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“We’re both in agreement that there’s nothing we can do about it right now,” Jason says clearly, when Tim makes it obvious he’s going to keep trying to talk as Jason kisses him.
“Well—” Tim hesitates, and he’s so good, so careful. Really, it’s aggravating. “I hate hurting you, and it’s clear that my actions have been, and—”
“There’s nothing to do about it,” Jason repeats himself, rolling his eyes.
“I hate hurting you,” Tim repeats himself.
“And I don’t like you pulling all this shit, all contrite and brooding, pulling away from me because y’ think it’s what I want—”
“Because you deserve—”
“Oh yeah?” Jason tips Tim’s chin up. Tim goes with the motion, despite the fact that he—Jason knows, with absolute certainty—could refuse it. “Tell me what I deserve.”
“The best.” Tim’s voice is hoarse. “You deserve everything.” He’s averting his gaze, biting his lip. “Hardly anything’s been fair for you, ever.”
“That so?”
Tim’s thighs twitch. “I don’t like it when you get hurt,” he says quietly. He fails to smother the protectiveness in his tone like he usually can.
(God, how Jason loves it when he slips.)
“I’m supposed to be mad at you,” Jason scolds— both Tim and himself, it feels.
“What?” Tim laughs a little. Jason can’t help the way his gaze snags on the sharp flash of white that reveals—that handsome glint of teeth: blink and you miss it.
“But you’re being so fucking good,” Jason hisses, and the bed dips with his weight as he lets his knees settle by the sides of Tim’s thighs.
“Well, I—” Tim hesitates. “Sor—”
“How much have you been apologizing to me lately?” Jason demands, settling himself on Tim’s lap.
“Mn.” Tim’s hands automatically settle at Jason’s waist, muscle memory being the beautiful thing it is. “A lot,” he ventures.
“It’s all our fucking conversations lately. Yeah, it’s been ‘a lot’,” Jason mocks, before rolling his hips against Tim and making Tim bite his lip again.
“You just—” Tim shakes his head, and his words are breathier. “I am sorry. I wish I could fix it all.” Control freak that he is, Jason thinks—as if that description couldn’t possibly apply to him either. “I’d give you anything, do anything for you, you know. It’s—”
It’s the same merry-go-round they’ve been riding to hell and back countless times at this point—so overdrawn that every point of insecurity and hesitation has been plotted around to death, both sidestepped and fully acknowledged, both shot at and tended to.
Really, what Jason actually wants to ride and mount to hell and back is right in front of him.
Fucking Tim. Genius idiot.
“I know,” Jason says.
If Jason were feeling all the emotions he’s experiencing right now towards someone he had any less respect for, he would spit his words out at them. As it is, there’s just a little force to ‘em.
“I know,” Jason tells Tim again. “But would you wanna prove it to me?” he says, breathier.
Tim dips his head.
“You sure?” Tim asks, and he’s—
Tim’s really this coiled thing, of restraint and taut want. Never fucking lets up. He’s a frustrating, self-sacrificial, self-preservation-lacking idiot genius who wants Jason—and Jason knows he wants him.
Guy’s just holding himself back because he’s—
He’s just—
Just so—
“I’ve been—” Jason’s teeth are gritted. “—all. Over you. All. Night. Are you sure?”
“It’s just—” Tim hedges.
“Look,” Jason says, “if you don’t want it—”
“No. God, no,” Tim says, very firmly. He shakes his head, a bit of a desperate tremble in his hands. “I want it,” he affirms.
Jason likes how he says that, how he looks saying that, very much.
More of that.
“I want you to want me,” Jason whispers harshly, tilting his head a little to see the side of Tim’s face.
“Jay, I—”
“You have any idea how you look and sound right now?” Jason gripes, goads. Oughta stoke the flames. “I want you to rail me,” Jason tells him.
He watches Tim lick his lower lip. Tim doesn’t say anything.
“Fuckin’ pleading my case,” Jason says with a snarl. He rocks his hips up closer, scoots on up. He doesn’t miss Tim’s breath stuttering. Can’t miss anything Tim does. “Telling me I deserve the best. Doing what’s best for me, even if it hurts. Apologizing for the bit of pain you end up causing. Fucking groveling—” Jason clicks his tongue.
Tim’s eyes are closed and his head is still ducked. Doesn’t matter; Jason’ll get all up in his ear.
“You look good groveling, didja know?” Jason purrs. Tim’s light grasp on Jason’s waist becomes a bit more of a grip. Never let it be said that Jason doesn’t know how to talk. “Pisses me off. Turns me on. You’d burn down the fuckin’ world for me.”
“Mm.” Not a denial.
“Fucking Tim,” Jason mutters. Can’t believe him. “‘s been a while since we’ve had a conversation,” he says. “Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve fucked me? Even fucking longer, Tim.”
Tim swallows. Jason watches the movement of his throat with absolutely zero discretion or subtlety. “I—” He’s speaking up a bit more now, and shit, his voice sounds rough—from apologizing over and over, undoubtedly, but also from what Jason knows is arousal.
Jason feels himself getting impatient.
“…Yeah. It’s— been a while,” Tim agrees, something in his voice giving.
“Weeks, Tim,” he goads. “D’you know how much I miss the feeling of your mouth?”
“Baby, I—” Tim’s tone is— so, so soft— and Jason can see the flush running down his neck and disappearing into his shirt.
(Baby, Tim says, and it goes right to Jason’s dick.)
“Miss your fingers,” Jason laments, and he trails a touch over one of Tim’s hands—still instinctively on Jason’s waist like they’re meant to be there—lightly grazing the lengths of Tim’s fingers. It’s like fire.
“Feel amazing in me.” Jason leans closer, lowers his voice more. “You know how to fuck me.”
“Jason,” Tim pleads. One look-over and there is evidence that he’s getting to him. One word—his name—and Jason can hear it.
He adjusts how he’s sat—in place of straight up squirming.
“I miss the way you’d manhandle me,” Jason tells Tim. “Miss the way you’d make me come over and over—” He lets his voice rasp. “—and over again.” He grins. “When you’d do whatever you want to me.”
Tim looks up shakily, eyes dilated and face aflush, breath trembling, and Jason stifles his own smugness in favor of smiling just so—and watches the way Tim’s eyes latch onto the sight with frankly frightening ferocity.
Hook, line, and—
“I miss you, baby. Miss you, Tim.”
& there it is, flashing in Tim’s eyes. There’s the devotion, the desperation, the tenderness—the tamped-down instinctual need; the burgeoning, full-of-intent want. One of Tim’s hands comes up to grasp Jason by the chin.
It’s somehow worse than the touch at his waist was.
It peels Jason open, forces him—not truly, never actually; it’s never truly forcing—to look Tim in the eye. Leaves him vulnerable, because it’s near impossible to turn to denial under the weight of Tim Drake’s undivided attention.
Jason doesn’t— can’t— wouldn’t have the strength to deny this, not anymore. But that doesn’t make it any less terrifying, less fucking exposing.
It frustrated Jason, their first few fights as an actual couple. Tim’d flicked his switch and gone all in on Jason—which, yeah, took a very long time for Jason to comprehend even slightly—and the result of that was—
Fights where Tim would refuse to yell at him. Fights where Jason’s eyes would sting and he’d be so angry and he’d say all kinds of shit, do all kinds of shit—try to leave, try to bite, snarl.
& Jason would be very perplexed, so fucking weirded out, at how Tim would hardly bristle back. It’d pissed him off—to hear I don’t want to fight you.
It’d pissed him off to hear Okay. Pissed him off to hear No, that makes sense. Pissed ‘im off to hear I’m sorry. Made ‘im sob when Tim said I love you.
The result of Tim Drake realizing he has someone and that he has them for good and for real, barring all the circumstances impossible to entirely prevent, is him gentling. He does not do this easily, and he does not do this all the time for someone he cares for either. But he knows when to.
He holds Jason—pissed, mournful, pleased; no matter what. It cannot have been easy at all for him to have gotten to where he is now—and he ain’t perfect; god does Jason know it—but Tim Drake is good, to his bones.
& fuck, Jason loves him so much.
& fuck, does Jason want him so much.
“I miss you too,” Tim says after a moment, and he strokes Jason’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I love you,” he says.
& it’s very sweet. Makes Jason’s heart throb; makes the flush blooming on his face explode—because Tim says it so carefully, says it like it’s the first time every time.
It also makes Jason’s dick throb.
“I—” Fuck, Jason thinks. “I’m saying do you want me.” Jason forces edge into his voice.
Something that isn’t quite hurt flashes in Tim’s expression. “Of course I do.”
“So—” He makes to goad Tim on again, maybe begins to worry they’re not on the same page or even the right damned chapter—
“Obviously I want you. There’s no short list of things I would do for you. You’ve been it for me; you have always been it for me, now, then, and forever. I’m yours, yours, yours.” Yours yours yours, Jason’s mind plays back. “I’m sorry.”
“Apologizing,” Jason mutters disdainfully—but Tim barrels past that.
“You think I don’t want you?” Tim asks, and there’s danger in that tone, the quietly lurking, stalking kind: that which lies in wait. It wakes something inside Jason, something suddenly alert. “I always want you.”
Fuck, keep talking like that, Jason thinks, a painful awareness of how hard he is hitting him, flush on his face blazing.
“Really?” He feels his mouth run away from him. “Hasn’t been feeling like it,” he says, like a fucking liar.
Well.
Sort of. Tim does love him. He knows. But fuck, did it feel like missing a limb to Jason when he pulled away, by cause of some stupid misconception that Jason’d want him to be gone.
Tim owes him big time. He misses him.
Come on, Jason thinks. Come on.
Tim’s mouth opens, and his brows furrow as he visibly strings together several masses of thought.
Hesitant.
He’s done the work to be good to Jason, knows how, is a sweetheart and an asshole and is brilliant and uncertain somehow, but while he’s gotten quite good at dishing love out, Tim really still struggles with recognizing that he’s wanted—even if Jason spells it out in a ridiculous amount of scripts.
Jason’s about to make his next move, about to say, directly, Look, I love you, I need your cock in me yesterday, and your hesitation and your want for me to be happy and comfortable and you being so— so— you is not helping—but just as his lips part to get out even a word, Tim surprises him:
“I want to prove it to you,” he says evenly: with the calm of Red Robin, with the certainty of Tim Drake, with the soft intelligence of Tim. “You’re right. I haven’t been— I’ve not been the smartest about this. I want to be with you. I’m sorry I distanced myself. I thought—” He shakes his head.
“Yeah, well,” Jason mutters. “You assumed.”
“I assumed,” Tim says in full agreement. Then he asks, “What do you want?”
What do you want?
You to fuck me, come on, Jason’s mind provides as his first answer.
You, always you. I love you so much, Jason’s mind provides as his second answer.
“Your dick,” Jason’s mouth says plainly, for his actual answer. “Also, I love you.”
“This okay?” Tim asks, his breath hitting Jason’s face.
“You’ve fucked me into consecutive orgasms before and are entirely capable of doing that at any given moment because you have a manual of how to fuck me in your head—”
“I don’t,” Tim insists, mumbling.
“—and I’ve been all but drooling over you. Tim, do you need me to start moaning and panting in your ear? Fucking—”
“Sorry. I just—”
—Get stuck in your little bobbling head, I know, Jason thinks fondly, before he scoots himself forward on Tim’s lap and kisses his jaw once.
Tim stills.
“It’s okay,” Jason says, moving his next kiss further up—and the next one to his cheek. The next one goes to the corner of his mouth.
“‘It’s okay’,” Tim repeats. “That’s to say—”
“Frankly, Tim, you can do whatever the fuck you want to me.”
“I— You.” Fuck yeah, that got him good. “Shit, Jason.”
He opens his mouth and pulls back slightly to speak when a hand grasps the side of his face and the other his hip. He’s pretty promptly shut the fuck up.
Tim finally, finally kisses Jason—and he whines into it, finally getting what he wants, and he feels like he’s melting. It’s perfectly fine if he is, because Tim will always be able to keep him safe—keep him in place.
Tim’s thumb gently moves up Jason’s cheekbone before he’s brushing Jason’s hair back fully and making him shiver; Tim’s touch is gentle, slow, and savoring, and good. Jason feels his hips twitch forward.
At that, the grip on Jason’s hip tightens some, but not to stop him. Sometimes Tim does that—holds him completely still as he mouths at his body and gets him whimpering as he keeps trying to hump something, anything—but right here, right now, Tim’s hand is just there to be there, because—
“Want you,” Tim murmurs between kisses, so close and so unwilling to part that his words brush his lips against Jason’s. “Want you, want you, want you,” Tim says, and it’s so different.
Tim’s a talker usually because he knows just what to say, because he’s poised, because he intentionally sets out to say what he thinks Jason’ll get off to the most; because he considers it, filters it, thinks it through.
Tim is not often the type to—
“Jay,” Tim says breathily, and he holds Jason in place by the hip—ah, okay—and rolls his hips up filthily against Jason.
Jason— Jason hears his heart in his ears, sees stars with that move, and fucking bites his lip to tamp down a whimper.
“Fuck, I—” Tim looks beyond amazing as he pulls back—because he looks obvious. Obviously kissed, obviously in love, obviously turned on, obviously about to fuck the daylights outta someone; obviously Jason’s. “Fuck. On your back for me?” Tim says, head craned towards the rest of the bed.
“Mmh, want it from behind. Wanna—”
“Yeah, okay, sure,” Tim says breathlessly. “Anything you want, pretty.”
Pretty.
If Tim were as shame-faced as he was earlier tonight, before Jason’d worked him up enough, he would panic at that. It’s new. Matter of fact, Tim would’ve caught himself before even saying it aloud; it would not just slip the way it did.
Jason— If someone told Jason not too long ago that he’d be earnestly, lovingly called pretty by the love of his fuckin’ life and that he would not only tolerate it but find it to work for him, he’d consider pointing them to resources for support and harm reduction.
Jason peels himself off of Tim’s lap. Maybe he’ll get— No, he will get to ride him later, another time. For now though, Jason sits up properly and starts to remove his shirt when Tim—
Well. Tim does nothing, nothing to catch his eye. He sits there and Jason is fucking hooked, can’t do nothing about it. It’s like that; Tim exists and Jason’s feeling things.
But to be fair, Tim doing nothing is actually him fucking watching Jason remove his shirt— or. No.
It’s actually him watching Jason, point blank. Focus zeroed in on the way Jason’s chest moves with every breath. Zeroed in on the trail of Jason’s eyelashes with every blink. Zeroed in on the shape of Jason’s mouth, the way he’s worried at it, the way Tim’s kissed it; the memory of what it looks like with cum staining it.
He watches the smooth move of muscle as the shirt goes over Jason’s head. Jason is—
Fuck. Sometimes—and he can’t say this to Tim; give it another four years or something, fuck—he feels like he could get off alone on Tim just watching him. There’s just something— something about it.
Just. Tim Drake’s undivided attention: it’s fucking terrifying, fucking heady, and fucking hot.
(Also unspeakably fucking safe-feeling. Jason is doomed.)
“You strip too!” Jason demands with a scowl, and Tim jolts as if remembering that he, too, exists.
Jason tosses his shirt to who-knows-where and just as Tim gets to grabbing the ends of his, Jason says, “Actually— wait.”
Tim stills. Blinks at Jason.
Jason brings him in for a kiss that is much less gentle than the one Tim’d led. It’s angry—he snarls into it—but it’s also—
He fucking missed him. He missed this asshole, missed him so much.
Tim makes a weak sound and then hums into the kiss, lets Jason shove him down, lets Jason lick into his mouth. He’s not loud—which makes all the little things Jason can hear all the more erotic.
“Mm,” Tim goes as Jason gets more demanding, handsier. Jason lets a hand run over the skin of Tim’s side, beneath his shirt; Jason shamelessly squeezes and feels up Tim’s bicep.
This typically does not go on for long. Tim usually has an agenda when they fuck, and letting Jason just— pursue his whims and fuck about as he wants is generally not on it. Tim can let Jason touch for only so long before he goes Okay, back to you—
But Tim owes him, Tim’s so sorry, and Tim is fuckin’ smitten. Even if Jason wasn’t pissed, he’s pretty sure Tim would let him touch and ogle more if he’d just asked.
He should. Because—
“Fuck,” Jason says, now blatantly groping Tim’s shoulders. Tim laughs breathlessly.
“I feel like you could do this much more efficiently if I was naked,” Tim remarks.
Jason scowls, pulls back. “Who calls the shots here?”
Tim makes to speak, then pauses. Opens his mouth again, then closes it.
“Yeah, that’s what I th—”
“It’s usually pretty balanced,” Tim says with a ridiculously good-looking smile, “but I am following your lead here.”
“I mean.” Jason blushes. “I did also say do what you want to me. You can— I don’t know.”
Tim raises a brow. He huffs, still smiling like that. “You want me to take the reins fully?”
“That’s—” It’s really, really good when Tim does, but. “I like pushin’ you ‘round,” he mutters, embarrassed.
“Sure feels like it.” Tim laughs softly again. “What do you want?” he asks again.
“You. To see you unravel. For you to make me— make me— make me.” He gives up.
Tim just keeps looking at him, nonjudgmental and fond—and so clearly into him, doubtlessly so. “You said earlier you wanted me to want you.”
“I— Yeah.”
“You know I do,” Tim continues.
& Jason says, “Yeah.”
“But you want proof.”
“Thanks for the fucking summary; really couldn’t’ve gone without it; really, it’s—”
“I miss fucking you,” Tim says dauntlessly. Jason’s breath hitches. “I miss you. I miss going out with you; I miss staying in with you; I miss working with you; I miss everything. But if you need to hear about fucking, then yes, I fucking missed it.”
“Oh,” Jason says hushedly, not even realizing that he says it.
“You ruined me, first time I saw you. I knew you would never not be in my head anymore. Even if—” Tim looks away for a moment. “Even if you were to go someday, or we just don’t work out for one reason or another, you would— I’m yours.”
“I think about you a hell of a lot. You should know that; you think I’m a little freak for how much I know, how much I look, how much I see. There’ve been nights upon nights that I’ve just watched you, tracking you from cam to cam in the city.”
Impossible—Jason knows how to dodge cameras—unless he’s looking through Oracle cams or has his own.
Should’ve thought so.
“You are a little freak,” Jason says, very fondly.
“I missed you,” Tim says. “Of course I missed you. There’s so much of me that can’t be explained without you.” He says that with so much heart, so much tenderness, that what he follows that up with hits like a truck: “I want you so fucking bad.”
Shit.
“That’s, fuck— That’s. I’m— I have my doubts,” Jason responds—not because he actually does, but to move them along.
He’s lucky, really lucky, to have Tim, because Tim sees it for what it is. Smiles, sharp, at him. “I do. Let me take my clothes off, and I can show you.”
Let me, like Jason was ever actually in charge.
“Tim,” Jason gasps.
Those fingers—beautiful, elegant things they are, even after all these years of vigilantism. They’re long and perfect, and they know what they’re doing.
Tim always has to know what he’s doing, because frustratingly and aggravatingly enough, he is Tim Drake, and ought to be hypercompetent to the max.
He is Tim Drake, and so he ought to be burning into Jason with his gaze, ought to be concentrating all his brainpower, his meticulousness, thoroughness, and aim to please on Jason Todd.
It’s so good. Tim fingerfucks him and there is no feasible way to make it about anyone else. It’s good because Tim’s memorized him; it’s good because Tim’s learned him; it’s good because Tim’s here, still watching every twitch and listening for Jason’s every hitch of breath obsessively not only to force ‘im into seeing stars but also because he wants it, because he needs it.
Jason can tell; always can.
“I really did miss you,” Tim says, clear and vulnerable and out. Jason gasps as his fingers make a squelching sound and press against that spot right there, fuck, Tim. “I miss making you feel good,” Tim says, and Jason might be in heaven and hell at the same time—turnabout is fair play.
“Everywhere I went—” Jason groans at a wicked curl of the fingers Tim does, at the way Tim does a little stroke around the entrance of Jason’s hole with his thumb. “—I couldn’t help but think of you. The kitchen counter. The shower. Our rooftops. The desk at WE…” he says.
Jason can’t even muster a reply. He’s sweating; his mouth’s fallen open, and he’s panting between weak little grunts. He’s leaking, and he feels pathetic, in the best way. Cotton’s filling his head.
“Tim,” he says—though it’s more that he mouths it and breathes out ever so slightly, to the point where Tim can only hear it because he’s staring, listening, watching as fucking closely as he is.
“I thought of you,” Tim continues, a softness in his eyes Jason can’t— can’t fucking bear. He’s so turned on he feels like he’s already cumming, but he isn’t. Tim doesn’t seem to actually be faring much better himself, given his tremble, given the slight wavering in his voice.
“Thought of that time you—” Jason makes a pathetic noise, a full whimper as Tim’s fingers hit him dead on where he needs it; he trembles; needs Tim to— to flip him onto his hands and knees and claim him and make him take it; needs Tim to disregard what he requested earlier and just fuck him like this right here, right now; needs Tim to make him cum like this, fingerbang him until he drools and cums again and again and again, until he sobs. He needs, needs, needs.
“Please,” Jason says, a tear slipping out, and he doesn’t even know what he wants if it isn’t Tim.
“Jay,” Tim says softly, like his heart is breaking—because he’s so fucking in love with Jason, and holy fuck, Jason can see it. It’s so blatant. Naked. Jason owns his heart and if he asked him to carve it out for him, he would.
“Please?” Jason says again, needy. Really needy. It doesn’t at all feel bad, even as he blinks away the sting in his eyes.
Tim’s face is—
Jason’s seen a lot show on Tim’s face. A lot of truth, and also a lot of bullshit—Tim Drake can be such a fucking liar. He’s seen him reverent and worshipful for him. He’s seen him snorting and snarking at him. He’s seen him tearful and worried for him, seen him sad for him, happy for him.
He’s also seen him fond and enamored, seen him fuck-hungry and wanting, seen all kinds of combinations of hope and love and care and desire on Tim throughout the years.
But it never ever gets old. & Jason doesn’t think he will ever be able to inure himself to it. He doesn’t think he’ll ever want to.
Tim adores him. Tim wants him. He is wanted; he is loved. He is safe.
He is good.
Has to be, if Tim’s lookin’ at ‘im like that.
His eyes sting again.
“Oh, baby,” Tim says brokenly, like he’s never— like Jason’s never— “I’m fucking you, I promise. I love you so much, Jason. I love you.”
“Y’ better,” Jason sniffs.
Tim pulls his fingers out, slowly. Jason fails to suppress his whine at the loss, and Tim fails to hide how much that affects him.
One moment passes without Tim moving, and Jason’s saying, “If— If y’ don’t stick your dick—” He manages a scowl, teary-eyed and rosily flushed. “—in me in the next minute, I’m nev’r talkin’ to you again.”
It isn’t even that Tim was really dithering; Jason’s just already complaining about not having something in him.
Tim opens his mouth to speak.
“Never talking. Again,” Jason repeats.
Tim huffs, an amused and indulgent smile on his face that really shouldn’t be doing things to Jason at this point but still is. He leans a little closer to Jason as he says, voice pitched a little lower than it has been all night, “Liar.”
Jason thinks he nearly fucking cums.
It’s embarrassing; he bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut, tenses, to force it to subside.
Tim says, as if that didn’t just happen, “You asked to take it from behind. I just— want to know if you still want to—”
“I—” He has to force his brain to work with him. He is this close to becoming a mindless, writhing thing. “Me. And your dick. Yeah, I still fuckin’— Still want your dick. What part a’—”
“I promise you I’m going to fuck you,” Tim says, a little more darkly than he probably intends. Jason has to remind himself to breathe. “But do you want it like that still, or—”
“Want to feel owned,” Jason mumbles. The words come out more easily, much looser, than they would earlier in the night.
“Yeah?” Tim says, prodding.
“Like I’m yours,” Jason says.
“You are,” Tim says, all matter-of-fact. It isn’t cocky-sounding, doesn’t condescend; he isn’t even saying it reassuringly. Simply, Jason is his.
“Tim,” Jason whines.
Tim’s so soft for him. So smitten. It’s written all over his damn face. His stupid, beatific face. It’s really in the eyes, the way they crinkle: how he folds.
“Okay, Jay,” he says, quiet and reverent. “Anything for you.”
“God,” Tim quietly hisses—and it’s quite appropriate, given that Jason’s fairly certain he is having a religious experience.
It’s not the first time they’ve had sex, obviously, god no. It’s not the first time they’ve had emotional sex either. Jason should be used to how this feels—in every single way and sense—by this point, but he very much isn’t.
No, Jason’s vision is blurry. He can feel all his exhales puffing out of his mouth, dumbly.
He hasn’t come once. But it reminds him of a time, on this very bed, Tim had been stressed as hell and the one thing that’d actually entirely gotten his mind off of things was fucking Jason through orgasms he ended up entirely losing count of.
He remembers it. He remembers trembling, remembers losing the thread of every single one of his thoughts, going stupid for cock, wanting to cum really badly, crying. He remembers Tim holding him up. He remembers Tim wiping away his tears—during and after. He remembers, best, Tim kissing him.
Right here, right now, Jason’s sights are on his hands, and he feels the way he felt that day: like he’s orgasmed more than a handful of times and Tim Drake is going to wring him out.
But—
There’s this sudden threatening swell of feeling, even as Jason bites his lip and Tim’s pushed in another inch and is letting him adjust.
It’s this— free fall, all of a sudden. Once thrilling and now terrifying, like there’s nothing there to catch him, nobody, like he’s all alone and there’s nothing he can do. There’s nothing. It’s this big feeling in his stomach. It’s—
Jason gasps as an arm comes around and pulls him up and back, flush against the chest behind him. It lodges the cock inside him a little deeper, and that’s enough to flush nearly all of Jason’s brains out, but even hotter still is the way Tim is there, right at his ear.
“You okay?” he asks, and hnn, Tim Drake is everything to him; just him being there, just feeling him, lets Jason know everything’s going to be okay. “Do you need to stop?” he asks, and nonononononono, no; Jason needs to—
He needs to find a way to get more; he needs it so badly; Tim already pulled away for so long; he needs him inside for eternity to make up for it.
“Gr— Green,” Jason manages. “Tim.” His voice comes out whiny and small.
“Oh, Jay,” Tim says, weak. Kind and gentle, possibly oblivious to how deeply inside Jason his dick is with the way he’s holding him, to how Jason needs to be fucked.
Tears fall down Jason’s face and plop down onto the pillow before him. His face feels wet; it would definitely be wetter if Tim hadn’t wiped his tears for him earlier, all tender and love, love, love. He needs Tim. He needs Tim Drake so badly.
From the angle he’s at, Tim likely doesn’t see it, but Jason pathetically mouths please, please, pleasepleaseplease, eyes shut tight as he squirms ever so slightly.
Tim lets out a slow, slow breath, kisses Jason’s temple—makes him whimper—and then moves, fucking finally.
“Oh.” Jason makes a punched out sound. Tim isn’t fucking him fast—but he isn’t going as slow as Jason’d assumed he would. He’s also—
“Tim, Tim— Timmm— Mm—” Jason’s just being held up as Tim fucks him—and really, he’s fucking him. He’s fucking him hard and steady, and he’s right in Jason’s ear as he pants—equally needy, because fuck, there it is.
Tim needs him. Tim wants him. He has clearly, obviously, been thinking about this and trying really hard not to. Oh, he missed him.
When Jason makes a really, really fucked-out, high-pitched, whiny noise, Tim says, hot breath brushing against Jason’s ear, “Fuck,” and goes at him harder, a little rougher.
Jason whimpers and blinks tears out of his eyes again. His mouth falls open, and Tim’s hold on him keeping him upright tightens, even as he slumps in it slightly, cockdrunk as hell.
“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Tim slurs, and the fact it hardly even sounds like he registers he’s saying it is everything. “I love you so much, Jason. I always want you. I always love you. I will always love you. I love you so much. You’re amazing. You’re so good, so smart, so kind, so brave, so good, so competent—”
“Tim!” Jason squirms. Tim’s hold doesn’t give.
“I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sorry and I’ve been so—” There’s a thrust that makes Jason’s vision white out for a moment. “I’ve been so dumb. I miss you, missed you. Missed this.” Then, he says, “You’re so fucking hot,” and Jason’s gone.
He sobs when he comes; it’s a lot and it’s so fucking good. Tim goes on to say, “You always know how to talk; really good at that; everything ‘bout you is so fucking good; I like the way you breathe—” He’s still fucking going, Jason thinks, a lucid thought coming to him like a drifting note of a fever dream. “I like the way your mouth moves when you speak; I—”
Holy fuck, Jason thinks, panting as Tim’s thrusts stutter and his words get shakier, Tim Drake is babbling.
“Your thighs when you free run,” Tim says. He’s still fucking him. Jason is unsure how he hasn’t— how neither of them have dropped yet. “Lashes when you blink. How your tongue touches the roof of y’r mouth when you talk. Brows furrow when you’re thinking, like me. Way you bite your lip. How—”
“Tim,” Jason gets out, finally able to muster up words in a non-squeaky, non-pitchy register. “Tim, fuck, yellow, please.”
Tim stills.
Jason breathes out.
Holy fucking shit.
“You okay?” Tim says, breathless and dazed and hoarse, obsessive tone teetering off.
“Just, hah. Give me a second.”
“You want me to—” Tim shifts his hips backwards, gesturing for pulling out.
“Maybe.” Then: “Yeah. For a— I want to lay on my back.”
“Okay,” Tim gives easily. He pulls out and lets Jason go—Jason pulls away from him and fuck, Tim is hard. & he’s flushed nearly everywhere on that pale body, panting, and sweating. But he isn’t complaining at all.
Tim does furrow his brows though, as Jason lays on his back and grabs a bottle of water from the bedside.
Jason’s sipping at it, as Tim, bewilderedly somehow, goes, “Did you come?”
What.
“What,” Jason says. “Yes.”
He has two seconds to explain before Jason starts to feel embarrassed, insulted, hurt, very deeply sad, and angry. Two seconds.
“How didn’t I—” Tim looks embarrassed. “I didn’t notice,” he whispers.
“You—” Jason’s mind then blanks, aroused and shocked. “You didn’t notice?”
Tim always notices. He’s the fucker who counts Jason’s orgasms, especially when he can’t keep track anymore. He’s the obsessive fuck that watches every little twitch and thought behind Jason’s behavior, every change in pitch.
For him not to notice, he had to have been really, really—
“That good, huh?” Jason grins—it’s a little weak because he’s still coming down from that, holy fuck, but it is real.
Tim can take this in a sour, self-flagellating direction real quick if his brain snags on the possible thought of him missing Jason saying something important—even though he didn’t, and even though he very, very beautifully stopped there.
Jason doesn’t want that, doesn’t want to see him get upset, and, also, he’d like for this to continue, preferably soon, so he goes on to say, “You’ve never talked me up like that b’fore,” with a little bit of a curious look to his face.
Tim looks mildly alarmed. Curiosity on Jason is dangerous for Tim. He knows.
“I, uh.” Flustered Tim is currently present. Cute. “I don’t normally do that,” Tim says, like Jason, his partner of years, wouldn’t know that. “I just got so—” He gestures with both of his hands something vague and misshapen.
“The way I breathe?” Jason looks very smug, and also beautifully fucked-out, very obviously post-orgasm. He’s smug because if he doesn’t go for smug, he’ll have to go for flustered, and come on, enough of that. “How my tongue touches the roof a’ my mouth? Timothy!”
Tim goes embarrassed-red.
It’s very sweet-looking.
“I just. I got fixated. I don’t— don’t know what that was—” & now it’s beginning to sound less like the fun kind of embarrassed, so Jason looks at him frankly.
“Tim. That was one of the hottest fucking things I’ve ever— seen, experienced. And that’s sayin’ a lot considering you’re who I’m with.”
Tim opens his mouth.
“Don’t know if you’ve figured this out yet, but I know you’re a li’l’ freakish. I see you stare. I know you used t’ watch me, and hey, you still do now. You like your pictures. You like looking, like watching. You know I don’t mind, but did I not also make it clear I fuckin’ like it?”
Tim blinks. His jaw is still hanging open.
“It fucking works for me, baby. Everything about you fuckin’ works for me. Did I not make that clear? I guess I didn’t. I’m abysmally into you. Ardently.”
“You.” Tim swallows, and again, Jason watches it and does nothing to hide that he does. He’s got no shame about it. “You like how obsessed I am with you.”
Jason grins. “Tim. You’re not stupid.” It’s all there. “And what, did you think I wasn’t gettin’ off to it when I let you take pictures and videos of me getting fucked into next week and railed into the afterlife? You thought I was just indulging you?”
“Sometimes I feel like you have to be,” Tim mutters.
“Do I seem like the indulgent type?”
Tim sounds halfhearted: “Maybe.”
“I like it. It’s hot, Tim. Literally just made me come, right then and there.”
Tim’s gaze is intense, burns through Jason and could probably shred through flesh and bone if he had superpowers. “Then let me make you come again,” he says, voice full of promise.
God, yes. “Fuck, yeah, anything. Anything you want.”
“Please, can I fuck you?” Tim asks, as Jason’s already set himself to lie on his back and gripped his own thighs with his hands, pulling them back.
“Y’ ask so nicely.” Jason laughs. “Come in me this time.”
“Whatever you want, prett—” Tim stops himself short, blinking.
Jason rolls his eyes. “I liked it. Use it.”
“What?” Tim says, and if he realizes another thing’s slipped from his control, he’s probably going to flip, so Jason makes the executive decision that they’re bringing that up another time.
“C’mere, c’mon, Tim.” He reaches towards his own hole, fucked and debauched, and teases himself, slipping his finger in and out once. “Don’t you—”
Yeah, he barely has a second to fuck around before Tim grabs him and yoinks his hand.
“Yeah, Tim,” Jason says, a bit less floaty thanks to finally having gotten off—not that it’s made anything feel any less good. He’s just got his words and some more of his bearings about him. “Tell m’ more.”
“I— Jay, please.” Tim, on the other hand, still hasn’t fucking come yet, and Jason doesn’t know how his dick hasn’t exploded.
“I want it, Tim; I want it,” he goads, and Tim looks fucking good panting above him.
To see you unravel. Jason bites his lip. “You thought a’ me,” he says, “at the— with the— with the kitchen counter. Desk at WE. Our rooftops.”
Tim groans, fucking Jason slow. “I did.”
“Mmm?” Jason pries.
“I just— couldn’t stop seeing you bent over,” Tim explains, breath hitching at the way Jason clenches around him. “Thinking of— how your moans sounded echoing. In the kitchen. You know the safehouse with the echo. That— That kitchen. I—”
Tim has to concentrate to keep on talking, but he’s nothing if not persistent and stubborn. “I like all your moans,” he says. “I like them high; I like them low. I like them loud; I like them soft. I like whines; I like grunts; I like. I like it all.”
Jason’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to stave off another orgasm actually. Thanks for asking.
“But I was thinking about your low ones—” Jason moans as Tim’s dick fucks into him just right. “Yes, just like that,” Tim says, near clinically, if not for the breathlessness in his words. “The grunts and moans that sound just like how you talk.” Tim strokes Jason’s lower lip with his thumb. When did that fucking get there?
“I like it when you whine too,” Tim says, and he can’t hide behind a veneer of indifference and ease with the undeniable reverence coming from his voice. “I like everything, like— like I— hnn, Jay— like, like I said, Jay. With the higher-pitched ones though, you tend to, ah, let those out when I’m being— rougher or— if it’s been a— while.”
“I like you like this a lot,” Jason contributes.
Tim laughs breathlessly. “Yeah,” he says, “I bet you do.” Then, he says, “I really ‘m sorry. I missed you so much,” like a big ol’ softie.
“I missed you too. We’ll be okay,” Jason says—because well. Maybe he’s also a big ol’ softie. Don’t tell anyone.
“You have really nice orgasm faces,” Tim proceeds to say unabashedly. Jason makes a weak noise. “I liked that sound,” Tim comments inanely. Jason exhales heavily. “But yeah, really nice orgasm faces. First few times I tried to catch it on camera I kept shaking, or I’d be— looking at you so much I’d forget to actually make sure you’re in the frame. But now I can rewatch, loads of videos.”
“But it’s still. Still not as good as seeing it. Hearing it. Here.” Tim sounds obsessed.
“Fuck. Really missed you,” Jason says.
“I love you so much,” Tim tells Jason. “You mean so much to me. And I’m also. So obsessed with you. So into you. It’s horrendous. And ridiculous. And— and— everyone fucking knows. I’m not, like, embarrassed—because why—but, ah, it’d be nice if people quit poking fun at my Jason Todd problem.”
“Tim,” Jason says.
“Yep, what? Wanna cum? I can make you cum again. If you want it fast, I can give it fast. Slow though, we can do that too. You know I know how to edge you. You look good crying, really good. Whimpering— Oh, I didn’t even touch whimpers earlier, did I—”
“Jesus,” Jason says, laughing delightedly. “Finishing would be nice—feel free to fuck my brains out at the next available opportunity—but I want you to cum first.”
Tim blinks, like it somehow hasn’t occurred to him that he has been hard and aching and leaking for an absurd amount of time.
“‘Cause you look good cumming too,” Jason says with a leer, and quite abruptly a very vulnerable, very unconcealed expression of panic on Tim’s face comes up: the kind that reads like shit he’s going to come if he lets go even the slightest bit.
Jason smirks. Turnabout’s fair play, yeah?
“I didn’t even see your face when y’ came the first few times, you know.” Tim is desperate, panting. It’s a fun little game they’ve got going here, that they both know Jason’s going to win. Tim is going to cum—really, Tim will let Jason make him cum. Just a matter of time. “‘S like you were tryin’ t’ hide it from me, the way you’d fuck my brains out enough that I’d be too out of it to look. Was that what you were doing? That your dastardly plan? You are quite the schemer, Tim.”
Tim doesn’t say anything, biting his lip, squeezing his eyes shut. Jason’s smirk turns into a full-on grin. “Can’t say anything—?” The word “anything” leaves his mouth awkwardly, on a harsh exhale as Tim thrusts up into him a little hard and mind-spinningly. Jason— Jason can do this. Focus. “Well, anyway, I really, real-ly, like blowing you. Remember that first time you let me do it?”
“Mmh—” Tim goes, weakly.
“Yeah. I can’t believe you. I can’t believe I let you put it off for so long. Your cock is perfect for me, seriously.” Tim— whines. Jason thinks that could count as a whine. Good shit. “Fantastic fucking me, fantastic throatfucking me. Drives me crazy. You look so good. It’s the first time— When, ah— When, fuck— When— When I saw you cum for the first time, when I first saw it clearly, was when you literally sent it down my throat and had your head tossed back.”
“Looked so fucking good. You always do when you cum. So handsome. Hot. Gorgeous. There oughta be a word for ‘makes-you-want-to-beg-to-be-railed’, because that’s you. Your orgasm face does that. Your face does that. Your dick does that, real well.”
“Jason,” Tim breathes out, harsh.
“You’ve got such a thing for restraint, Tim,” Jason says with a roll of his eyes, but he isn’t actually bothered. “Won’t just cum to cum.” He reaches out, up and up to Tim’s face. “Look at me.”
Tim squirms. “Look at me,” Jason repeats.
“Can’t,” Tim says softly, eyes closed.
“And why’s that?” Jason grins.
“I’ll— I’ll come, Jay.”
If Jason could purr. Oh, if Jason could purr.
“Yeah?” Jason says, preening. “You’d come from the sight a’ my face?”
“Yes,” Tim says desperately, eyes squeezed tight, hips still rolling.
“Oh, but Tim,” Jason whispers, brushing back Tim’s hair softly before abruptly and harshly tugging at it, making Tim gasp and snap his eyes open to meet his smug, smug gaze, “you’re already fucking me.” Tim’s heart rate must be going insane. “See it or not, you’re in me, and y’ feel so good, y’ made me come. You did so good. You felt so good, Tim.”
He yanks him closer. “I love you so much. Now come for me,” Jason says, and Tim shudders, breaks.
He is a vision when he orgasms. Jason was not lying. His cheeks’re all rosy and his mouth parts quietly—not silently; there’s a sound when Tim’s tongue peels off of the roof of his mouth, and there’s the sound of his fucked-up breathing, shaky, shaky, shaky. He trembles and looks beautiful, hair sweaty, eyes glazing over momentarily—and he holds onto Jason like a lifeline during this orgasm, like it’s earthshattering, Tim-shattering, different; and Jason gets it.
“Attaboy—” Jason gets to say, before a hand is at his cock, rapidly stroking it. “Aaahh, Tim, Tim— Tim—” he whines, entirely caught off guard, moaning like he’s his.
Even fresh off of the orgasm, Tim goes for the fucking attack. He knew Jason was close. See, he does fucking pay attention.
“Timmm,” he continues to whine, a hand reaching out shakily; he doesn’t even know what he’s aiming to touch. The other hand, already in Tim’s hair, yanks. Tim grunts; has always had a thing about hair-pulling that Jason’s abused quite a bit. “Tim, ohfuck—”
Tim doesn’t even— speak. He doesn’t babble or pull out any perfectly tailored lines. He just watches, with terrifying, unrelenting, silent focus.
“Fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” Jason whines and cries.
He’s in for it. He knows.
(There’s nowhere else he’d rather be. No one else he’d rather be with.)
