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You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up here.
Okay, scratch that, you know how, you just don’t understand why the universe decided to punish you by keeping you here.
For the past seven years, you’ve grown used to hearing that grating voice that you’re sure will continue to haunt you forever. Handsome Jack’s voice, that is. Being the arrogant asshole that he was, he built an entire casino (with what you’re sure are stolen plans) centered around himself.
You’d only applied to be a bartender there for a little extra side cash, and maybe the chance to see Jack himself in person. You came to find out that he’s not all he’s supposed to be once you met him. He’s far more arrogant in person, and a tad bit shorter than you’d expected. Working conditions at the casino weren’t the worst, though you were only there from time to time, so you couldn’t speak for every employee.
Of course, you just so happened to be there the day that he died. The place went on lockdown, and after talking to several other bartenders that you worked with, it was evident that Jack had no plans of telling anybody that the place would go on lockdown if he died. Asshole.
He still manages to taunt you past death, and if you heard his voice one more time, you were sure you were going to snap.
“Are you okay?”
Lifting your head from your hands, you give the owner of the voice a half-hearted smile. Timothy’s approaching you slowly, and you motion for him to come closer.
You’d say the one good thing to come out of being locked in this damn casino is Timothy himself. After being cornered by a group of angry casino-goers and praying that your life ended another way (because this would just be embarrassing), Timothy stepped in and took you somewhere safe.
You’d been confused at first, because how the hell was who you presumed to be Handsome Jack still alive, and why was he helping you of all people? After entering what he dubbed the ‘Casa de Timothy’, he had explained himself to you.
The more you looked him over, the less he seemed like Jack. You’ll admit that it had been hard to trust him at first, because how were you supposed to know that Jack’s doppelganger wouldn’t turn out just like him?
Over the past seven years, however, Timothy had proven that he was nothing like Jack.
You were at the point where you could easily tell Tim’s voice apart from Jack’s, even if you couldn’t properly hear him. Tim’s voice is much softer, and though it’s the same octave as Jack’s, it just feels more kind. Jack’s voice, on the other hand, is scratchy and mean. The difference is obvious.
Timothy’s arms are wrapping around you, and you’re sure that he’s bothered by the same thing. Every time Jack’s voice sounded throughout the casino, you were sure that the annoyance on Tim’s part was tenfold what yours was. After all, what was he supposed to do if he ever got out of there? He’s got the face of the most hated man in the galaxy, and can’t do anything about it.
“I’m fine, Tim,” You sigh into the hug.
He’s letting out a noise that tells you that he doesn’t entirely believe you, and pulls back to lift a brow at you.
“You sure?”
You always find yourself smiling as he speaks, because you still aren’t sure how he’s managed to take Jack’s voice and make it into the softest sound you’ve ever heard.
You smile,“ Positive,”
He knows what’s bothering you, but because the same thing is bothering him, and has been for the past seven years, he leaves it alone. He goes back to what he was doing, cleaning the other side of the place and attempting to block Jack out.
He has the radio turned on for soft background noise, and after the two of you had finally figured out how to bypass the stations that Jack had set on the damn thing, he had it on nearly every day. The two of you began to hum along to the song currently playing, and you sigh quietly to yourself in boredom.
You scan the room for things to do, because let’s be real, after seven years in the same place, you run out of things to do pretty fast. Spotting a book that you haven’t read next to Tim’s foot, you speak up.
“Hey sweetheart, can you grab that book for me?”
The both of you pause once you realize what you’ve just said. The pet name slipped out unconsciously, and you’re sure that you’re red in the face from embarrassment. It’s not like you and Tim weren’t close – the two of you were probably closer than anybody else in the damn building. You didn’t think you were that close, however.
He turns around slowly, and he’s got the cutest expression on his face, like he doesn’t know how to respond.
“...You’re talking to me?” He asks quietly, pointing to himself.
There’s a quiet giggle that leaves your mouth before you’re responding.
“Mhm,” Is all you’re able to get out.
Tim starts stammering, and you know he only does this when he’s nervous or flustered.
“Sure! Sure, I can uh…totally grab this book for you–” He’s leaning down to grab the book.
Part of you feels terrible watching him stumble over his words, but the other part of you thinks that this is the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s even fumbling with the book as he brings it to you, and you take it out of his hands slowly.
The two of you make eye contact, and now you feel guilty.
“I didn’t mean to say that,” You admit.
His gaze falls to the floor,” Right. So you didn’t mean that?”
You pause before rephrasing your words,” I didn’t mean for it to come out, I mean. I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable–”
“No!” He interrupts, bringing his hands up to reassure you,” No, it didn’t. I um…I liked it.”
There was always a sneaking suspicion within you that Timothy thought of you as more than what you really were, but you were never brave enough to act on it. You were sure that he had people swarming him when the casino was open anyway, swooning over him because he looks like Jack.
You can’t quite put your finger on the reason why, but he isn’t Jack to you. He doesn’t even make you think of the egotistical asshole anymore.
Maybe it’s his soft voice, or maybe it’s the way that he genuinely cares about you. You also think it may be his own unique little mannerisms and the stuff that he says. Either way, he was Timothy to you, not Jack.
The first time you’d told him so, he refused to believe that you were being truthful. He’d built this wall around himself and had continuously told himself that the only reason people would like him is because he was supposed to be Jack.
It took a while, and you’re sure that you still have more reassuring to do, but he believes you now. He especially believes you when you stand up and come face to face with him. There’s this look in your eyes that he can’t quite name, and that he’s never seen before in his life. It makes him choke up, and before he can say anything, you’re leaning forward to kiss him.
Desperately hoping that you aren’t misreading the situation, you drop your book onto the floor and wrap your arms around him. A quiet hum leaves him, and he’s practically stunned in place before returning the embrace.
You can feel the smile on his lips as he kisses you, and oh, you’d do anything to hear that quiet little groan again. You break the kiss and can’t help the little smirk that crosses your lips.
“You liked it?” You ask.
He’s confused for a moment on whether you meant the nickname or the kiss, and mentally notes that yeah, he liked both, and nods his head. There’s a dopey smile across his face, and you lunge forward once more, kissing him.
He’d stop you if he felt uncomfortable, that much you knew. With that information in mind, you pull him down onto the couch, straddling him and breaking the kiss.
You tilt your head ever so slightly,“ Is this okay, Tim?”
He’s nodding his head ‘yes’ frantically, his hands coming to rest on your hips.
“Yeah, uh, more than okay, it’s great,” His voice cracks for a moment.
You hum your assent, your hands idly running through his hair as gently as they can. He’s leaning into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for several moments as he enjoys the physical contact. From that alone, you can tell that the poor man is touch-starved.
You start to slowly grind your hips into his, and good lord, the sound that he lets out could melt you into a puddle on the spot. He makes the sweetest, neediest whine you’ve ever heard, and his grip on your hips loosens as if he’s losing feeling in his hands.
Using this to your advantage, you gently grab hold of his hands and trail them up your torso. You’re getting goosebumps from the contact, and it’s so intimate that Tim can’t do anything but wrap his arms around you and bury his face in your neck.
There’s a gasp of surprise that leaves you, because holy shit, you did not expect to feel him this much through his pants. He’s still whining and clutching to you, and in an attempt to get closer to him (if that were even possible), you wrap your arms around him and press gentle kisses to his shoulder.
Several moments pass by like this, until Tim’s lifting his head and speaking quietly into your ear.
“Can I have more?” He pleads quietly.
You’re melting at how politely he’s asking you this, and honestly, you’d expect nothing else from this man. You hum out a quiet ‘of course’, and you’re taking your pants off and chucking them across the room.
Timothy’s staring at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and before you can let yourself be too embarrassed by this, you’re helping him pull his pants off as well. He’s reaching for you as you throw them to the floor, and you oblige his silent request, sitting on his lap once more.
The poor man’s panting as if this is the most physical contact he’s had in years, and you’re pondering why the two of you haven’t done this yet. You kiss him once more, because god, you’ll never get enough of the way that he lovingly grasps you when you do.
“Can you–” He starts, breaking the kiss and averting his gaze.
You pause, tilting your head in curiosity. Whatever it is that he wants you to do, you’ll do it, you’re sure of that.
“Can you call me that again?”
It’s your turn to smile, because he’s just asked you so sweetly to call him a pet name that you’ve wanted to call him for quite a while.
“Of course I can, sweetheart.” You practically purr, your hands slowly making their way down his chest.
He’s shuddering at the nickname as well as your hands pressed firmly over top of his hoodie, his hands gently squeezing your sides.
”Thank you,” He whispers, and when his eyes meet yours, you almost tear up at how appreciative he sounds and looks.
You want to tell him that he doesn’t have to thank you, that he deserves to be treated like this, but the words fail to come out. Instead, you smile sweetly at him, your right hand dropping from his chest to the sizeable tent that’s formed beneath you. He’s practically purring at the contact, and once he notices that you’re giving him that lovely smile, he’s flushing under your attention.
He wants to give back to you, and though he’s finally got the chance to do so, he’s struggling beneath your palms.
“Please,” He murmurs, though he’s not quite sure what he’s pleading for.
You aren’t sure either, and you begin to press several soft kisses to his face as you respond to him.
“What do you need?” You ask quietly.
Your words pull a soft whimper from him, and he’s at a loss for words in terms of responding. It’s the way in which you so obviously care about him that’s breaking him down. He knows for a fact that nobody’s ever asked him that question – certainly not Jack at any point in time.
What does he truly need? There’s only one word that comes to mind, the same word that’s been on the tip of his tongue since he’d met you.
”You.”
If you hadn’t been so engrossed in the way that Tim’s squirming beneath you, you certainly would’ve broken down into tears.
“I’m here,” You soothe, a shiver wracking your spine as he’s cupping your clothed sex,” I’ve always been here, Tim,”
He knows this, and he wants to show you how appreciative he is of this fact. As gently as he can, he’s pulling your underwear to the side and swiping two thick digits along your sex. This pulls a groan from you, and you can tell that it affects Tim as well.
“Can I?”
His voice is a whisper, and you can’t bring yourself to speak, so you settle for a nod. With your permission, he’s slowly plunging a finger into you, watching your face for a sign of discomfort. The sign never comes, though, and you’re grasping onto his shoulders as he hits your g-spot with his finger. You jolt and moan, and he gets this wicked smile on his face that tells you that he liked that.
He does this again slowly, and over time, adds another finger alongside his first one. There’s so much he wants to say, but he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. He wants to tell you that you’re the only one to ever view him as his own person, and that he’d do anything for you. He’d stay in this damn casino forever if that’s what it meant to stay with you.
You plead for him to go faster, and Timothy, eager to please, goes much faster. You’re close, and you don’t have to verbalize this to let him know. He can tell by the whimpers leaving your mouth and the way that you’ve tensed up around his fingers.
A curse leaves you as you fall apart, and Timothy’s clutching you so close to him that you can feel his warm breath on your neck. This is nice, you think.
“Are you okay?” He asks quietly.
After taking a moment to breathe, you nod your head.
“Better than okay,” You breathe,” Thank you, Tim,”
He’s nuzzling into your neck, trying his hardest to not plead for you to take him right at the moment. You can feel how needy he is, and within seconds you’re reaching down to pull him out of his boxers.
”Fuck–!” He whines.
You laugh quietly, because this is exactly how you’d expected he would react. Spitting into your palm, you wrap your hand around him once more. His eyes are fluttering closed, and you don’t want this to be over before you get him inside of you, so you straddle him once more, lining yourself up with him.
“Gotta have you now,” He pants,” Fuck, please, please,”
You sink down onto him with one quick motion, because even though you know it’ll be a stretch, it’s worth it to hear the noises that leave Tim’s mouth. He’s panting and grabbing your hips with newfound strength, his face absolutely flushed.
A whine leaves you at the stretch, and if you knew Timothy was this well-endowed, you would’ve done this much sooner.
“Thank you, thank you,” He whimpers, running his hands up and down your sides in thanks.
He’s too sweet to handle, and a quiet laugh tumbles through your lips as you begin to ride him.
“You don’t have to thank me,” You breathe,” You deserve this, Tim.”
And fuck, he hadn’t expected those words to leave you, and he’s trying his hardest not to fall apart this early, but he really can’t help it. He groans and his head falls back, his eyelids squeezing shut.
You aren’t upset at how quickly he fell apart – if anything, it’s a compliment. Leaning forward, you shower his face with soft kisses, whispering small words of praise as you do so.
Timothy’s sure that he’s died and gone to heaven, because no way this is really happening to him. He hasn’t, though, and realizes this as he opens his eyes about five minutes later.
“I’m sorry,” He starts, obviously embarrassed at the rate in which he finished.
You interrupt him, shaking your head,” Don’t be.”
“But–”
“Timothy.”
A long sigh leaves him, and the two of you continue to embrace each other. Maybe this life isn’t so bad after all.