck, thumb lightly tracing the line of his jaw.]
This - this is what you wanted me to spill, right? Is that enough, Jason? Do I need to keep talking, or can you just - can't you - ?
( jason wishes he wasn't wearing gloves, right now. wishes it were easy enough to slide them off so he could press his hands against tim's face, feel his flesh against his fingertips--run them up and down his neck, feel the way his chest rises and falls against him and catch his pulse against his neck. unfortunately, it's a little too late for that--isn't it. he may fuck this up so entirely bad that this could be the last time he's allowed to get this close to tim, and jason could have ruined his first and only chance at actually feeling him.
it's too late for regrets now though, isn't it.
tim talks, goes on and on and they're not quite the words he's looking for, there's no I want you in there, but it's implied, isn't it? he can hear it in tim's tone, in the words he says between words but there's still that part of him, deep down, that questions whether he's just imagining this shit. this is all fake. this is tim fucking with him, wanting to crack him open to see what it'd be like, what jason's like inside, just so he can fuck him up and ruin him again.
he doesn't deserve it, does he? tim's feelings. the way he's speaking as if jason was something special. as if he's amazing, wanted. it's all jason's ever wanted, isn't it? to have someone actually want him around--a bond he's been missing since the day he was born.
lips part on a shaky exhale, before he's taking a quick breath in, heart pounding in his chest loud enough that the sound echoes in his ears like a drum; it almost hurts. but he doesn't let that win. not now. not today. not when he's got tim this close, when tim is touching him, opening up to him in ways jason never thought would happen. )
Are you sure? ( his voice loses that gruff undertone--replaced with uncertainty. jason pulls back a bit, moves his forehead away from tim's own but keeps his mouth close, lips almost brushing against tim's as he speaks. if this is all just a game, if someone's just fucking with his head, then he guesses he'll find out soon. ) Last chance to take it back, Tim. To stop this. I'll--stop this now, if that's what you want. We can pretend this didn't happen.
( not that he wants to, but jesus. ) But after this, there's no going back, I--( tim isn't a child, god he knows that, but he's still so young. he could regret this in the morning. he could regret this four seconds after he finishes talking. he could decide that no, he was wrong, he didn't want this, and tell jason to fuck off--and jason's not sure if he could handle that. worse: tim decides he definitely doesn't regret any of this, and jason gets him hurt. )
[Tim feels Jason pull back, and his heart sinks. Maybe this is the rejection he feared after all - but no, it's just hesitation. Jason sounds unsure, asks Tim for a final confirmation. Tim blinks his eyes open again; Jason's still so close, and Tim can feel himself falling down into the blue of his eyes.]
Jason ... yes, I'm sure, of course I'm sure, I'm - I've never been this sure about anything else in my entire life. I want this. I want it to happen. I want you, OK? I - I've wanted you since before I even really knew what that meant.
[A secret he's kept locked away inside of himself for a long, long time. Tim's good at keeping secrets, always has been, even before he took up a mask and a mission. But now that he's unlocked and opened that gate, the words won't stop pouring out of his mouth, a flood of secrets, finally unleashed. He gulps in a quick breath and continues.]
Please, Jason. Don't stop. I don't want to stop, I don't want to pretend this didn't happen, I don't want to forget about this - I can't forget about this, don't you see? I can't forget about you.
[I'm obsessed with you, he means. Don't leave, he means, setting his free hand at Jason's hip, a weight to keep him tethered.]
( tim isn't drunk enough to just start saying shit. this isn't a drunken stupor. this is tim--opening up to him, being honest with him, telling him the words he'd wanted to hear but they're not just being said because he wanted them, they're being said because tim wanted to say them and really--that makes all the difference, doesn't it?
he should respond to them in turn, tell tim how he feels--but the words don't come easy. jason's already standing here, hands on tim's face, body lining up close to the other's own, pressed so close he feels the heat radiating off of him and--actions speak louder than words, don't they?
a pained sound passes his throat, quiet and almost completely unnoticeable, really--and jason's definitely covering that up by leaning forward those last few breaths that separate them, tilting tim's head up towards his and pressing his lips down against the other's own in a rough kiss. it's messy, rushed, and he's quickly moving to deepen it, tongue sliding against the seam of tim's mouth moments before his teeth drag across his lower lip.
their whole conversation, this whole thing had been slow-paced. slow touches, slow looks, slowly waiting for tim to break and say it, and jason's tired of going slow now. )
[Tim doesn't expect words from Jason - not about this. Sure, he's mouthy when he wants to be - they both are, that's part of what you're trained for as a Robin, to chatter and distract - but talking about feelings? Well, they both learned about that from Bruce, too - how not to talk about feelings, how to shove them into a dark corner and try to forget they exist. Tim's not drunk, not even close, but maybe the small amount of alcohol he's had to drink is what finally helped loosen his tongue enough to tell Jason the hidden truths he's been holding onto for years.
He doesn't need Jason's words, not when he's got Jason's mouth on his, pushing hard and fast for more, showing Tim what Jason can't say - that he's wanted, too, that this isn't some one-sided infatuation destined to go nowhere, that Tim isn't just some dumb kid with an awkward crush on his predecessor. Tim's jaw relaxes; his mouth opens to let Jason in further still. A quiet sound muffles into Jason's mouth, wordless but meaning yes and finally and more all the same. Fingers slip through Jason's belt loop, into the hair at the back of his head. Tim pulls Jason in as close to him as he can, backing up against the table behind him, no care given to whether the force rattles the glasses or knocks over the bottle of rum. Jason is the only thing Tim cares about at the moment, the taste and the warmth and the weight of him, the old bar smell that surrounds him, the pinch of his teeth on his lip, everything. Tim would gladly drown himself in Jason if he could. He's been waiting so long.]
( jason is an absolutely excellent bullshitter. he can run his mouth for forever when he needs to, all snide comments and snark--but that is the robin training talking. hell, even before he was robin, he knew how to use his mouth to get out of shit. crime alley isn't well known for it's hospitality towards--anyone, actually.
but talking about feelings is absolutely fucking impossible. even thinking about forming coherent sentences when he's got tim pressed up against him, reacting to him, pulling him in closer is impossible. tim presses back against the table, opens up for him so nicely, and jason takes it as an invitation; his arms move down tim's neck, over his shoulders, down his back, grabbing onto his ass and using that as leverage to pull him up, lifting him until he's high enough to settle his weight down against the table. a hand moves out for the liquor bottle, shoving it back and--hopefully--far enough away that their moving isn't going to knock it over.
not that he gives a shit about tim's floor, and he's sure tim doesn't give a shit either, but he also doesn't want to drown tim in rum. jason, at the very least, has the forethought still to know that's a shitty idea all around.
his hands are quick to move back up, palms pressing up tim's sides, tracing over his ribcage, feeling out the shape of his shoulders before grabbing back onto his face and tilting his head back even further as jason leans over him, giving a soft, pleased sound as he drags his tongue across the roof of tim's mouth, taking the time to just taste him. )
[Kissing Jason is different than kissing a girl. Girls are softness and curves, and Jason, he's all hard lines, a bulldozer, a freight train going full steam ahead. He's an unstoppable force, and Tim doesn't want to stop him anyway, didn't he say so before? Don't stop. I don't want to stop.
Words aren't necessary to say this again; Tim's body says everything his mouth is too occupied to speak. The tension he's been holding in his shoulders since Jason arrived is gone, melted out of his muscles. He's pliant in Jason's hands as he's set up on top of the table, legs shifted to wrap around the backs of Jason's, knees pressed into his hips, another inward pull. He can feel his skin sparking underneath his clothes where Jason touches him, and it's not enough. Jason's got those damn gloves on still, a layer of separation between him and the rest of the world, and Tim wants them off, wants no more distance between them. He doesn't skip a beat, doesn't stop kissing Jason, doesn't stop opening his mouth to encourage him in, just reaches up to Jason's wrist and starts peeling fabric back from skin.]
( it's just too bad they still have all these layers of clothes. tim's hands move over his, tug at his gloves, starts removing the fabric from his hands and jason takes that as his cue to pull back even when tim's still kissing him back just as hard.
tim's got his legs wrapped around jason's own, heels pressing into him and jason doesn't have anywhere to go but forward--so he moves in. presses his hips into tim's crotch, grinds slow against him to show tim that even just from this, he's already half-hard. yes, jason has had--enough experience, knows what he's doing, but everything's fucking different with tim, isn't it. tim isn't soft and all curves, tim isn't a girl, and tim, just being tim, is a whole different ballgame for him.
jason shifts, moves to press his face into the crook of tim's neck, brushes tongue and teeth where neck meets shoulder before pausing to take a few deep, steadying breaths. )
Jesus. ( maybe breathing wasn't helping. another deep breath--not looking directly at tim definitely helps with the whole. talking part. once tim has one of his hands free, jason slides it up under his thigh, fingers gripping onto flesh hard enough to bruise for just a moment, before he's reining himself back in and groping at tim's flesh instead. ) I want you, Tim. ( his voice is gruff, darker, lower than usual, full of promise: ) What do you want from me?
[What Tim wants, what he's always wanted from Jason, is everything; that's the word left on his tongue when Jason pulls back, making space for both of them to breathe. He wants Jason's attention, and he's got it. He wants Jason's hands holding him, his voice in his ear, his mouth against his skin, and he's got all of that now, too. He wants Jason to want him, and Jason's just given him that as well, hasn't he, with words and the way he's pressed in close.]
I want ...
[He pauses, chest rising and falling with deep, quick breaths. Specifics, that's what Jason's asking, isn't it? Tim's thought about this, imagined what might happen if by some miracle they managed to make it this far, but only vaguely, never allowing his mind to wander too far into the details. Now that they are here, tangled up in each other, he thinks about Jason's fingers twisting hard in his hair, about bruises and bite marks left behind on his skin, about having all of Jason's intensity focused on him, finally, and it makes Tim shiver.
But he doesn't know what Jason wants; he hinted at biting earlier, but that was before things escalated. Tim knows Jason's violence, but in a different context. Maybe this is different.]
I want - I want you, Jason, I -
[Tim peels the second glove off his other hand, drops it on the table with as little care as the first. Task accomplished, his hands are left restless, tracing along Jason's collar, along the side of his face, slipping down to his shoulders, under the jacket, nudging it backwards.]
I just want you to touch me, Jason, I don't care, what - what do you want from me?
( jacket off. right. he's got the hint. jason shifts back another inch, uses the space given to pull his jacket off of his arms and shove it onto the table to the side of tim. the belt goes next, fingers reaching between them to undo the buckle because tim's legs around his hips and his gun holders don't make for a very comfortable. anything. and the soft warmth of tim is a lot more important to him right now than cold metal.
it's hard to get them off without moving tim, but he's determined, and jason can do a lot with determination. the belt's unhooked, one hand gripping onto both ends of it to throw that down on the table, too, beside tim. it leaves jason almost entirely unarmed--but why the fuck would he give a shit about any of that when he still has tim.
jason's heartbeat pounds in his ears, bare hands sliding back up tim's thighs, over his hips, waist, and up under his shirt, fingertips brushing against bare skin, digging into flesh as if somehow, that's going to be what grounds him here. tim's skin against his own. he's glad he did take the time to--remove his shit, to calm down a little, brace himself for this because fuck, this is tim.
and the last thing he wants to do is rush through all of this. they're here, touching and kissing, he may as well make it count, right? jason leans in, presses a rough kiss to tim's mouth, teeths and sucks at his lower lip for a moment before he's releasing it to murmur against his lips: )
I want to take you to your room, throw you down onto the mattress, and mark you. ( his mouth moves south, a little. bites along tim's jawline hard enough to leave the imprint of teeth behind. ) I want to hear you moan for me. ( even further down, mouth now latching right over his adam's apple, taking a moment to suck at the flesh there, tongue pressing hard against it. ) I want you to tell me just how you imagined this going, before.
( there's another brief pause, jason sliding down just a bit more to mouth over tim's collar. ) You did think about this, didn't you?
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
You can. But it's not needed. ( is it recommended is the true question here, isn't it. jason reaches back into his belt, pulls out the knife in the back of it to pop open the top of the bottle before he's setting it down in front of tim. tim can handle pouring his own shots, probably. it's a little safer than letting jason pour the shots for them at least. )
I generally drink it with coke. ( which he didn't bring either. ) How was the hangover? Bad?
no subject
[Which, considering the likelihood for concussions in their line of work, is probably not a lie. However, Tim did spend some quality time earlier with a saline drip to combat the dehydration, but like hell he's going to mention that to Jason. The whole attempted cup-eating thing is embarrassing enough, no need to give Jason any further evidence that he can't hold his liquor. Instead, Tim shrugs again, like it's no big deal, and pours each of them two fingers' worth of rum. HE IS REALLY BAD AT THIS OK. Tim hands Jason a glass and holds up his own.]
Here. I don't really have anything to mix it with, though. Cheers.
no subject
but jason's also. jason. so there's that. tim holds out the glasses and jason takes his own, lightly tapping the glasses together before raising it up to his mouth and downing the amount inside it. last time, he picked the drinks, poured the shots, so he'll let tim do it this time.
it's less likely to end in cup devouring that way. ) Mixers are just filler anyway. ( he pauses for a moment, turns his head towards tim. ) You wanted to know my ulterior motives?
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Jason turns to Tim, and he has Tim's full attention. Yes, of course he wants to know what thoughts Jason's keeping locked away in his mind, but no, he can't act like an overzealous child, desperate for answers.]
Well, yeah, sure I do. [Tim looks down at his glass, gently swirling the rest of his drink around the inside of his glass.] I just didn't figure you'd tell me directly. Don't I have to guess? [He hums thoughtfully and looks back up at Jason, half smirking.] I know - you've decided that you really like being bitten, and I'm just the man for the job. Am I hot or cold?
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Ha. If I needed someone to help me with my biting kink, I wouldn't get them drunk first, Timbers. ( something something consent issues. but he's not denying liking being bitten, which says something all in of itself. ) I'll give you a nice even "warm" for the attempt.
( he doubts that helps any. maybe that's the point: keep tim on his toes trying to figure out just what the hell jason's aiming for here. )
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That's nothing unusual, though; Tim's always on his toes around Jason, always a measure on his guard. Jason's a wild card, defies prediction with perfect accuracy, and Tim's both smart and experienced enough in dealing with Jason to stay somewhat wary.
... Even if he is, at present, willfully impairing himself in Jason's presence. Despite that sense of vigilance rattling in the back of his mind, Tim finds himself overtaken time and again with the desire to offer Jason a measure of trust. Maybe it's not the smartest thing to do, statistically speaking, but Tim's pretty sure it's the right thing to do.
The bit about having a biting kink is - not actually that surprising itself, but the fact that Jason admits to it - to Tim - is, a little. Tim ducks his head, and couldn't honestly say if the sudden warmth spidering across his face is a result of that revelation or the rum or both.]
Ha. So - what, d'you just want to see what stupid thing I'm going to do this time? Get a good laugh?
[He takes another drink, pulls another face.]
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tim ducks his head down, and jason allows a short laugh to pass his lips, the grin still playing at his lips. he shifts his weight on his heels, moves to lean back against the table and makes himself comfortable as tim goes for the drink again. )
Nah. I can get a good laugh without getting you drunk. ( like proving to tim that he can, indeed, break into his nest. messing with his shit. seeing how long it takes for him to notice that shit's been moved out of place. that's plenty to get a good chuckle out of jason. dicking around with people tends to be a lot more fun when they're sober enough to realize they're being fucked with. )
I wanted to see how long it'd take for you to spill. ( is he going to be more specific than that? nah. that takes the fun out of it. waiting to see what tim thinks he means by it? much more fun. )
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Spill? What, my drink? I think - [his face scrunches up, mind reaching back through the haze of memory] - wasn't it after my third drink, last time?
[He grins behind the glass as he brings it to his mouth for another swallow of rum. Is he playing coy, intentionally misinterpreting Jason? Maybe. Probably. Two can play the vagueness game, after all.]
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You're smarter than that, Tim. You know exactly what I'm after. ( even if he doesn't, it'd be interesting to see what tim thinks jason's going on about. ) And it's not a mess, so I'd recommend keeping a good grip on that glass.
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No, Jason. I don't.
[It's a lie, a goddamn lie. There are at least a couple of things Tim can think of that Jason could be hinting at, but what is emotional honesty. He turns toward the table, sets his glass down and reaches for the bottle; his glass is still half full, but Jason's is empty.]
Here, you need a refill?
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Don't try and bullshit me. I know you. I've been reading you since before you even knew I came back from the dead. ( his free hand moves out, to grab onto the bottle before tim can. jason likes booze maybe a little more than the average person would, sure, but he's not particularly interested in it right now--so he tries to push it a little further down the table, out of tim's reach. thank you, mildly longer arms. )
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Tim feels threatened, yes, but this doesn't seem to be a true threat. He doesn't want to fight Jason. Does he? No, he doesn't want to fight him, Tim is tired of fighting Jason, but he can't just give in, either. He's hardwired to never give up, never give in, keep fighting, why is this so complicated. Why is everything with Jason a complication.
Just tell him. Tell him what he means to you. Tell him - no. You don't just tell Jason Todd something like that. Not if you're Tim Drake.
He's caught at an impasse, stuck between the impulse to advance and the resistance to retreat. Tim considers his options, quickly calculates likely outcomes. Squares his tense shoulders, turns his face up, defiant, to meet Jason's eyes with his own, blue and blue, reaches for the bottom corner of his jacket to hold him just as much in place as the hand on his shoulder.]
OK, fine. You think you know me so well? Then you tell me, Jason - what exactly am I bullshitting you about? What big, dark secret am I keeping from you? Put up or shut up.
[It's not a fight, exactly - not yet, anyway. But it's not giving in, either.]
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he could, if he wanted to; jason could turn this into a fight, shove tim over and try to use brute force to assert control over tim. but he won't. tim faces him, eyes bright, shoulders tense--and a hand on jason, too.
blue focuses on blue, and jason's not relenting. he keeps his gaze steady on tim, lips pursed and those fingers against tim's shoulder digging in a little. his mouth opens, closes again--opens, again, and if tim thinks it's hard to tell jason how he feels?
imagine the shit going through jason's brain. maybe this isn't a good idea. maybe he's misreading. maybe tim's been bullshitting him this whole time. maybe he should just keep his mouth shut and let it drop. it's not like anything--good could come out of it anyway, right? look at how fucked up jason's gotten everyone else he's gotten close to.
jason isn't a quitter--but now, here, he lets tim win this stare down, focuses his eyes down on tim's mouth for just a moment before averting them entirely and removing hand from the other's shoulder, raising both of his hands up to his shoulders, palms out. )
Fine. You don't want to tell me? I'll drop it.
( he surrenders. it's not a fight, and he's not going to let it morph into one. )
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Tim doesn't expect this. He huffs out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, blinks hard, like he doesn't believe what he's just seen. Pauses, processing what just happened.]
You're full of shit, Jason.
[He could leave it at that, let Jason go, and maybe that's what he should do, but he doesn't. Tim's fingers curl into the corner of Jason's jacket - no, don't leave, stay - and he takes a half step forward, closing distance between them.]
You think you know me? Do you?
[He can feel the blood rushing into his face with every thump of his heartbeat echoing in his ears. Tim shakes his head, eyes narrowed as he continues staring up at Jason.]
If you knew me at all, Jason, if you knew me even half as well as you think you do, you wouldn't need me to tell you anything. You wouldn't - you wouldn't - you -
[Tim cuts himself off, biting down on his bottom lip in agitation. He wants Jason to know him well enough that this sort of argument is rendered unnecessary, and the fact that they can't ever seem to move any farther than this is beyond frustrating for him.]
You've been watching me for years, Jason, but I've been watching you since before you even knew I existed. Do you know what it's like to watch you, Jason? Do you? Do you know how much I -
[Nope. Nope, nope, nope, he's said too much already, this is - this is turning into an outright disaster, isn't it.]
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but tim isn't backing down. he can see tim looking at him, eyes staring straight into him out of his peripheral vision. feels it when tim's grip on his jacket tightens. those words cut into him like knives--no, he doesn't need tim to say it, doesn't need to hear it out loud because he can see it in his eyes plain as day. jason's isn't well-versed in. any of this, sure. but he's known tim long enough to notice the way tim looks at him and not anyone else.
there's some part of his brain that's still says he should just back off. that he should let tim keep ragging on him, just stand here and take it because he is entirely full of shit, yes. but he does know tim.
both of his hands raise, gloved fingers moving to slide along tim's jawline, hands gently, gently cupping his face as he leans in and presses his forehead against tim's own. keeps his eyes locked on tim's even with the close proximity. )
I don't know what it's like to watch me. I don't need you to tell me anything, you're right--but I want to hear it.
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But that rejection he fears doesn't seem to be coming - unless Jason's setting him up for a long, cruel downward tumble, and Jason may've done shitty things in the past, but Tim refuses to believe that's what he's about to do now. Not with Jason's hands wrapped so delicately around his face, not with Jason leaning in so close Tim can feel every breath he takes breezing across his own mouth. Of course Jason wants to hear Tim say it - how big of an idiot is Tim, really, to need this spelled out. Tim inhales a shaking breath, bracing to lay himself completely bare in Jason's hands.]
What do you - what do you want to hear from me, Jason? That I -
[He's so close; it's like staring at the sun, too intense for more than a moment. Tim's eyes close, and he sighs out a soft sound, not quite a laugh.]
Do you want to hear that I thought you were this incredible, beautiful creature the moment I first saw you? That watching you move is like seeing a force of nature at work? That I envy you for your strength, and your power, and that sometimes, you're the only thing I can think about? Do you want to hear about how I thought you were special, even before you did the impossible? That I still do?
[The hand curled in Jason's jacket relaxes, shifts up his chest, stops at his heart with two fingers gently pressed to his shirt.]
Why else do you think you're the one I texted when I couldn't sleep? I wanted to see you, I wanted to be with you, I -
[I wanted you, but that still feels like too much to say. Tim inhales a sharp breath and slowly exhales, slipping his hand up to rest along the side of Jason's neck, thumb lightly tracing the line of his jaw.]
This - this is what you wanted me to spill, right? Is that enough, Jason? Do I need to keep talking, or can you just - can't you - ?
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it's too late for regrets now though, isn't it.
tim talks, goes on and on and they're not quite the words he's looking for, there's no I want you in there, but it's implied, isn't it? he can hear it in tim's tone, in the words he says between words but there's still that part of him, deep down, that questions whether he's just imagining this shit. this is all fake. this is tim fucking with him, wanting to crack him open to see what it'd be like, what jason's like inside, just so he can fuck him up and ruin him again.
he doesn't deserve it, does he? tim's feelings. the way he's speaking as if jason was something special. as if he's amazing, wanted. it's all jason's ever wanted, isn't it? to have someone actually want him around--a bond he's been missing since the day he was born.
lips part on a shaky exhale, before he's taking a quick breath in, heart pounding in his chest loud enough that the sound echoes in his ears like a drum; it almost hurts. but he doesn't let that win. not now. not today. not when he's got tim this close, when tim is touching him, opening up to him in ways jason never thought would happen. )
Are you sure? ( his voice loses that gruff undertone--replaced with uncertainty. jason pulls back a bit, moves his forehead away from tim's own but keeps his mouth close, lips almost brushing against tim's as he speaks. if this is all just a game, if someone's just fucking with his head, then he guesses he'll find out soon. ) Last chance to take it back, Tim. To stop this. I'll--stop this now, if that's what you want. We can pretend this didn't happen.
( not that he wants to, but jesus. ) But after this, there's no going back, I--( tim isn't a child, god he knows that, but he's still so young. he could regret this in the morning. he could regret this four seconds after he finishes talking. he could decide that no, he was wrong, he didn't want this, and tell jason to fuck off--and jason's not sure if he could handle that. worse: tim decides he definitely doesn't regret any of this, and jason gets him hurt. )
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Jason ... yes, I'm sure, of course I'm sure, I'm - I've never been this sure about anything else in my entire life. I want this. I want it to happen. I want you, OK? I - I've wanted you since before I even really knew what that meant.
[A secret he's kept locked away inside of himself for a long, long time. Tim's good at keeping secrets, always has been, even before he took up a mask and a mission. But now that he's unlocked and opened that gate, the words won't stop pouring out of his mouth, a flood of secrets, finally unleashed. He gulps in a quick breath and continues.]
Please, Jason. Don't stop. I don't want to stop, I don't want to pretend this didn't happen, I don't want to forget about this - I can't forget about this, don't you see? I can't forget about you.
[I'm obsessed with you, he means. Don't leave, he means, setting his free hand at Jason's hip, a weight to keep him tethered.]
Please, Jason. Please. Kiss me.
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he should respond to them in turn, tell tim how he feels--but the words don't come easy. jason's already standing here, hands on tim's face, body lining up close to the other's own, pressed so close he feels the heat radiating off of him and--actions speak louder than words, don't they?
a pained sound passes his throat, quiet and almost completely unnoticeable, really--and jason's definitely covering that up by leaning forward those last few breaths that separate them, tilting tim's head up towards his and pressing his lips down against the other's own in a rough kiss. it's messy, rushed, and he's quickly moving to deepen it, tongue sliding against the seam of tim's mouth moments before his teeth drag across his lower lip.
their whole conversation, this whole thing had been slow-paced. slow touches, slow looks, slowly waiting for tim to break and say it, and jason's tired of going slow now. )
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He doesn't need Jason's words, not when he's got Jason's mouth on his, pushing hard and fast for more, showing Tim what Jason can't say - that he's wanted, too, that this isn't some one-sided infatuation destined to go nowhere, that Tim isn't just some dumb kid with an awkward crush on his predecessor. Tim's jaw relaxes; his mouth opens to let Jason in further still. A quiet sound muffles into Jason's mouth, wordless but meaning yes and finally and more all the same. Fingers slip through Jason's belt loop, into the hair at the back of his head. Tim pulls Jason in as close to him as he can, backing up against the table behind him, no care given to whether the force rattles the glasses or knocks over the bottle of rum. Jason is the only thing Tim cares about at the moment, the taste and the warmth and the weight of him, the old bar smell that surrounds him, the pinch of his teeth on his lip, everything. Tim would gladly drown himself in Jason if he could. He's been waiting so long.]
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but talking about feelings is absolutely fucking impossible. even thinking about forming coherent sentences when he's got tim pressed up against him, reacting to him, pulling him in closer is impossible. tim presses back against the table, opens up for him so nicely, and jason takes it as an invitation; his arms move down tim's neck, over his shoulders, down his back, grabbing onto his ass and using that as leverage to pull him up, lifting him until he's high enough to settle his weight down against the table. a hand moves out for the liquor bottle, shoving it back and--hopefully--far enough away that their moving isn't going to knock it over.
not that he gives a shit about tim's floor, and he's sure tim doesn't give a shit either, but he also doesn't want to drown tim in rum. jason, at the very least, has the forethought still to know that's a shitty idea all around.
his hands are quick to move back up, palms pressing up tim's sides, tracing over his ribcage, feeling out the shape of his shoulders before grabbing back onto his face and tilting his head back even further as jason leans over him, giving a soft, pleased sound as he drags his tongue across the roof of tim's mouth, taking the time to just taste him. )
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Words aren't necessary to say this again; Tim's body says everything his mouth is too occupied to speak. The tension he's been holding in his shoulders since Jason arrived is gone, melted out of his muscles. He's pliant in Jason's hands as he's set up on top of the table, legs shifted to wrap around the backs of Jason's, knees pressed into his hips, another inward pull. He can feel his skin sparking underneath his clothes where Jason touches him, and it's not enough. Jason's got those damn gloves on still, a layer of separation between him and the rest of the world, and Tim wants them off, wants no more distance between them. He doesn't skip a beat, doesn't stop kissing Jason, doesn't stop opening his mouth to encourage him in, just reaches up to Jason's wrist and starts peeling fabric back from skin.]
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tim's got his legs wrapped around jason's own, heels pressing into him and jason doesn't have anywhere to go but forward--so he moves in. presses his hips into tim's crotch, grinds slow against him to show tim that even just from this, he's already half-hard. yes, jason has had--enough experience, knows what he's doing, but everything's fucking different with tim, isn't it. tim isn't soft and all curves, tim isn't a girl, and tim, just being tim, is a whole different ballgame for him.
jason shifts, moves to press his face into the crook of tim's neck, brushes tongue and teeth where neck meets shoulder before pausing to take a few deep, steadying breaths. )
Jesus. ( maybe breathing wasn't helping. another deep breath--not looking directly at tim definitely helps with the whole. talking part. once tim has one of his hands free, jason slides it up under his thigh, fingers gripping onto flesh hard enough to bruise for just a moment, before he's reining himself back in and groping at tim's flesh instead. ) I want you, Tim. ( his voice is gruff, darker, lower than usual, full of promise: ) What do you want from me?
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I want ...
[He pauses, chest rising and falling with deep, quick breaths. Specifics, that's what Jason's asking, isn't it? Tim's thought about this, imagined what might happen if by some miracle they managed to make it this far, but only vaguely, never allowing his mind to wander too far into the details. Now that they are here, tangled up in each other, he thinks about Jason's fingers twisting hard in his hair, about bruises and bite marks left behind on his skin, about having all of Jason's intensity focused on him, finally, and it makes Tim shiver.
But he doesn't know what Jason wants; he hinted at biting earlier, but that was before things escalated. Tim knows Jason's violence, but in a different context. Maybe this is different.]
I want - I want you, Jason, I -
[Tim peels the second glove off his other hand, drops it on the table with as little care as the first. Task accomplished, his hands are left restless, tracing along Jason's collar, along the side of his face, slipping down to his shoulders, under the jacket, nudging it backwards.]
I just want you to touch me, Jason, I don't care, what - what do you want from me?
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it's hard to get them off without moving tim, but he's determined, and jason can do a lot with determination. the belt's unhooked, one hand gripping onto both ends of it to throw that down on the table, too, beside tim. it leaves jason almost entirely unarmed--but why the fuck would he give a shit about any of that when he still has tim.
jason's heartbeat pounds in his ears, bare hands sliding back up tim's thighs, over his hips, waist, and up under his shirt, fingertips brushing against bare skin, digging into flesh as if somehow, that's going to be what grounds him here. tim's skin against his own. he's glad he did take the time to--remove his shit, to calm down a little, brace himself for this because fuck, this is tim.
and the last thing he wants to do is rush through all of this. they're here, touching and kissing, he may as well make it count, right? jason leans in, presses a rough kiss to tim's mouth, teeths and sucks at his lower lip for a moment before he's releasing it to murmur against his lips: )
I want to take you to your room, throw you down onto the mattress, and mark you. ( his mouth moves south, a little. bites along tim's jawline hard enough to leave the imprint of teeth behind. ) I want to hear you moan for me. ( even further down, mouth now latching right over his adam's apple, taking a moment to suck at the flesh there, tongue pressing hard against it. ) I want you to tell me just how you imagined this going, before.
( there's another brief pause, jason sliding down just a bit more to mouth over tim's collar. ) You did think about this, didn't you?
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