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Jason and Tim’s first kiss is a violent thing.
He’s not sure which of them starts it. He thinks it might have been him who shoved Tim against the grimy alley wall, but with the way the omega is kissing back like he’s aiming to draw blood, his memory isn’t very reliable at the moment.
Sirens approach, blue and red flashing through the alley as the car shoots past their hiding spot heading in the direction they just came.
No one is looking for them, but Jason hunches over Tim reflexively, pressing him harder against the wall as he hides him from the lights.
Tim’s chest rises and falls quickly against his. His hands are on Jason’s waist, fingers hooked into the sides of his utility belt. His hair is mussed, falling in loose strands out of his ponytail. There’s a bruise blossoming across his jaw, a smear of blood at the edge of his lip from the blow causing him to bite his own tongue.
Jason tastes iron. He licks his fangs, jaw aching with the urge to bite.
“Oh, that got to you, didn’t it?” Tim breathes, his eyes big and black in the darkness. He sounds delighted. “You like watching me get beat up? Imagining it was you again?”
Jason snarls, and Tim shudders under his hands. There’s no trace of his peppery sweet scent through the batgrade scent blockers he’s wearing, but the way he tilts his head to bare his throat says what Jason needs to know.
He bends down, pressing his nose to the side of his neck, grazing his teeth across the curve of his shoulder promisingly. “I see anyone put their hands on you like that again, baby bird, and I ain’t walking away when you tell me to,” he growls.
Tim trills. “If - ah - someone’s able to get their hands on me again with you around, I’ll let you break the truce. You’ll deserve whatever the hell Bruce does to you as punishment.”
“God, don’t fucking bring Bruce into this,” Jason groans, and earns a breathless laugh in return.
Jason lets his hand slide down Tim’s waist to the front of his uniform. He’s no longer boxing the omega in - if he wants out, he’s more than capable of getting out. He finds the hidden zipper, positioned only a little differently than his own to accommodate the difference in anatomy.
He starts to unzip it, phantom heat warming his knuckles through his leather gloves where they graze Tim’s hidden core.
Tim’s hand shoots out to grab his wrist.
For a half-second, Jason freezes, the cold curl of dread that perhaps he’s misread this breaking through the heat that’s otherwise consuming him.
But Tim doesn’t push him away.
Instead, in one fluid motion with the tiny bit of space Jason’s given him, he drops to his knees on the filthy alley floor. He gazes up at Jason through his lashes, hands sliding along the front of Jason’s utility belt with nimble fingers.
It’s quite possibly the prettiest sight Jason’s ever seen.
His cock springs out the moment Tim tugs it through the opening in his underwear, so hard his knot is already beginning to swell at the base.
Tim releases him for a moment to take off his glove, and Jason comes very close to making a very embarrassing noise when he takes his hand away. He spits on his palm. This time Jason does let out a little whine at the sight.
His slick hand wraps around his shaft, and Jason has to lock his knees to keep them from buckling.
He groans, low and rumbling, an alpha sound. Tim’s grip is just on the right edge of too tight, a touch too dry with only his saliva to ease the way, friction bordering on painful as he strokes with a truly delicious twist of his wrist.
Jason would have honestly been perfectly happy to come just like this, all over Tim’s clever fingers, nevermind the suggestive position Tim has chosen.
He chokes when, instead, Tim’s lips part, and then his tongue is curling around the velvet head of his cock.
And he thought his hands were clever -
“Jesus, birdie,” he croaks, bracing an arm against the dirty brick wall. “What other skills are you hiding?”
Tim smiles at him - as much as he can, with Jason’s thick cock stretching his lips. He pulls off with an obscene pop, the head and first couple inches of Jason’s shaft shining an eager red with saliva. “Dunno,” he says. “Aren’t you supposed to be a detective?”
The little shit swallows his cock back down until it’s nudging at the back of his throat. Jason has to grab the back of the omega’s cape to ground himself.
Tim reaches back, grabbing his hand and guiding it up to his hair instead. Jason obliges, thrilled to tangle his fingers in the soft locks of black hair and grasp. The omega hums in satisfaction, the vibrations traveling through his cock like a shockwave.
He thrusts, tentative, testing Tim’s limits. His cock bumps again at the back of his throat. Silky muscle spasms around him, clutching and tightening and trying to suckle him down.
Tim breathes in and out slowly through his nose. He swallows with difficulty as he manages not to gag. His hands are braced against Jason’s thighs, but he doesn’t push himself away.
Jason tightens his grip on Tim’s head as he rocks deeper, deeper, soft sputtering and choking noises escaping the omega as his throat is impaled.
When he’s all the way in, he stops.
Tim’s lashes flutter as he blinks up at Jason, eyes glistening with reflexive tears. His nostrils flare as he tries to breathe and fails. His face is already beginning to turn a splotchy red from lack of air.
Jason waits until it’s tinged with purple before he pulls the omega’s head back, the tight clutch of his throat thrillingly addictive.
Tim coughs and sputters, drool and precum shining on his lips and chin.
He tips his head back against Jason’s hand, who immediately loosens his grip in case he’s trying to get away.
But Tim just takes three deep breaths, calming his spasming lungs. And then he sinks down again, taking him down his throat like Jason’s carved out a space for himself.
Jason curses. Gasps. Loses track of time as Tim bobs up and down, tongue twisting around the shaft and dipping into his slit when he draws back. “Shit. Shit, Tim, I’m gonna - ”
Instead of pulling off entirely like he expects, Tim withdraws only a few inches, the head of his cock still clutched in his brilliant throat. His hand closes around the swelling knot tightly, bracing his other hand against Jason’s hips to keep them from jerking and accidentally trying to shove it into his throat too, where it would do some actual damage. He takes him in as deep as he physically can before the knot pressing at his lips stops him, and then he moans.
Jason lets out a strangled roar as his orgasm rips out of him, pumping come straight down Tim’s elegant little bird neck.
It overwhelms the omega quickly. He gags wetly, come flooding back up to spill from the edges of his lips, filling his mouth and throat too quickly to keep up with. The whole time, he squeezes Jason’s knot in rhythmic pulses, like he’s trying to milk even more out of him.
It works.
By the time he’s done, Jason’s balls feel hollow.
Tim eases off of him slowly, giving the sensitive head a final affectionate suckle that makes Jason whine.
He sits back on his heels, swiping at his mouth with the back of his hand and working his sore jaw.
Some of Jason’s spend has dribbled down the front of his uniform, into the subtle clasps and zippers - the scent might never fully come out.
That thought makes something possessive in Jason croon in satisfaction.
“D -“ Tim tries to speak, and his voice immediately cracks. He sounds fucking wrecked. “Did you like that? Or did you need to see more bruises?”
Jason’s leaning against the brick wall, forearm braced and forehead nearly resting against it. He looks down at Tim’s clever, swollen face, his chest still slowly heaving. “If you want more bruises, all you gotta do is ask next time,” he rasps with just a hint of an alpha rumble.
Anxiety flops in his stomach as Tim surveys him, too fucked out to fully rear its head. But he’s well aware of the promise in what he’s just said.
He knows Tim is too.
Tim smiles, the barest hint of it. He stands up, far more graceful on his feet than Jason can imagine being right now, slipping out from where he’s trapped between the alpha and the wall. “Maybe I will,” he says.
He leans up on his tiptoes to press a kiss to the corner of Jason’s lips. And then he brushes past him, flitting off down the alley.
Jason stays facing the wall, listening to the sound of a grappling hook deploying. He licks his lips where Tim’s touched his, and tastes blood and salt.
His cock is still hanging out, spit and come drying uncomfortably on his skin. He shoves it fumblingly back in his pants with one hand, hissing at the sensitivity.
He smiles, unseen in the darkness.
He’s pretty sure that kiss was a promise too.
***
Two weeks later, and he’s a lot less confident in his assessment.
Red Robin hasn’t spoken to him since that night.
The closest he’s gotten was a brief, distracted copy that over the comms while the family was coordinating on a raid close to Hood’s territory, and even that was directed more at Bruce’s gruff orders than Jason himself.
The warm, bubbling feeling Jason had been left with has soured. What he’d thought might have been the start of something new between them was apparently just the end of whatever friendship they’d been starting to build.
Jason tells himself he doesn’t care. It’s not like he and Tim were that close.
But they’d gotten… friendly. Worked together sometimes.
Jason doesn’t exactly have a ton of friends, in spite of his sparkling personality.
And now radio silence. Any other time, Jason might not think that much of a couple weeks of not talking.
But given their last interaction, it kinda feels like it’s gotta be intentional, unless it was just so mundane that Tim doesn’t even think to act differently in the aftermath. Jason doesn’t know which of those options is worse.
And then, one night, Jason’s living room window scrapes open.
Jason’s sitting up on the couch within seconds, blinking sleep out of his eyes quickly as he points a gun at the dark entry point.
A pair of white lenses look back at him, unimpressed. “Hey,” Tim says. “Doesn’t sleeping on that couch hurt your back? It’s got springs sticking out of it.”
“It’s fine,” Jason grits out, lowering the gun and flicking the safety back on. “S’not like the bed hasn’t got ‘em too.”
Tim swings his legs through the window and drops to the floor. “You know if you just borrowed B’s credit card and bought some decent furniture, he’d probably cry from happiness sooner than get mad at you.”
“My shit’s got character,” Jason fires back. “The fuck are you doing here? It’s - ” he squints at the clock on the stovetop. “Almost three in the morning.”
“As if your usual bedtime isn’t after dawn.” Tim seems to be making himself right at home, sitting down on the floor and taking off his boots, politely leaving them on the tile by the kitchenette like an almost-civilized person.
“Not an answer to my question,” Jason snaps. “Why are you here?”
Tim stops. He looks at Jason, his socked feet curling against the threadbare carpet. “Am I not allowed to be?”
God, it’s tempting to say no. So tempting to tell the little shit to fuck off and leave him alone, if that’s how he wants it to be.
But there’s a little bit of alpha in him that’s sitting up and wagging its tail at the sight of Tim in his den, shabby and temporary as it might be.
“S’fine, I guess,” he mutters. “Just fucking weird.”
Jason tells himself he’s imagining the tiniest bit of tension slipping out of Tim’s shoulders. No point in getting his hopes up.
The omega reaches up to push his bangs out of his eyes. His hair is loose tonight, not tied back in a ponytail like he usually wears it on patrol.
He looks tired, Jason realizes for the first time. The dark circles under his eyes are more pronounced than usual.
“Sooo,” he says, dragging it out. “I was going to ask if I could crash on your couch tonight, but it kinda seems like you’ve got that covered.”
Jason frowns. “What’s wrong with your couch?” he asks. “Or, you know, your bed?”
Tim looks down at his feet, scowling. “My neighbor’s taken up playing the guitar,” he says. “Loudly. In the middle of the night. With a lot of emotion.”
Jason stares at him. “Your apartment isn’t soundproofed?” he asks incredulously. “How is your identity not already blown to hell?”
“Some of us don’t make a habit of shooting guns in our homes,” Tim snaps back. “Can I crash here tonight or not?”
Jason sighs. Deeply. The weariness that had previously clawed at his bones to the point that he didn’t even feel like making his way back to his empty nest is coming back to the surface.
“Fine,” he says tiredly. “Whatever.”
Tim’s shoulders slump in noticeable relief. “Thanks,” he says quietly. His eyes flit to the couch.
“Nah,” Jason says, shaking his head. “You take the bed, I’m fine out here.”
“Oh.” Tim looks startled. Now he glances to the hallway, looking no happier about it than he did the couch. “Are you sure? That couch really doesn’t look like the most comfortable spot.”
“Do you want it for yourself?” Jason snorts, bewildered.
Tim’s expression closes. It’s the shuttered look he gives people when he doesn’t trust them to know how he’s really feeling.
Jason hasn’t seen it directed at him in a while. It makes something cool settle heavily in his stomach.
“It’s fine,” Tim says neutrally. “I’ll take the bed.”
He turns and slips away down the hall like he fucking lives here.
Jason scrubs at his eyes with one hand, trying to banish the exhaustion scraping at them. Somehow, the entire interaction has left him feeling off, unsettled.
He doesn’t particularly want to go back to sleep feeling like this. He has enough nightmares as is.
He shuffles across the carpet into the kitchenette to make himself some tea. As he does, he listens, though he’s not really sure what for. It’s not like getting ready for bed is a very noisy process.
He thinks maybe he hears the sink in the bathroom run, imagines Tim washing his face.
He didn’t have a bag with him, Jason realizes. Does he have anything to wear? Is he planning on sleeping in that damn suit?
Abandoning the kettle of water beside the stove without turning it on, he pads uncertainly down the hallway to the closed bedroom door. The lights underneath are off.
He knocks lightly. “Tim?”
Silence. He huffs. “I know damn well you didn’t fall asleep in thirty seconds,” he says, louder this time.
Rustling now. “What?” Tim calls out. Jason imagines an annoyed expression.
Jason decides that’s permission enough to open the door to his own bedroom.
The room is dark, except for the nightlight next to the bed, a cheap little plastic LED that Jason bought ten of to distribute to all his safehouses. It illuminates Tim curled up in the nest, his top half mostly hidden by the quilt, ink-black hair framing a moon-pale face where he’s pressed against the back of the nest where it meets the wall by the window. “What?” he repeats himself.
In the soft light, he’s almost ethereal.
For a moment, Jason stands there in the doorway like the world’s biggest dumb idiot.
He snaps out of it when Tim starts to look at him like the world’s biggest dumb idiot. “Clothes,” he blurts out. “Did you, um. Bring anything comfortable to wear to bed?”
Now, Tim’s looking at him like he’s lost his mind and done it on purpose. Jason can’t really blame him. “Just my undershirt and boxers,” he says slowly. “They’re clean, if that’s what you’re worried about. I didn’t wear them on patrol.”
“That’s, no, um,” Jason stammers, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair, mussing it beyond his already existing bedhead. Couchhead. “I was just wondering if you needed to borrow, like, a shirt or whatever.”
Tim goes very still.
Jason is suddenly grateful for the darkness to hide the blush on his cheeks.
“Really?” Tim asks. He sounds… small.
“Yeah,” he says, and clears his throat roughly. “Yeah, of course.”
He stands still for another moment, like clothes are going to magically remove themselves from the battered, thrifted wardrobe in the corner.
Then he drops back into reality, and makes himself walk over and yank open a drawer.
It’s too dark for him to see colors or patterns. All he has to go off of is the feeling of the fabric against his fingertips. He picks the softest shirt his hands can find, well-worn from time pressed against his skin.
If he wanted to keep up the facade of casualness, he’d just toss it at the bed and go. Walk out and pretend he wasn’t giving him something as intimate as an item woven with his scent, as though they’re pack, as though they’re more.
Instead, he approaches the bed, holding it out in offering to the omega curled up against his pillows.
Tim doesn’t make it easy for him, because he never does. He looks up at him, eyes a glimmer in the dark, studying the awkward way Jason looms in front of him instead of just taking the damn shirt.
Then Tim rises with a soft rustle of blankets, and the shirt is bunched between their hands and his lips are pressed against Jason’s.
Compared to their first time, it’s a very chaste kiss. Tim’s lips are slightly chapped, pleasantly coarse against his own. His hands are still clasped in Jason’s.
The omega rises up further out of the nest to press against him, warm and small. Jason can feel his heart thumping inside his chest where it aligns with his, just a little fast.
His knees bump the bed - he doesn’t remember stepping forward.
Tim makes a soft noise against his mouth. His elegant hands move up to clasp around Jason’s wrists, tightening his grip even as he pulls back to look at him. “I missed you,” he says mournfully.
Jason doesn’t think that’s fair at all. Tim shouldn’t be allowed to sound like he’s lost something when he’s the one who disappeared.
He tugs on Jason’s wrists, and Jason follows.
Their lips find each other again as he clambers into the nest, awkward in his efforts to avoid crushing the smaller man.
Still, the kiss remains a gentle, sweet thing, no taste of blood between them. Tim hums softly before pulling back again. He doesn’t break eye contact as he pulls his white tank top off over his head, dropping it to the side along with the one Jason has brought him.
Tim is a beautiful thing.
He’s lean for an omega, all hard lines of muscle etched with scars and fading bruises. His boxers rest on bony hips, an especially brutal scar slashing across his abdomen a few inches above the elastic.
Jason puts his hand on his waist without thinking about it, thumb petting the gnarled skin.
Tim shivers, and he twitches, ready to pull his hand away if Tim stiffens uncomfortably.
But he just lets out a soft sigh into Jason’s mouth and leans into the touch.
Jason wants to ask questions, wants to know what inflicted what he can feel would have been a near-fatal wound.
But he doesn’t hate Tim nearly enough anymore to pry like that.
He allows his hands to slide up his waist to the barely-there swells of his breasts instead - safer territory.
Tim’s nipples are rock hard. He sucks in a sharp breath, letting it out slowly as Jason plays with them, catching them between his fingers and tugging. His entire breasts fit in the palm of Jason’s hands, delicate little peach-soft things.
He pushes Tim back onto the pillows, and the omega goes willingly. His hands slip under Jason’s shirt the way they couldn’t the last time, when they were both armored, and his fingernails dig into the alpha’s back.
Jason ducks his head down and takes one of his breasts into his mouth.
“Ah!” Tim gasps, back arching.
Jason sucks hard enough that he knows he’ll leave a bruise, scraping his teeth across the fragile skin. He doesn’t let up until Tim’s breast is hot and red, dotted with purple where he’s left his mark in the form of tiny, broken blood vessels. Then he swaps to the other side and sets to making sure they match.
Tim’s heart is fluttering in his chest like a trapped bird. Jason can feel it when he presses his tongue down like he wishes he could taste Tim’s ribs.
Jason’s cock is tenting out his sweatpants, undeniable against Tim’s bare leg.
Tim pulls his sweatpants down, freeing him. His cock flops onto Tim’s leg, leaving a smear of precum across his muscular thigh. He lets out a muffled groan into the flesh of his tit.
He hooks his own fingers into Tim’s boxers and starts to pull them down too, determined to get them on equal ground this time around.
“Wait,” Tim gasps abruptly, jerking up so quickly he nearly cracks their skulls together.
Jason dodges, yanking his hand away from Tim’s hips immediately. “What?” he snaps, caught off guard and sharper than intended.
Tim’s eyes flash. Wariness glints in them, there and gone again in a stony blink, and Jason realizes how that must have sounded.
“Hey,” he says gruffly through a suddenly tight throat. He pushes himself up, giving Tim more space. ”What happened? You okay?”
But after a moment’s hesitation, Tim follows him, wrapping his arms around Jason and leaning up to kiss him. “It’s fine,” he practically purrs, smiling reassuringly at him. “I’m fine. Just… not tonight, okay?”
Jason studies him, nostrils flaring as he tries to read Tim’s scent. It’s sweet and spice and frothy arousal - there’s none of the fear part of him fears he’s going to find.
But there is a tinge of vinegary apprehension. Enough that Jason knows damn well everything isn’t fine.
Still. Tim clings to him like he doesn’t want him to go.
So he stays. He kisses Tim again, and, when he doesn’t push him away, thrusts testingly against the soft skin of his thigh instead.
Tim sighs in what feels like relief, untensing beneath him. He takes Jason’s cock in hand, adjusting himself until it’s able to slot into the space between the omega’s thighs. “There,” he murmurs, folding up his legs between them to give Jason as tight a space as possible. “Like that, there you go.”
Jason’s length has softened slightly, but it quickly stiffens up again in the tight clutch of Tim’s legs. He thrusts, precum slicking his shaft as he fucks the space between Tim’s legs.
His orgasm builds slowly. Tim’s legs begin to tremble from the strain, and Jason grips his calves to help him keep them in place, humping faster. He tries to drag his cock across Tim’s fabric covered cunt as much as possible, hoping to give him some pleasure through the friction.
He doesn’t blow a knot this time. He comes in a thick dribble, spilling across Tim’s thighs and lower belly. He groans, muffling it against Tim’s puffy breast.
His thumb massages Tim’s calf as he eases the limb down to rest beside him, come trickling into the crease where his leg meets his hip in a way that makes Jason want to lean down and lick it clean.
He wants to reach for Tim’s covered slit, wants to make him come apart too.
But he doesn’t know if that will be welcome.
He’s just talked himself into tentatively sliding his palm from the outside of Tim’s thigh to the inside when Tim shifts, pushing himself up onto the pillows until he can loosely close his legs.
He stretches his lean limbs, curling his toes into the sheets as he works the kinks out of his tired muscles.
Jason could almost believe the movement was that casual.
Tim breathes in deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring. His eyelids are beginning to droop. “Smells nice,” he mumbles. He curls towards Jason, chin tipping back in barely conscious trust and submission.
Jason hesitates, and then lowers himself to lie beside the omega. Exhaustion is pulling at him by now too, cock fully soft and body spent. There’s still come drying uncomfortably on his crotch. Tim can’t be feeling much nicer.
He fumbles among the blankets until he finds the shirt he’d brought over that first started this whole mess. He swipes clumsily at Tim’s thighs with it until they feel marginally less sticky.
“Gross,” Tim says, but his chest rumbles with a stuttering purr at the grooming.
Jason hesitates at Tim’s now come-speckled boxers. The omega’s scent is sweet and heavy and pleased, the vinegar apprehension all but gone, but it’s not sated the way it would be if he’d come. “Are you sure you don’t want me to…?”
“Nah,” he murmurs, and rolls towards him, hooking a leg across Jason’s to pull them even closer together. “I’m tired. Just wanna sleep.”
In spite of his claim, his eyes remain open, fixed on some point on Jason’s chest. Jason takes the opportunity to study him, gaze tracing the elegant shape of his cheekbones, the dark circles under his almond eyes. He finds his hand drawing absent circles on Tim’s bare back.
“Why’d you really come here tonight?” he asks before he even knows he’s speaking.
Tim’s eyes flit up to his, away again. He shrugs with one shoulder. “Like I said,” he says softly. “I guess I missed you.”
Jason’s throat closes up a little. He swallows thickly, lost for words.
He lets his scent billow out, cinnamon with emotion. He couldn’t really say what emotion.
But it’s a warm one.
In response, Tim just curls closer.
***
Things are different after that.
Whatever winds had driven Tim to avoid him seem to have shifted in the opposite direction - now, Jason can’t seem to avoid him.
Not that he’s exactly trying.
Every time Jason leaves for patrol, the omega will eventually fade out of the shadows to join him.
They make out like a couple of teenagers whose parents are on vacation. Jason’s pretty sure if they weren’t wearing bat-grade scent patches, half the buildings in Gotham would be smudged with their combined scent where they’ve pressed each other up against the walls.
But it’s nearly two months before Tim comes to one of his safehouses again.
The night that streak breaks, Jason is hit by a toxin.
It’s a knock-off fear toxin, an attempt at replicating it by a nutjob copycat scientist with mediocre chemistry skills. The scientist makes the bold decision to test it by chucking it at Jason’s head in a panic, completely dousing him in it.
Jason’s helmet, already cracked from the fight earlier, does a very subpar performance at keeping the substance out of his lungs.
Which is how he ends up in the last place he wants to be - a cot in the batcave where Bruce and Alfred can examine him to their hearts’ content.
“I feel fine,” he snaps, exasperated enough that there’s little actual bite to it. “Typical adrenaline rush, but no chemically induced heart attack, I promise.”
“Hm,” Bruce says, sounding no more happy about it. “You may be correct. There are some critical differences in the chemical structure that, at least at a glance, would likely impact its effectiveness.”
But just because it doesn’t have the intended effect doesn’t mean it won’t have other effects. We will need to monitor carefully.”
“I can monitor myself just fine,” he grouches. “I’ll even slap one of those little heart rate monitors or whatever on myself if it’ll make you feel better.”
“I think he’ll be fine,” Tim says abruptly, sitting back from where he’s been hunched over the batcomputer for the last thirty minutes. “Based on my analysis of the molecular structure, I don’t think this is going to do anything to him other than irritate his lungs.” He leans back to meet Jason’s eyes around Bruce. “You may also experience sneezing,” he adds.
Jason waves his hand at Tim in a see? gesture. “Sneezing, B. Maybe a cough. I’ll be fine.”
Bruce’s mouth does that thing where it becomes a very thin line. His scent is still sharp with concern.
But he doesn’t argue. He, too, has made more compromises recently.
“You will wear a heart rate monitor,” he says. It’s not a question.
Jason rolls his eyes, already hopping down off the cot. “Sure, whatever.”
Bruce grudgingly fetches what looks like an innocuous watch, watching vigilantly as Jason straps it to his wrist like he’s expecting Jason to try and pocket it instead.
But Jason puts on the monitor like a good boy, even holding it up so Bruce can see.
He waits until his father’s eyes are on the screen still running chemical analysis on the samples they retrieved and Jason’s blood before he meets Tim’s eyes.
They share a look, Tim pursing his lips to keep from smiling. His expression is back to mildly bored by the time Bruce looks up again. He can’t be any more eager for their dad to know Jason’s had his cock in his throat than Jason himself is.
Jason is even civilized enough to take the keys to one of Dick’s bikes instead of hotwiring it as he makes his escape.
He makes it all the way to the end of the driveway before he cuts the engine and pulls to the side of the road. There, he takes off the watch and lays it very carefully in the path of his front tire.
It makes a very satisfying crunch as he runs it over.
No Bruce sweeps in through the window once he gets home. But there is a very polite knock at his door.
He was expecting it. He opens the door.
Tim stands behind it, a plastic bag from their favorite thai restaurant dangling from his fingertips. He holds it up. “Figured it was a chicken soup kind of night. Got you some tom ka gai.”
Jason opens the door and invites him in with a sweep of his arm. Then he sneezes.
Tim walks inside like he owns the place. “Gesundheit.”
Ten minutes later, and they’re on the couch, legs entangled and takeout spread across the coffee table, some shitty true crime show that Tim picked playing on the TV.
“The brother-in-law definitely did it,” Tim says around a mouthful of noodles.
“Why do we even watch this?” Jason snorts. “You could literally just read the summary and figure it out.”
“It’s not the same,” Tim sighs. He tips his head to the side to rest against Jason’s shoulder.
Jason looks down at him, the fluffy black hair taking up much of his view from this angle.
He can also see the pale arch of Tim’s shoulder, jutting slightly out of the loose t-shirt he’s definitely stolen from Jason. It makes that possessive little part of Jason purr, the way he seems so comfortable these days just taking what Jason has to provide.
He slides his hand up Tim’s shoulder, cupping a hand over the dip where his collarbone meets his throat. He pets a thumb over his scent gland and feels him shiver.
He drops his head to graze his teeth over tender skin, and Tim stiffens.
It’s barely a moment. The fear doesn’t even have time to hit his scent.
And then Tim is relaxing into him, tipping his head further back with a purr. If Jason weren’t paying such close attention, he might not even notice the way he presses his thighs together and draws his legs slightly up towards himself.
Jason pulls away.
Tim blinks up at him, puzzled, and it just makes the uncomfortable clench in Jason’s stomach even tighter.
He doesn’t plan what he’s going to say. He just lets it spill. “You’re afraid of me,” he says. “When I touch you. I can tell.”
Tim’s eyes widen, a flash of honesty there and gone again. Then his eyes narrow, and he studies Jason with faux confusion. He even reaches up to press the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead as if checking for a fever. “Are you feeling any other unusual symptoms beyond the paranoia? Heart palpitations, chills, hallucinations?”
Jason jerks his head away, lip curling up in frustration. “I’m not under fear toxin,” he snaps. “Don’t try to fucking gaslight me. You said yourself that shit wasn’t going to do anything.”
“I can be wrong sometimes,” Tim argues back.
Which is how Jason knows he’s full of shit.
He untangles their legs, feeling faintly sick.
“You should have said something,” he chokes, trying to hide it in a snarl. “You shouldn’t have just let me - ”
He breaks off, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He looks away, knuckles white around the edge of the couch.
“Hey,” Tim says, and there’s a sharp, nervous edge to his voice that Jason hates. He grabs the remote off the table and mutes the TV, sitting up. “Dude, what’s going on? We were literally fine five minutes ago.”
“Were we?” Jason retorts. He can smell his scent turning bitter. “We’ve been doing this since, what - June? I’ve had my cock in your throat, had my teeth in your neck, and we still haven’t had sex.”
Tim’s face wipes clean of emotion, turning to a blank mask. “I didn’t realize it was such a problem for you,” he says quietly.
“It’s not a fucking - ” Jason blows out a harsh breath, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair roughly. “It’s not a problem that we haven’t had sex. The problem is that you’re scared to have sex with me.”
Tim’s expression does something complicated, turning incredulous, and then pinched, and then sliding back to careful neutrality, though not as mask-like as it was moments earlier. “You think I’m scared of you.”
It’s not framed as a question. Jason wonders if it’s because he wants to dodge the answer.
“I don’t think,” he responds levelly. “I know you think you hide it well, but you don’t hide it that well.”
That earns him a flash of irritation verging on anger.
Good. An angry Tim isn’t a scared Tim.
“You’re so full of shit,” Tim says coldly. “You’re not worried about scaring me. You’ve never cared about that before.”
Jason flinches.
In an instant, the coldness in Tim’s face flickers, and his face crumples. “Wait,” he says. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
Jason snorts. There’s no humor in it. “Sure,” he says. “You just meant I scare you in the totally normal way partners are supposed to terrify each other. It’s actually super healthy for people to flinch when their partners touch them.”
“You’re not listening. It’s not like that,” Tim says urgently, leaning forward. “You’re turning this into some sort of - self-imposed guilt trip where it’s all about what you did, and you’re not listening.”
Jason opens his mouth to retort, but then he closes it again. Because he hasn’t been listening, has he?
If he had been, he would have realized there was a problem a lot earlier.
So he shuts his mouth and waits.
Tim takes a deep breath. Then another one. His knuckles are white where he grips the couch, leaning slightly towards Jason like he’s preparing to launch to his feet and chase after him. “I’m not - I’m not scared because of what happened at the tower.” He swallows. “Or any of the other incidents.”
Tim winces even as he says it. Jason winces harder.
But he carries on without faltering. “I’m not - I’m not scared of you.” He swallows. “I’m just. Pretty sure you’re not going to want to stay with me.”
Jason blinks, staring at Tim as he waits for him to elaborate.
The omega does not. He’s glaring down at the carpet like he suspects it of committing a crime.
“Why?” Jason finally says, baffled.
Tim’s squeezing his hands together in his lap, fingernails digging into his own wrists. It makes Jason’s heart squeeze too.
As much as he kind of wants to grab Tim by the shoulders and shake him until he tells him what the fuck’s going on, the desire to ease the tension visible in every line of his body wins out.
He eases himself cautiously back down onto the couch beside the omega. Hesitantly, watching for any sign of fear, he slips his fingers between Tim’s, gently prying them apart until he can link their hands together instead, stroking a thumb over the indents his nails have left.
To his relief, Tim doesn’t pull away. In fact, he grabs onto Jason’s hand like it’s an anchor.
When he speaks again, his voice is steadier. In fact, it’s so steady it hits Jason as nearly dead. “We haven’t really talked about my parents before.”
Jason’s caught off guard by the abrupt change of subject. But he rolls with it. “We haven’t,” he says slowly, chewing his lip. “I kinda got the impression they were a couple of assholes,” he adds, uncertain if it’s the right thing to say, uncertain where this is going at all.
Tim snorts, but no smile graces his face. “They were… traditional,” he says, and then his voice goes somehow even flatter, clearly reciting something from memory. “Omegas are made for their alphas, not themselves. Their pleasure comes from their alpha’s satisfaction, not their own selfish desires.”
Jason’s mouth goes dry. Something sour, rotten, and furious lurches behind his ribs.
“Is that what they told you?” he says, and doesn’t recognize his own voice.
Tim’s lips quirk up, but his eyes are dull. “Oh, they were happy to do more than just tell me. They weren’t the type to play lip service to their ideals.”
A shiver runs through him. Jason only feels it as a tremor in his hand.
Tim’s chewing on his lip harshly, but he can tell he’s building up to whatever he’s about to say, so he doesn’t interrupt.
“Do you know what clipping is?” he finally asks quietly.
Jason makes some sort of sound - feels it scrape the inside of his throat.
Tim nods like he was expecting that. His expression is carefully flat, the only sign of his distress the pink flush coloring his cheeks. “Yeah. They, um. They did the surgery on me when I was pretty young. Like, five?”
Whatever is on Jason’s face, Tim can’t seem to bring himself to look at it any more. He turns his gaze down to their linked hands instead. “So, um. Yeah. Not a lot of point in touching me down there, to be honest.” His throat bobs as he swallows. “Technically, clipping omega pups is still legal, even if a lot of doctors refuse to do it these days. But, uh. My parents went to a lot of trouble to find a doctor who would be willing to go further.”
Jason realizes belatedly that he’s nearly crushing Tim’s hand with how tightly he’s gripping it, though Tim shows no sign of discomfort. Still, he hastily loosens his grip. “Tim,” he says hoarsely. “You don’t - you don’t need to - ”
“I do need to,” Tim says, all in a rush. “I need you to know - you need to know why I’ve been. The way I’ve been. Please.”
Jason feels his dry throat click when he swallows. He nods, not trusting himself to speak.
Tim ducks his head. His breathing is too slow, too careful to be organic.
The silence drags. Jason is terrified to break it, terrified of trampling over Tim’s voice.
But instead of speaking, Tim’s hand abruptly jerks towards himself, grabbing at his own pants clumsily.
“Tim,” Jason says, leaning forward, bewildered, but Tim shakes his head almost frantically.
“It’s just - it’s easier. If I show you,” he says, voice tight as a bowstring.
He fumbles with the button on his jeans, Jason looking on and feeling a little like he’s watching a car crash. When he pulls them down enough to show the white panties underneath, Jason almost closes his eyes.
Tim’s eyes dart up to meet his. And just like that, Jason knows he can’t avert his gaze and leave Tim alone and unwitnessed in his vulnerability.
He slips his underwear down off his hips. Slides his legs out of them gracefully. He spreads his legs slightly, knees parted where they dangle off Jason’s couch.
Then, and only then, does Jason allow his eyes to drop.
At a glance, everything looks normal. The peak of Tim’s thighs is tucked away within a tidy, trimmed thatch of dark hair, a soft line of ruddy pink petals peeking out from the center.
His thighs shift another fraction of an inch apart, the line of pink widening.
Jason sucks in a harsh, rattling breath.
Tim’s whole body reads spooked when he’s able to tear his gaze away, tension hard in every muscle. He’s as frozen beside Jason as a rabbit before a wolf.
Jason squeezes his hand. “Breathe,” he rasps, as much for himself as for Tim.
The younger takes a sharp breath, squeezing his hand back, hard enough to hurt.
And then he’s guiding Jason’s hand down between his legs, and Jason lets him.
His fingers slip between the pillowy folds of Tim’s slit. They twitch, spasm, bumping against smooth flesh where smooth flesh should not be.
Tim loosens his grip slowly, allowing Jason control.
He curls the pads of his fingers against him stiffly. Tim’s not wet - there’s no slickness against his skin, no sweet scent of arousal in the air. But he’s soft, tender - Jason thinks of a ripe peach.
Jason pets the hollow space where his clit should be with a featherlight touch.
Tim shivers, and he freezes immediately. “Does it hurt?” he asks, but Tim shakes his head.
“No,” he says softly. “It just feels like nothing.”
Emboldened, Jason presses down a little harder, the clipped scar tissue unnervingly smooth.
The surgeon’s done a decent job. If you didn’t know any better, you might think this was how Tim’s body was supposed to be.
His hand is guided down further. “What else?” he whispers, wishing he didn’t need to know at all.
His fingers brush against Tim’s hole, the faintest suggestion of give under pressure. “Just - inside,” Tim pants.
When he slips his finger inside, gentle, ever-so-gentle, he can feel Tim’s heartbeat fluttering away around him.
He’s tight.
Not tight like - like small. Like pleasure, like slick, strong muscles.
Tight like tension, like pain.
There’s scar tissue here too. Rough ridges of it, bumpy and uneven beneath his fingertips in the railroad pattern of ancient stitches. It feels like someone’s stuck a goddamned knife in him.
Or a scalpel.
Jason lets out a short, shuddering breath. Tim’s cunt flexes around him, so tight he’s almost cutting off circulation. “What did they do?”
Tim’s lips curl up in a painful looking smile. “They made me tighter,” he says quietly. “Stitched me up all nice and pretty. The thing is, you know - this happens to a lot of omegas, right? Like - not as many as it used to be, but lots of omegas when they get married, or even just when their parents start looking for prospects. You know. But, um.” He shudders. Jason feels it. “It’s illegal for omegas before their first heat. Usually. A lot of doctor’s won’t even operate until adulthood, even if they’re legally allowed. But, uh.” His voice rattles, at the edge of its track and about to derail.
“My parents spent a lot of money to find one who’d be willing to operate on a pup as young as me. They, um. They did their homework. If… if you tighten an omega up before they present, you can make it so they don’t grow and stretch properly when they start having heats. They’ll be - they’ll be tight as a puppy. Forever.”
The back of Jason’s throat burns with bile. He slips his finger out of Tim’s tiny, scarred hole with care. “You didn’t have to tell me this,” he croaks. “You could’ve - I shouldn’t have pushed.”
Tim’s crying, an eerie blankness masking his face, tears trickling down his cheeks like he doesn’t even know they’re there. “I did, though,” he says hollowly. “Because you needed to know it’s - it’s not you. It’s me, it really is me. I can’t - I can’t fuck you. It doesn’t matter how much you try to prep me, or how aroused I am. There’s too much scar tissue. My whole pelvic floor is fucked up. I couldn’t take your cock without pain, and I can’t take your knot without a lot of pain. And I can’t even come without some sort of stimulation inside, because they cut my fucking nerves off so I wouldn’t.”
He twists around on the couch, no longer holding Jason’s hand but clutching it, eyes wide and pleading. “I’m literally made to please you. And I know that probably makes you, like, very uncomfortable and guilty. Because you’re - you’re good. But - you can’t reciprocate. So - I just need you to be okay with that. I need you to be okay with - with me not being an equal partner when it comes to sex. Because I’m never going to be, and that’s - that’s okay. I don’t mind. I just - I like being with you.”
He looks up at Jason, eyes shiny. But Jason can see him trying to center himself, blinking back the tears furiously. “Can’t that just be enough?”
Jason’s mouth opens, closes again. His eyes are prickling, vision uncomfortably blurry. He wishes for the green back. “Tim,” he says, hating how broken his voice sounds. He clears his throat. “I’m - Jesus, babybird. I’m - ”
“Don’t say you’re sorry.” Tim’s voice is a whip. “You didn’t do shit. And I’m not an invalid. It’s just sex.”
The anger in his voice is the brutal coldness that only a Drake can muster.
Unexpectedly, it soothes Jason a bit. Hearing Tim’s anger. It lets him force some of the tension out of his shoulders, lets him face Tim without a fist clenched around his heart.
Or at least not so tightly. “I’m not - pitying you,” he grinds out. “I’m just - “ he takes a deep breath. “I’m fucking pissed. And I think that’s - that’s right.”
He’s not communicating himself very well and he knows it. But as the icy wariness on Tim’s face melts, he thinks maybe he doesn’t need to be. “Oh,” the omega says softly. “That’s. Yeah. Okay.”
Jason forces his numb fingers to work, makes himself squeeze Tim’s hand in return. “You -“ he has to pause, his throat working. “I love you.”
It’s not what he meant to say. He doesn’t know what he did mean to say. It just spills out.
Any lingering frost in Tim’s expression melts away completely, leaving something crumpled. His scent is a blend of emotions - relief, embarrassment, anger, fear. “I love you too.” He says it quickly, like he’s scared Jason’s going to get up and leave before he gets to the end. “I’m. It’s been. Good, for me. Being with you.”
Jason thinks he’s being honest, for whatever his judgement on matters of Tim counts for.
Still, he has to ask.
“Did you - when we -“ he shudders. “Did you want it?”
“Yes,” Tim answers forcefully without hesitation. “God, Jason, I initiated. If I didn’t want it, I wouldn’t - I wouldn’t do that to you.”
Much as he hates the implications of that, it makes another layer of anxiety shed off his heart. “Okay,” he says quietly. “Okay.”
He takes a slow breath through his nose. “I don’t… care if you don’t want to have sex,” he says, squeezing Tim’s hand. “Or can’t. Yeah, the stuff we’ve been doing has been… great, but I don’t need it.”
It grates at his very being to be this vulnerable, his body resisting like he’s asking it to roll over and show its belly instead of just speak.
But Tim’s just been unbearably, unforgivably honest with him. The least Jason can do now is return the favor. “I just. Like being with you.” He swallows. “I meant it. What I said.”
Tim ducks his head, looking about as stressed by the honesty as Jason is offering it. “Me too,” he says softly. “I, um. Yeah. You.” He takes a breath. “I love you too.”
Jesus, the kid always was so much braver than Jason ever was.
He’s watching Jason with those big blue eyes, teeth digging into his lower lip.
Jason reaches out to him, hesitating only a beat before Tim leans his cheek into the touch.
He kisses him, soft and sweet, doing his best to tell Tim the truth like this where words aren’t enough. Tim practically slumps into him, shifting across the couch to be closer. His scent has lost a lot of the fear and embarrassment, leaving sweetened relief behind like cream.
After a languid minute or two, they break apart, though they don’t pull away. Tim rests his forehead against Jason’s, the two of them silently breathing the same air.
Tim is the first to speak. “You know, I don’t. Not want sex,” he says hesitantly. “I can’t come, but I like the things we’ve been doing. It’s fun.” He looks up at Jason through his lashes, and softly adds, “I like it when you touch me.”
Jason takes a careful, steadying breath. He can smell the faint thread of spicy arousal in the omega’s scent. “What else do you like?” he asks quietly.
The spice grows stronger, bolder. “Your scent,” Tim breathes, tilting his head just barely, exposing a little more of his throat. “I love the way you smell when you’re coming down my throat. The way you taste.”
Jason knows when he’s being manipulated. Tim steers him away from painful waters like a master.
Knowing he’s being steered does not stop the way his eyes dilate, a rumble humming through his chest.
It seems to encourage Tim. He slips closer, a hand pressing against Jason’s chest, another one sliding down to his thighs.
Jason catches it before it can reach for his zipper. “Show me how you like to be touched,” he murmurs, before Tim has time to stiffen up and start overthinking. He turns their hands over, letting his rest limply in Tim’s, ready to be guided where he wants it.
A pink flush spreads across Tim’s elegant cheekbones. He’s pretty - Jason doesn’t often think of him like that, but it’s true. He ducks his head, black bangs falling shyly around his face as he tentatively moves Jason’s hand up to his cheek.
“I like it when you touch my face,” he says quietly, cheeks flaring warmer. “Sometimes you cup my cheek, or you wipe your come off my face, and I love how big your hands feel.”
He slides Jason’s hand back through the sides of his silky hair, fingers twitching with the urge to sink into it and tug. “I like when you put your hand on the back of my neck like this.”
He tilts his head forward, giving Jason free access to the nape of his neck. “The first time you touched me here, I thought you were going to scruff me,” he said, a hint of whine in his voice at Jason’s palm settles warmly against the top of his spine, baby soft hairs tickling his palm. “But you didn’t. You just held it there - held me there. You might as well have held a fucking taser against my spine, it felt so electric.”
Jason is rock hard in his pants. He might as well have electricity running through his veins, listening to Tim describe these little touches he’d barely even noticed himself giving. He allows his thumb to move, petting Tim’s scruff and reveling in the full body shudder it earns him, Tim’s eyes going half-lidded.
Tim lets him linger there for a few moments before he guides him down again, lower. “I like when you touch my tits,” he says, breath hitching. Jason can feel it beneath his palm, the swell of his ribs, the curve of his soft breast under his shirt. “I like when you leave bruises. It makes me feel like you can’t control yourself, but then you always do anyway.”
His nipples are hard little pebbles through his shirt, burning into his hand.
But Tim keeps moving. Down, along his ribs, across knobby hips. “And I like when you grab me by my waist or my thighs. You pick me up sometimes like I weigh nothing at all, and it’s - really hot.”
It startles a breathless laugh out of Jason.
Tim’s fingers are still curled around his, but he’s not guiding them with any intent anymore, so Jason dares to take control. He strokes down his waist, feeling the tightening of muscles under his fingertips - abs, then thighs. “Do you -“ he asks, then hesitates.
“Go on,” Tim murmurs in encouragement.
“Do you ever touch yourself?” he asks quietly. “I mean. I know you said you can’t come. But… does anything at least feel. Nice?”
Tim pauses for a couple seconds, then gives him a half-shrug. “Kind of, I guess. I’ve, I mean. I’ve tried to finger myself before. I can do a couple fingers before it starts to hurt.”
Jason takes a deep breath. “You can say no,” he prefaces. “But. Could I…touch you?”
He already has, technically. But this is different.
Tim’s eyes widen, just a fraction. His expression flickers - unease? Insecurity?
Jason thinks he deserves the respect this time of hearing him out instead of making assumptions.
Finally, Tim parts his knees, gazing up at him inscrutably. “Just… be gentle, okay?” he implores.
Jason leans forward, capturing his lips with his own. “Of course, sweetheart,” he says softly, and his voice comes out husky.
He doesn’t rush to put his fingers back in that warm, silky core right away. Instead he kneads Tim’s muscular legs, rubbing back and forth from his inner thighs to his outer on each side, gently working the tension that’s seeped back into the muscle fibers out again.
Slowly, he feels Tim relax, a soft purr stuttering to life in his chest. If it sounds the tiniest bit forced - Jason certainly isn’t going to call him out on it.
Finally, he reaches the soft skin where his thighs meet his hips. He pauses, waiting until Tim looks up from where he’s watching his hands and meets his eyes instead.
“Still good?” he asks, and when he gets a nod in return, “stop me, if it stops being good.”
He slides his hands inwards, the heat of Tim’s core reaching him before the soft touch of his skin ever does.
He’s surprised to find Tim’s wet. There’s slick gathered between his lips, a shine on the pink folds of his labia.
Surprised, but not the slightest bit disappointed.
He slides down off the couch, ignoring the way his back bumps painfully into the edge of the coffee table as he wedges himself between it and Tim, bracketed by the smaller omega’s legs.
“Wait,” Tim says, eyes widening as he realizes what Jason’s going to do, and Jason freezes immediately. “You don’t need to do that.”
Jason studies him. “Do you not want me to do it, or are you just trying to tell me you think it’s going to be too much trouble?”
Tim bites his lip. “It is too much trouble,” he argues sheepishly. “Like I said, you’re not going to be able to make me come. You’re just going to be wasting your time.”
Jason relaxes even further, though at the same time he feels the flicker of green around his irises as his Drake-induced rage rears its head again before he can push it down. He sweeps his thumbs back and forth across Tim’s inner thighs to ground himself. “If it feels good, I want you to have it,” he says quietly. “You don’t need to come. It’s okay.”
He doesn’t quite know how to tell him that he deserves to have Jason on his knees for him no matter what.
Tim looks no less dubious. Jason can feel his brain working on overdrive, coming up with an argument for why it’s fine, actually, for him to not have nice things in his life because he can’t experience them the same way Jason does.
Jason does what he’s always found to be a very good method to get Tim to stop overthinking.
He puts his mouth on him.
“Ah!”
Tim’s little gasp is almost as delicious as the first sweet burst of his slick over Jason’s tongue. His hand shoots out to grab Jason’s hair - still not pushing him away, just holding, steadying.
Jason nuzzles at his damp folds, nostrils flaring as he inhales his scent straight from the source, feeling positively heady with it. He laves his tongue over his slit slowly and evenly, keeping his movements predictable as he lets Tim relax into the unfamiliar sensation.
It takes a long time. But Jason doesn’t mind.
His patience pays off. Tim goes from wet to soaked, a steady flow of slick making its way to the surface where Jason happily laps it up. Tim’s breathing is even, calm, though Jason can feel his slightly elevated pulse in his inner thigh.
Finally, Jason allows himself to dip his tongue deeper.
The tip of his tongue pierces Tim’s small hole. The edges are still puffy and hot, just from Jason’s finger spreading him around it earlier.
Tim gasps softly, his grip on Jason’s hair tightening almost to the point of pain.
Jason looks up at him from between the peak of his thighs, not pulling away until he’s told to. He keeps working the tip of his tongue in and out in slow, gentle pulses.
Tim’s eyes are dilated, his cheeks brushed with the prettiest pink flush. His lips are parted slightly, tongue darting out to wet them when Jason meets his gaze.
Jason rumbles reassuringly, and Tim sucks in a sharp breath as the vibration travels directly into his slick cunt.
He can feel his thoughts quieting as he also relaxes into the activity. He lets the anger and grief and shock of the evening slip away from him, mind consumed by nothing more than the taste and sensation of Tim on his tongue.
He’s not sure how long he spends on his knees. He just knows by the time Tim finally tugs purposefully on his hair, his tongue is numb and his jaw is aching dully. He pulls away, face shining, and swipes the back of his hand over his mouth.
“Still good?” he croaks, licking slick from his lips.
“Good,” Tim murmurs. “Really good.”
He reaches down and cups Jason’s face in his hands. He leans forward and kisses him, slow and sweet.
Jason’s reciprocation is clumsy, his tongue not fully in his control anymore. After a few moments of him drooling against the omega, Tim starts to laugh silently into his mouth.
“Shut up,” Jason mumbles, his own lips curling up.
He curls a hand around the back of Tim’s neck, stroking the baby-soft hairs on his nape. He feels the little shiver that runs down his spine, the way he leans forward into Jason, their foreheads resting together.
“Thank you,” Tim says softly. “I’m sorry I can’t. You know.”
Jason shakes his head, Tim’s bangs tickling his face as he does. “Nuh uh. No apologies,” he says firmly. “You got nothing to apologize for. If you really do like sucking my dick, why the hell can’t I like eating you out, even if it doesn’t make you come?”
“I like it when I make you come, though,” Tim argues weakly. “It’s kinda, you know. The main event.”
Jason draws back, waiting until he can meet Tim’s eyes. “Hey,” he says. “I like being with you. Yeah it - it sucks, that I can’t make you feel as good as you make me feel. It sucks, and I’m so, so sorry.” He swallows. “But it doesn’t. It doesn’t fucking change anything for me, okay?”
He tightens his grip, just enough to feel Tim’s body slacken, some of the tension bleeding out of it.
He kisses him again, a brief but desperate press of lips. “You don’t need to worry about me being disappointed in you.”
Tim’s face crumples.
Jason has a brief moment to panic before Tim abruptly folds forward to shove his face into the crook of Jason’s neck. He’s sucking in deep, shuddering breaths, and Jason knows like this, with his nose right against his scent gland, he’s breathing practically nothing but Jason’s scent.
He folds his arms around Tim’s back, holding him both and doing his best to make his scent project nothing but truth.
It isn’t hard.
At some point, he guides them both awkwardly down onto the couch once his knees begin to protest their position more firmly. He ends up on his back, with Tim curled up on his chest in a way that can’t be much more comfortable.
But Tim’s not complaining, so Jason isn’t about to either.
He pets along Tim’s spine in slow strokes as he calms. The warm, simmering arousal in Tim’s scent has quieted down to just a soft, cidery spice in the background, barely noticeable if you didn’t know it was there to begin with.
“I think,” Tim says, and then stops. Jason grunts in encouragement. “I think. When you had your tongue inside me.” His finger traces circles across the collar of Jason’s shirt. “I stopped you because it felt really good,” he admits quietly. “I didn’t… think I could feel that good.”
He tilts his head back to look up at Jason. “I still don’t know if I can come. But. That was closer than I’ve ever gotten with my fingers. I’ve never really bothered spending that much time on it, though.”
Jason can tell there’s a thread of smugness in his own scent, but it’s overwhelmed by the scent of affection. “Well,” he rasps, “I’ll spend that much time on you any day of the week. Just say the word, baby bird. No hassle at all.”
Tim smiles. “No hassle,” he repeats.
His scent is sweet.