Work Text:
Your face was dangerously close to his, but you think close doesn’t truly describe just how close the two of you were. His lips, mainly due to the fact they were swollen, pressed to yours in a ghostly manner. Every so often, you’d feel his breath slip past his lips and you removed your eyes from his.
Darting away from his blue eyes, you looked at his lips. The gaze stays for a couple of seconds before you heard Tim mutter fuck it then he grabbed your collar and pulled you into another kiss. You pull him closer by the sides of his waist, pulling his torso from the comfort of the wall and into your body. His hands traveled from your collar and curved around your body, cupping the flesh of your ass and you smiled, pulling away.
“That’s new,” You breathed, your eyes darting between his. His pupils were blown and his face was beyond flushed— he looked so good.
“A good new?” He asks, leaning in close. His breath was heavy against your lips, his chest heaving up and down with each pant before they evened out just a bit, just enough to allow him to swoop back down when you nodded.
His lips sealed against yours again as his hands found comfort on your butt again, squeezing and kneading it every so often. Your hands, unlike his warm, needy ones, were softly pressed to his face. Cradling him there, knowing he won’t go away.
Carefully, he began to lay you down on his bed but once your back hit the bed you turned him over. His back hit the bed with a small thump and you heard the creaks in the metal bed frame. It didn’t take long for the two of you to get adjusted to the new position, his hands were more than welcome to remove your shirt and begin the same to your pants while you carefully unbuttoned his— extremely expensive— shirt.
Just when it was getting good— like really good, you heard one of your burner phones ping and groan.
“Baby…” He trails as you sit up to grab the phone from your jacket that had been tossed onto the headboard. You glance at him but still check the message. “C’mon! You don’t have to!” Reading the message, you send back an okay text and toss the phone to the bed.
“I kinda have to,” You tell him, grabbing his hands and pulling him up to his knees. “Besides, it’s that millionaire you hate. The Canadian one who called you a fag.” He sighs and shakes his head before climbing out of the bed. He stumbles a bit and you chuckle, watching him walk away. You sit down, letting your legs hang from the bed, and watch as he moves over to the hotel's kitchen. He had brought a cheap pot with him and had some extra tea bags in his bag, so you figured he was doing that.
“I still don’t agree,” He stresses, pouring the hot water into the styrofoam cup and then dropping the tea bag inside. “Killing isn’t the only option you have.” With a cup of tea in his hands, he turns his back to the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his ankles crossed and you can’t entirely focus. He just looks too good.
“I don’t have a degree,” Finally looking at his face, you see his unimpressed glare while he dips the bag in and out of the cup. “I mean- shit man!” Putting your sweater back on, you stand up and move towards where you’d put your shoes. “Some of us didn’t have the option to get anything other than a GED!” You toss your hands in the air as you finish stuffing your feet into your shoes.
“Darling. I didn’t mean that!” He sets the cup down and stops you from grabbing your jacket.
“What?” You look at him. “Baby, I’m not upset.” You smile, putting a hand on his face. “Sorry, my tone came off wrong. I’m…” For a second, you look away and try to find the right word. “Bad at regulating this. Um… I’m just saying. And I’m getting dressed because I kinda gotta meet my client soon.”
“Oh,” He removes his hand, a red creeping on his face. “Sorry.” Tim’s eyes dart down for a second and you lift his face up so he’d be looking at you.
“Don’t be sorry,” Kissing his cheek, you smile and just hold him for a second. “Communication, right?” He nods and you finish collecting your stuff.
“I’ll text when I’m heading back!”
—
Two days after meeting with your client, you had deemed it the right time to seal your end of the deal.
And for fifty-million dollars, you were sitting in a fucking muddy area along the Canadian border. You swore ice was creeping up your ass and probably some type of toxic waste from the connecting factory pipes. But still, a job was a job.
Marv White was your target and he wasn’t hard to spot, in the mixture of workers in proper factory gear he was in a well-tailored suit and stupid shades. It was nighttime, to add insult to injury. He was also pretty tall, towering over the workers he was talking to. Yelling at, was the right word, if you were being honest.
He seemed like a nightmare to be around, especially if his own daughter wanted him dead.
But it wasn’t your business, so you steadied your breathing as you looked through the scope mounted on a mossy rock. He was right between the crosshairs and you stopped your breathing when you pulled the trigger.
It jutted you back just a tad, but you were still able to watch as the bullet hit him square in the head and he dropped. The workers scattered but you didn’t care to take them out, they weren’t targets and didn’t try to attack you. Although, you felt bad as you had probably just scared them for life.
Either way, you took a picture of his body and sent it to your client. Within seconds the second half of your payment was sent and you grinned.
“Seriously?” Robin drops down behind you as you’re taking apart your weapons to pack up.
“Aren’t you too old to be Robin?” You chide, sparing him a look as you climb out of the pond and got out of the wet clothes.
“Have some dignity!” He physically turns away, his hands on his hips and eyes squinted in the distance. You shake your head, putting on a new pair of boxers and then some pants.
“I got plenty, especially since I don't wear spandex in my free time.” Robin turns back around and sighs, seeing you fully dressed. “What do you wear to stop your thighs from rubbin’ together? Because mine—“ You pat your outer thigh with a sharp breath in. “Burning.”
He doesn’t respond but he does follow you to your getaway car as you hear police sirens approaching the factory.
“Last one?” He asks, his eyes not moving from the gun you had tossed into a secret compartment in the trunk. Shutting the trunk, you hold onto the hood for a second, closing your eyes with a sigh. God, his voice was so desperate. So… so sad. You felt bad, knowing the truth. But you could never lie to him.
“Not by a long shot,” You sigh, giving him one final look before getting into the car and speeding off.
Driving back to your temporary hideout, you transfer the money into two accounts; one for free spending and one for your savings account.
“With that money—“ Tim says as his hands run down your arms, they’re still gloved but you can feel his head on your neck and you can tell his mask is off. “You can go to college.” Closing your laptop, you turn to look at him and frown.
“No college would accept me, one glance at my name and I’m blacklisted.” Tim sighs, jumping to take the spot next to you before grabbing your hand.
“You could always change your name, legally.” He offers.
It’s as if you hadn’t thought about that, you had told Tim the name you’d picked, hell you’d almost gone through with it more than a dozen times but… you can’t. You can’t just walk into a government building without expecting to get arrested. This life— the life you had no say in, was one you'll forever be stuck in.
“Maybe.” Offering him a smile, he smiles and leans in close.
“You smell like a fucking sewer, take a shower.” He whispers before shoving you off of your seat.
—
Tim hated how he had to skirt around the fact that he had been dating someone from his friends and family. But what he thought he hated most, was the fact that no one absolutely no one seemed to notice it.
Hadn’t he seemed happier? He felt happier. He thought his eye bags were going away, he knows he’s slept more than he has in a long while. He knows he’s injured a lot less, too. So… was he just that insignificant in their lives that no one noticed how different Tim was?
World's Greatest Detective, he glared at Bruce as he worked on repairing the Batmobile after someone planted a bomb under it. The world's greatest detective couldn’t tell when his own son was in the best mental shape he’s been since he was a child?
Some fucking mentor he was.
He wants nothing more than to ask you home, to show you off the way Dick shows off Kory. He wants his amazing relationship to be known so widely he can finally meet you without having to take so many precautions. He wants a love he can have so openly that everyone else cringes and whines when you show up. He wants an insufferable love.
He just wants you, in every way he can possibly have. And he feels so selfish for that.
So selfish in fact, that Tim decides then and there, as he’s in the Batcave, to forge some official government documents. Not like he hasn’t done it before.
He’s meeting up with you later that night, he figures, it’s the best time to give you it. A little early birthday gift.
The whole time he’s typing the document, he can feel the wide grin on his face. He’s cheesing like an absolute madman and when the paper gets printed— oh he’s over the moon. It looks so real! But, that’s to be expected, Tim is quite possibly the most skilled of his family; especially with these sorts of things.
He follows his routine after that, though. He clears himself of any trackers and leaves his stuff behind. Anything that could be bugged is left in the solace of his locked room, but he takes his phone and that’s it. Just in case there’s an emergency.
He puts on clothes his family has never seen him in, it’s tucked away in a part of the closet he made himself and he tells Alfred that he’s going for a long walk and to expect him home at some obscene hour. Or not at all for the next day, depending on how things went.
The meetup spot isn’t in Gotham, it hardly ever is. This time, it’s just two stops outside and he sees you waiting outside the station with a mask and umbrella. He didn’t see the rain until he saw the umbrella and he swears he would’ve known if there was going to be rain. But the news didn’t say anything about rain.
“I am an anti-miracle worker,” You give him a grin when he comments on it. Ah , he laughs, taking your hand in his as the two of you walk towards the car.
You like Tim a whole lot more than you’d ever admit, and you’re beside yourself whenever you think of him. Enjoying company wasn't something you were ever used to, company growing up just meant work. Solitude meant you were free to do whatever.
Until you met him.
Robin was something else, though. Tim… now Tim was amazing. You lo— enjoyed everything about him, you liked all his quirks, his flaws, and his greatest feats. Being around him was so different, it never felt like a chore or something you had to actively work for. He was comfort, he was many things and you strived to always make him feel more than enough.
That Tim never had to be anything other than himself, that he was worthy of the best of you; that he didn’t deserve the worst of you.
Fuck it.
You were madly in love with him.
Thinking of him was like thinking. It happened whether you liked it or not. He was the first person you talked to in the day, he was the first person you told good or bad news. He was your everything.
“Are you okay?” He asks. “You’re holding my hand really tight.” Relaxing your grip, you apologize and see the street light change to red.
“I…” You shrug, pulling your hands up to kiss his knuckles. “I love you, is all.” He smiles, it’s nice to hear it. He knows it, he’s Tim fucking Drake, of course, he knows that you love him but to hear it. God, it’s like he’s on cloud nine.
“I love you, too,” He hums, kissing your knuckles back. You smile, a big and goofy smile he almost can’t believe you kill people for a living.
Back at your base, you’re putting dinner into the oven while Tim is at the small dining table, digging into his bag to pull out a folder. He puts it on the table and you pick it up with one hand, the other holding your tea cup. “Open it, dork.” He says when you raise an eyebrow at him. If he wants you to kill someone, all he has to do is ask.
“My clients give me folders like this,” You sigh, grabbing the folder. “Just so y'know.” You open it, a little confused about what it is until you get about three sentences in.
“No,” You breathe, eyes welling with tears. The cup is set on the table and you grab the paper with both hands and read over it. “Tim.” Your voice is raspy as you look at him. He nods, looking between you and the paper.
“(Y/n) (L/n) has no criminal history, unlike Darling Wilson.” He softly says and reaches over to grab your hands.
“(Y/n) can go to college. You can get out of this life.”