Sweet Dreams are Made of This

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Living with Jason was... different...

Not bad different or good different, or different for the sake of being different. It was euphoric different.

His apartment (or "safe house" as Hood liked to call it) wasn't overly large nor was it overly small. It was sweetly domestic and tasted with normalcy. Well, as normal as a vigilante could get with weapons littering the "living room" like trophies that Hood refused to get rid of or store in some kind of weapons cache.

(And Jason thought he and Bruce were nothing alike.)

The point was, that with the amount of money Jason had collected during his time terrorizing mobs (which he was still terrorizing – just on a smaller scale) and now the steady fund he was receiving from Bruce, he could be living anywhere in the city – from Wayne Manor to the Diamond District – hell, he could be living anywhere in the world.

But Jason was one of those hardcore "Gothamites for life" and even though he travelled with his Outlaws for a while, continuously changed "safe houses", or spent some time in squats, this city was his home. No matter what, he'd always return.

He's also had to get used to the fact, that Jason lived off a steadfast diet of cigarettes, cheap take out, and recently, tuber ware containers filled with Alfred's cooking since the damn fool could barely make Mac 'n' Cheese. In fact, Tim thinks Jason would have continued living off of cheap Chinese, Indian, Dim Sum, and boxes of pizza if it weren't for Alfred forcing him to take crates full of his cooking to Jason – since that bastard still avoided the Manor like the plague.

Although Tim had to admit, Jason sucked at cooking, but possessed impressive dexterity with chop sticks that still flabbergasted him and Alfred. He would burn Kraft Dinner, sure, yet be able to make a perfect omelette (the only thing he could cook) with those stupid sticks and still denied Alfred the parental need to mother him.

("Alfie, I'm not a kid anymore. I can make myself a decent meal. Don't worry about me – I'm a big boy now."

"Master Jason, that vulgar, cheapening of apparent oriental cuisine is not a substitute for a nutritious meal. And frankly, you cannot live on a diet of high grade coffee and omelettes no matter how 'old' you are."

"Yes, mom."

"In fact young man, you are not even of American legal age, so put that whiskey down this instant!"

"Damn Mama Alf, you really did get strict with all these new brats running around!")

Right. The other thing that left him and Alfred puzzled to the core: his ridiculously selective taste for exquisite coffees (and his not-so-exquisite taste in cheap booze).

For instance, his latest craze was some kind of bold, dark roast coffee called 'eclipse' and the silly little Keurig coffee machine that made it was the fanciest thing Jason owned (not including his technology or weaponry). It was pathetically cute how the lethally unpredictable Red Hood worshiped that damn machine as if it was his deity and the eclipse coffee was the miracle he continuously prayed for.

When he wasn't out at night patrolling his "section" of Gotham, he would train, ride his motorcycle, and look up leads for the mobs within his section. Sometimes, he'd get lost in the novels Tim owns, hit the local bar, or grudgingly sit down to play video games with him whenever Dick comes over.

("This is fuckin' stupid."

"Dick don't do it –"

"Don't hate on the game just 'cause you can't beat a bunch of zombies, Little Wing!"

"Nah Dickhead, you don't get it. It's like shooting at my brethren. It feels fuckin' wrong."

"Oh my fucking god –")

There were also times when he'd go completely off radar just to do stupid things that Jason simple does. He thinks he'll never find out what Jason does in that downtime.

Rarely, he'd 'graciously' show up to the Batcave and disappear with Bruce for hours. Tim suspects that they're slowly mending their broken relationship. Things must have been getting better since Jason's slowly switched from "Bats," and "Brucie," to "Pop's" and "the old man," as more of a sweet tease than his usual blunt, crude, sarcasm.

And where does Tim come into this mix? Well, being the brutal Red Hood's boyfriend would be one reason. It lets him... notice things about Jason that others can't.

And it's not just 'cause he used to stalk him.

On the outside, Hood was very much the same punk that Bruce had taken in and made his second Robin. Brash, harsh, all bark with a worse bite. Liked to get a rise out of anyone and didn't take help from anyone. It was... a psychotic kind of playfulness that Alfred admits he always had. However, the childish overtone had seemed to die with his revival.

And he'd seen it first hand when his little gang of Outlaws had come to Gotham to visit. That was an experience he wasn't too keen on refreshing.

("So you're his main squeeze. Damn Hood, couldn't have picked a younger brat couldn't ya'have?"

"Shut the fuck up, Roy!"

"Hey kiddo, he's not touchin' you in places he shouldn't be, right? I mean... he kind of did try and kill you... a few times... he didn't molest you too, did he?"

"I fucking mean it, Roy!"

"Harper, is it? For your information, I'm eighteen not eight. Also, I'm not that short."

"Yeah, and Kori here's really not a nympho and Hood's shorter than Batman. You sure you don't want me to go and call up your oldest bro Dickie? He's a cop ain't he?"

Jason then proceeded to shoot Arsenal in the leg and then left to go get drunk with him using their fake IDs, Kori silently staring at him with a blankness that could burn galaxies.

"Do you want to have sex with me?" she had asked before Jason barked her name and she swiftly turned around to follow her intimidating leader out.

It was one of the oddest 'what the fuck' moments he's ever had.)

He's finding that Jason is simply an entity filled with contrasts; contradicting everything in a way that simply complemented. It doesn't make sense and he doesn't think it has to. It's just Jason – or as the family's started calling it – just one of those Jason things.

One of the contrasts that simply stumped him is his strange parameters and silent rules in regards to physical contact. Jason almost had a phobia of being overly affectionate in front of eyes that weren't their own. Even when in their own privacy, Jason had limits and quirks that took a long time to figure and plot out.

Most of the time, he was calloused and reserved, only touching in small ways to show that he was there. Things like resting his arm behind Tim's head on the couch, to gently grasping his wrist on patrols for a brief moment, to even pressing their knees together under tables and whenever they sat near one another. Even smaller things like reserving that Boy Wonder smirk for him. The one that was a half-smile and wondrous: with glowing teal eyes and that expression of "I'm good and you know it" – but that was rare. It was as if he feared that breathing wrong would make Tim disappear in a quick whisper like everything else had in his young life.

And yet...

Despite always keeping his distance from Dick in "cuddle-slut mode" and drop kicking the eldest whenever he was within close proximity, Jason surprisingly took much after their older brother – not that Tim would ever say that to his face.

He's starting to realize that maybe there's a logical reason for this particular contrast... Jason fears love and affection – everyone he's ever loved has been taken away from him or has treated him like absolute shit. But that doesn't make him emotionless. He's scared and when he finally let's himself through his own mental blockade, it's as if he's starved for contact.

And he called Dick "the clingy little bitch of the family."

Not that it was always clingy or even hyper sexualized.

When falling asleep, there was a good seven inches between them and when there wasn't, it was gentle caressing followed by a months of coaxing for Jason to finally loosen up at least in his sleep. The Red Hood still suffered from, to put it lightly, horrendous nightmares.

Always the Joker, the warehouse, and the crowbar.

When Jason used to just crash on his couch for the hell of it, he'd either wake up screaming raw or refused to sleep at all. In the past, whenever Tim noticed soft snoring turning into quiet whimpering, he'd be the one to initiate contact: stroking back snow white bangs into thick raven hair, pulling his strong torso towards his own before Jason would unconsciously react in by locking him in a bruising hold, only to relax completely within a moment or so.

Unless, they were having sex, which was always long, rough; so full of desperation and so purely Jason that it killed him every time. Even in the most intimate of acts, he still couldn't relax completely, was still so scared that Tim would just disappear into a cloud of smoke that he'd never see again. Maybe that's why, much to his own shock thank you very much, Jason wasn't as much of a sexual being despite being the GQ worthy image of sex-on-legs.

("Once, Tim. Daddy Dearest gave me the fuckin' protection lecture once."

"And Dick?"

"Dickhead got to sit through the whole power point presentation every time he had a date. I think old man Bats still shows it to him."

"Well, Dick's not really... conservative with his sexuality."

"Timmy, the word you're looking for, in that over-sized brain of yours, is slut. Shit, funny though, isn't it? He gives Dickie all those fuckin' lectures and then he ends up knocking up –"

"Jason, you know that's not exactly how Damian was conceived."

"Does it matter? Daddy Bats and Big Bird are hoes and you know it.")

Now, things were different. Jason didn't suffer from nightmares on a regular basis and maybe, it's because he's finally comfortable around another human being. He's relaxed around him and the impossible had turned to be possible as always with Jason. The elder Robin, whenever in a deep sleep, becomes the biggest cuddle slut on the plant.

A moody cuddle slut - because if Tim even dared to breathe a little different, Jason would be up and snarling; attempting to hit pressure points, crush him, or simply squeeze him in a way that would impede all movement in his half-conscious state. But hey, Tim was usually pretty good at keeping still. He didn't know if it was from growing up in a house hold where moving wrong in front of his parents made him pathetic and unworthy of being a Drake, or if it was his perfectionist nature having hyper-developed from trying so damn hard to be the Robin that Batman needed.

Usually, he didn't mind being absolutely suffocated by Jason's large form in his sleep: the cuddle monster practically climbing on top of him and knotting their limbs together whenever he was dreaming (and it made Tim really want to know what Jason dreamed about). But tonight... tonight was different.

It was hot inside the apartment.

Seriously hot.

It was also that awkward time of year between the end of summer and the beginning of fall: scorching, smoggy air layered Gotham days meeting chilled and rainy nights. The amount of humidity produced had begun to confuse his body as it had to others. Practically everyone was sick and moaning or grumpy from the severe pressure changes that would occur within the same day.

It was even affecting their latest apartment. Under the sheets, he was sweating buckets but as soon as he stuck out a leg or uncovered himself even a little, he was freezing. He continued fiddling with the sheets shyly, hoping not to make too much movement before he was kicked in warning with a sleepy snarl.

Speaking of which, Jason wasn't exactly helping the situation. Ignoring the fact that even in nothing but boxer briefs the man was essentially a furnace, his broad arms were locked around his chest, nose buried deep in the cavity of his neck as he exhausted fiery breathe every few moments. He was smelting under these damn covers and all he could think of was how pathetic his death was going to be.

Teen Melted to Death by Burning Fireball Boyfriend – Vicki Vale would cover it. He was sure of it.

He considered the consequences of waking Jason up prematurely... especially since tonight was one of those rare nights where they were actually allowed to get a good night's rest. However, his moral compass was already guilt tripping him. For a month now Jason hasn't even had one nightmare and has actually been having a decent five hours of sleep, despite sleeping like rabbit. He'd just be cranky and irritable and absolutely intolerable. Tim could deal with cranky, irritable, and intolerable right? It'd be just like babysitting Damian or a drunk Dick, right? He was Red Robin, right? Right.

To be honest, Tim is genuinely shocked that all he's received is a grunt and kick of disapproval. Probably meant that whatever the hell Jason Todd actually dreamed about was just a bunch of sweet nothings. Something like domestic bliss and Dick trying to hug him harder than usual. Or maybe it was Damian trying to steel his motorbike again.

All musings aside, between being trapped within muggy sheets and Jason's fiery form, he was honestly beginning to feel gross as hell and his need to be hygienic was starting to freak out. If he was able to at least move the sheets a bit more he wouldn't mind freezing his legs in this damned paradoxical climate. It's not like he'd be completely cold with Red–hot–Hood here.

As slowly as possible, he began to unwind their mess of tangled legs and cursed under his breath, since he could feel the slickness of his sweat sliding against Jason's long, limber legs. As soon as one leg was free, he worked on the other before the raven haired man grunted and turned them over, lifting the covers completely off their legs only to be assaulted by arctic air.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuck," Jason whined before re-tying their legs together. Tim let his own angry sigh, realizing that despite his greatest efforts, he'd managed to wake Jason up.

"Tim, babe," the older Robin mumbled angrily with sleep still intoxicating his voice. Almost unconsciously, his lips creep up from his neck. "I love you," he continued to murmur in a deep, grizzled grow. It was layered with annoyance and he knew it wasn't just Jason being half awake. He was in trouble. "...but if you squirm another fuckin' inch I swear to god I'm gonna kick your scrawny ass out of this bed."

Usually, he'd relent: Jason's sleep being far more important than his own. Besides he was a student and a Wayne by day and Red Robin by night. Sleepless nights were normal. However, he was hot, sweaty, tired, and annoyed. If Jason was already awake than fuck it – Jason could deal with moving off of him.

"Maybe if you'd move at least an inch over, I wouldn't be squirming so much because I'd actually be able to breathe."

The other's eyes opened suspiciously, eyeing him with a calculating glare as Tim continued.

"Jason, I'm roasting alive. I'm gonna die from heat stroke since it's so damn hot in here."

Apparently, Jason's brain was still sleeping and didn't understand that hot didn't mean horny it meant move.

"You want some heat baby?" he growled, with an underlying tone of erotica.

"If you want me to boil to death than by all means: add to my misery."

"You that hot Baby Bird?" Jason whispered huskily, rolling on top of Tim. "Hot, sweaty and heavy, because of me?"

Tim could feel his snort of a smirk against his neck and his half hard length pressing into his thigh in a practiced roll before Jason stopped completely. As if shot, he quickly braced himself on his elbows and with a curiously, suspicious, grimace, his fingers began dusting the edges of his boxers before pressing down hard. His sharp features turned sour and his limber fingers began to peelthe sweat soaked shirt off of Tim's skin.

"Damn... you really are a hot mess, aren't you?"

He didn't even have time to spit a fuck you as almost immediately Jason placed his cool backhand against his forehead and hissed,

"Dammit, Tim, you're feverish not dying of heat stroke!"

Great. The one thing worse than a cuddle slut or cranky Jason was a worried Jason. A rare occurrence, worried Jason was usually violent towards outsiders but with Tim, he was possessive and hovered worse than Alfred.

Looks like neither of them were going to get any sleep after all.

Without any shred of gentleness, Jason peeled of the rest of his soaked t shirt and skillfully pulled his boxers down growling out "shower. Now." in a low tone that he knew not to argue with. He doesn't know whether Jason's more pissed that somehow Tim woke him up, or that he got sick under the Red Hood's ever vigilant watch. He thinks it's the latter as he gets under a lukewarm spray.

Living in euphoric domestication with Jason meant he learned things about him that no one else knew. That statement went both ways.

Jason was the first to notice that he usually gets three hours of sleep on average and started forcing him to sleep more. He realized that sometimes he's so absorbed in his work that he forgets to eat or drink, sometimes passing out from the exhaustion. Jason's the one who leaves him small snacks, texts him to drink water, and hides small sticky notes around the apartment reminding him that as much as he doesn't think he's perfect, he's damn well near it and other positive sarcasm that makes him laugh. Jason was also the first to recognise that when he's tired, he mixes his favourite root beer brand with monster energy drinks to keep going and laughs that Tim can't complain shit about his smoking habit as long as he keeps drinking liquid heart attack.

Jason's the one who finds him when they're out on separate patrols just to make sure he's okay. He's also the one who texts him ridiculously sappy bullshit masked with underlying puns and jokes whenever he's out with his Outlaws just to show him that he misses him in his own Jason kind of way. The Red Hood is also the only one person he's ever met that had realized his obsession with hygiene and comprehended that having his own shirt bound to his body by a thick layer of slippery sweat was absolutely revolting.

It's why when Tim finally gets out of the shower, there's a clean pair of boxers waiting for him on top of their rumbling washing machine. He feels better and it's only now that he realizes the pounding headache he has. Feverish is what Jason pegged it as and he honestly wouldn't be surprised if he's become another victim for Mother Nature's bipolar mood swing.

He's also unsurprised to see the elder raven already changing the sheets grouchily – still –in his boxer briefs; a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin sitting on his desk.

"Sorry for waking you up," Tim mumbles eventually, leaning against the door frame. His angry boyfriend only whips around furiously, pointing his finger at him as he rants,

"You idiot. If you weren't fuckin' feeling well you should have woken me up sooner! "

"Wanted you to be well rested..."

"God dammit, Tim how many times do I gotta tell you? It's okay to wake me up. Hell, you need the sleep more than I do. It's not like the earth will crash off its axis and all hell will break loose if you wake me up once in a while!"

"Well, you always make a big deal out of –"

"– because I'm always a moody bitch when I wake up. Doesn't mean I'm gonna stay moody forever."

They fall into silence. Mostly because at this point, Tim doesn't know what to say and Jason is seething as a default emotion. Soon enough, he's made his way across the room where the bottle of aspirin is. He juggled out two, before bringing him the glass of water along with the two pills.

Wordlessly, Tim swallowed both, only realizing how thirsty he was when the glass was empty. Maybe he was dehydrated, not sick. Or it could be his horrendous sleep schedule in general. Jason was already running his long fingers through his damp hair, as if playing with absent mindedly.

"Now you've got me worried, you little shit. How much did you sleep last night when I was on patrol?"

"Didn't. Pulled an all-nighter to finish an essay."

"Has anyone ever told you that despite your genius mind, your sense of self-preservation fuckin' sucks?"

"You do. Every day."

"Let me say it again. Timothy Drake-Wayne, you are the moron of all morons when it comes to self-preservation. Maybe you should listen to your dashingly handsome boyfriend once in a while – that lovely Jason Todd who you reduce to a pathetic bundle of nerves when you don't listen to his elder words of wisdom."

"Elder? Jason you officially turned twenty-one a week ago and you're only three years older than me. Actually, technically you're only two years older than me since you were dead for one of those twenty-one years."

"Jeez babe, way to remind me I'm a fucking zombie."

"Well then I guess I'm fucking a zombie."

"Your puns suck worse than Dickhead's. At least I can see you're feeling better," he eventually snorts, his gentle petting turning into a painful noogie. Tim broke out easily enough, lacing his fingers with Jason's as he pulled them back towards their bed.

"Seriously though, all horrible puns aside," he whispered, cradling Tim's cheek. "If you still feel like shit in the morning, you're staying home."

"Jay I can't just stay home because I feel a little off."

"Correction – I'll make your ass stay in bed all day. Someone's got to take care of you since you can't do it yourself, Timmy."

"So you're my knight in shining armour?" he couldn't help but tease, lost in teal orbs. Jason was already knotting their legs again, pulling him as close as possible before leaving the sweetest of kisses on his forehead.

"Obviously, since you're the damsel in distress – ow, ow, ow, okay not the damsel in distress, just the prissy bird in its nest."

He pinched Jason again, having receiving a kick in return, "kidding, sweetheart, kidding. Damn I could go all night with these."

"Jayce."

"Okay, okay, I'm done I promise. Let's actually try and get some sleep now. Sound good? Maybe you'll dream of something sweet."

"Like you?"

"Like me," he agreed, burying his nose deep into Tim's hair. "If I'm in your dreams, they'd be the sweetest. Maybe then you'd actually get some rest."

"And you? What do you dream of?"

"Hmmm what do I dream of? Timmy, I always dream of you, babe."

"Sap."

"You make me like that."

Tim knows that they'll continue to bicker for now, but maybe, it'd be okay to skip a day of class just this once. He wasn't going to get much sleep this night anyways, but that doesn't matter. His dreams are always sweeter when he's with Jason.

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A/N: This was supposed to be a character analysis of Jason Todd's character in a more stable kind of setting, although then I changed him around to suit my needs for this drabble :P Like, I'm pretty sure its canon that Jason hates Gotham (he mentions it in one of the Outlaw issues) as well as the fact that he's totally cool with hooking up with people. To be fair, I also view him as a sexual being and someone who'd even go as far to use it as self-harm in a way, but there's soooooo many stories of JayTim just screwing around that I wanted to change up the speed a bit.

Also yes, Tim is doing the whole "hoe don't do it..." thing with Dick who "does it"

This was also inspired by the Eurythmics - Sweet Dreams are Made of This.