Tim knows that he’s being stupid. He knows that he shouldn’t be breaking into the home of a notorious criminal, knows that the smell of cigarettes, of the man’s cologne, of the overall scent of the man himself shouldn’t be making him bite his lip. His fingers tighten, white-knuckled, on the windowsill he’d slipped through and his lips part to allow his accelerated breathing, his adam’s apple bobbing behind the black neck of the Red Robin costume. He’s barely moved since entering the Safe House, the building that he knew that the man haunting his thoughts that night wasn’t present at, yet part of him still lingered.
He’d purposely not disarmed the alarms he’d found in the window, letting the man know that he was there, letting him see the way his chest rose and fell as if he’d been running a marathon. Tim knew where all the cameras were, knew where the microphones were hidden, knew the quality of the feed that one could get from the safe house. He knew all the security features of the Safe House because he’d helped Jason put them there, had, actually, helped the other man decorate the place as well, make it seem less like a place to crash when there was no alternative and more like... A home.
For a few long moments, the only sounds were his labored breaths, the faint noise of the city and the the creak of Kevlar and leather. Finally Tim let out a slow breath and turned, slowly sliding the window he’d enter through shut and securing it, re-enabling the alarms out of habit. His hands then slowly slid up and pushed back his cowl, gloved fingers pushing back sweat-slicked hair as he slowly strode towards a small cabinet, opening it and peering inside. He immediately retrieved one of the bottles of whiskey that Jason seemed so fond of and, unscrewing the top, took a quick pull of the bitter liquid, grimacing at the taste and burn.
It wasn’t the same as tasting it on his sometimes lover’s tongue, wasn’t as good as sharing the liquor between two mouths as calloused hands slid over naked muscle. Despite that the liquor did it’s job, slowly loosening the tension in his limbs as he moved to slowly unclasp the straps crossing his chest, letting them fall to the floor carelessly with a soft thump. Licking his lips he lifted a hand to draw down the zipper of his suit, his head tipping back as he shifted to lean back against the counter of the makeshift bar Jason had insisted upon. Once he’d pulled it down far enough to reveal the dark hairs peeking just above his cup, the lines of his hips, he swallowed and moved to slide his gauntlet-covered hands over his partially revealed torso, arching his back the way he knew Jason appreciated.
“Are you watching me?” he breathed softly into the darkness, his voice seeming too loud in the silence of the Safe House.
Tim didn’t expect an answer, didn’t need one, simply moved on to slowly remove his gauntlets, dragging them from his arms and dropping them to the floor to join the slowly growing pile of gear at his feet. Finally he slipped the top of the suit from his shoulders, allowing it to hang around his waist as he reached for the liquor again; legally he couldn’t drink, but they were different, had always been different when it came to the law, had aged beyond the physical, so it seemed less wrong somehow. After a few more swallows of the amber liquid, he screwed back on the top and walked towards the neatly made bed and its crimson sheets that almost looked black in the darkness.
He paused on his way there, his eyes sliding to the weapon racks that lined the walls, throat working as he swallowed, feeling himself grow impossibly harder as he stared at the knives, the swords... the guns. Tossing the bottle of liquor onto the bed, he strode forward and hesitantly reached out, sliding his hands over the metal of one of the dark Glocks mounted there next to its silencer before gently removing it from the wall. Tim turned it over in his hands, checking for a bullet in the chamber, basic checks that he knew to do before swallowing nervously and pressing the barrel to the tender skin under his chin.
Of all the things he expected, it wasn’t the pulse of heat that rolled through him, settling in his groin and making his length throb. He let out a shuddering breath, lowering the weapon before moving towards the bed, setting the weapon aside with the bottle of whiskey as he bent down to remove his boots with trembling fingers, kicking them aside carelessly, the bottom of his suit following soon after. Tim shifted to stretch out over the sheets, retrieving the gun and sliding the barrel over his throat, eyes clenching shut and his breath stuttering between his lips.
“You’ll probably kill me for touching your guns...” Tim gasped out, his hips bucking as he trailed the cold metal down, the barrel circling an already erect nipple. “Or fuck me... God ...”
Tim was sliding the gun lower, biting his lip as his free hand moved to push his jock out of the way, hissing when his length slipped free, relief making him moan softly. Immediately he slid the gun lower, sliding the barrel over his length, his hips bucking as the metal, warmed by the heat of his body already, slid over the sensitive flesh. It was so wrong, so filthy, so reckless to be stroking his length with a loaded gun, to be moaning loudly as he pressed the barrel to the head of his cock, to turn his head, smell Jason on the sheets, and yearn for his touch, to be filled by him, covered by him. With a desperate whimper he lifted his legs, his free hand slipping between them, pausing briefly to roll his testicles between his fingers, and rubbing over the tight, puckered flesh that Jason had stretched and filled time and time again.
“I miss you...” he moaned, knowing how fucked up it was that he missed someone that seemed to do nothing but beat him and fuck him. “I want you to... Mmm... There...”
Suddenly there was a sound from the comm that was still in his ear, causing him to jump, eyes snapping open and immediately moving to the window; nobody was there. Relaxing a little he focused on steadying his breath as he reached up, fingers hovering close to his ear. Finally after waiting almost too long he pressed his fingers to the comm, schooling his voice as he answered.
“Red Robin.” he growled, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
“You’re beautiful, Baby Bird.”
Tim made a strangled sound, his length jerking a little at the familiar voice. “Ja-- Red... I...”
“Line’s secure.” Jason answered, voice distorted and small. “Keep touching yourself.”
“J-Jason...” Tim moaned, sliding his hand back between his legs and arching his back. “Want you...”
“I’d fuck you so hard.” Jason made a soft sound, causing Tim to bite his lip. “Fill you up, make you scream for me.”
With a low moan Tim slid a finger inside himself, rolling his hips a little against the press of the calloused digit, ignoring the slight burn caused by using nothing to ease the way. Despite the slight discomfort he continued to work his finger in and out, gasping and spreading his legs further, knowing he was posed perfectly for the cameras in the room. There was a sucked in breath from the commlink which simply made him begin to press in a second digit, gasping at the pain, at the fullness, at the knowledge that Jason had been watching him the entire time.
“Jason...” Tim moaned, continuing to move the gun over his length, pressing his fingers deep and arching when they brushed over his prostate. “Not enough... I...”
“I know, Baby. Come on, fuck yourself on your fingers. Show me how you want it when I get back.” Jason answered, his voice husky, breathing labored. “You just can’t resist me, can you, Beautiful?”
His hips were rolling, rubbing his length up against Jason’s gun even as he pressed back against his thrusting fingers, the pain simply making everything better, sharper. He let out a soft, borderline desperate cry just for the man listening on the other end of the comm, shuddering when Jason swore, his voice trembling a little in arousal. Tim was close, so close, moaning constantly, breath gusting from between his lips, hanging on every dirty thing that Jason said, every moan or gasp he let slip.
“Jay--” Tim let out another sharp, bitten off cry as he shifted, fingers moving deeper, harder.
“That’s it. Come for me, Baby.” Jason gasped, obviously already just as close as he was.
Jason never called him ‘Baby’, never talked to him like this, never asked him for anything, only took, and Tim wasn’t certain what brought about the sudden change but it just made everything better. Desperate, the youngest of the former Robins dropped the gun, the metal clinking against the bottle of whiskey, and curled his hand around himself, his grip tight and his strokes fast, eager for the end. He was making high keening sounds now, back and hips rolling as he writhed under his own ministrations, writhed for Jason, his eyes snapping open at the next words that came through the comm.
“Missed you too, Tim.”
It was as if his orgasm was ripped from him, leaving him arching and crying out shamelessly as he froze, every fiber of his being tense and every nerve ending alight. It seemed like an eternity before he slumped back onto the bed, panting as he slowly withdrew his fingers, wincing slightly at the dull ache that had already begun. Swallowing he forced his eyes open, rolling his head to stare at one of the hidden cameras, smiling a little, the look tinged with exhaustion.
“Jay...?” he breathed, wondering if the other man had disconnected, like he normally did.
However he was surprised by the soft sigh from the other end, lips quirking a little. “Yeah.”
“I’ll see you when you get home.”
“Yeah, Kid. You will.”