I think I'm done forcing the boys into civvies to spend the closest thing to "couple time" two Bats can aspire two. Next time, it's back into costume for the boys!
Title: Feels too much like belonging.
Fandom: DCU- Batman.
Rating: PG-13.
Genre: Some humor, some angst, some kissin' 'n stuff.
Wordcount: 4600 circa.
Characters/Pairings: Jason Todd/Tim Drake.
Warnings: Self-betaed, Jason ( ), slash. Mentions of: (past) character death, drugs use/drug dealing.
Summary: Jason set his jaw. If Tim wanted to play 'let's give each other the shock of a lifetime', he was in for one hell of a ride.
Notes: Fourth in the "(love) Until We Bleed" series. In this particular verse, Tim is on the prowl for his very own Jaybird, but Jay's got a very bad cause of the denial.
When Robin asked him for backup in an undercover mission, Red Hood went this close to laugh at him in the face.
He didn't care that the Batman was busy with the JLA, that Nightwing was doing whatever in Blüdhaven, and that Robin was alone in this. The Red Hood just didn't do fancy uptown clubs. And at the Batclan's behest? Who the fuck was he, the prodigal son turned court buffoon? There was no fucking way in Hell he'd ever, even in his present fucked-up state of mind, accept to...
And then Tim uttered the seven magic words: "local ring selling untested drugs to kids", and Jason sort of kinda immediately froze.
There were a lot of things Jason could forgive (well, not really; but forgiving your adopted-dad-slash-boss-slash-possible-first-crush for your death has to account for something, right?); but dealing to kids was so low on that list, it didn't even figure in it. Same thing with rape. Tim pretty much had the Red Hood wrapped around his little finger from the moment he uttered the words "kids" and "drugs" in the same sentence; and he'd lie if he said he hadn't expected as much. The only minor setback in Tim's plan, was that it worked too well; so the "club open to same-sex pairings" and "I might get molested if I show up without a partner" combo he used as punchline was totally wasted on Jason.
Damn.
The club itself was opulent, and just borderline disquieting. A gothic den with blood-red walls, golden décor and muted lights, tucked away in one of the richest residential neighbourhoods of Gotham. The atmosphere was cloudy, dimmed, exotically scented, but the patrons seemed harmless enough. Teen richlings peopled the dance floor, sipped coloured beverages from long-stemmed crystals, reclined languorously in the smoky lounge, all of them dressed princely and moving with sluggish grandeur.
Jason was hiding away at the bar counter, perched on a stool and nursing a bottle of imported beer. It didn't need a genius to figure out a good half of those kids was drugged stupid, high on some pretty pill or the other. Jason wondered what sort of shit would push rich, beautiful teens into the arms of Big Sis Ecstasy, and had to stop the mental checklist at reason #36.
Tilting his head to drink the bottle half-empty, Jason found himself in the perfect position to glance at Tim out of the corner of his eye. Robin-in-disguise was sitting further down the bar counter, decked in obscenely tight pants and a much-too-revealing shirt that clung to the pebbles of his nipples.
Jason pretended not to notice when the boy leaning over Tim slipped him a little plastic bag and a scribbled piece of paper. But when Tim started manoeuvring himself out several grope attempts, Jason did saunter over, looping a possessive arm around Tim and grinning his I'll-kill-you-dead smile at the sorry Romeo. A beat later, the boy was scurrying away like he had a legion of demons hot on his trail.
Sagging with exhaustion, Tim slid closer, lolling his head back against Jason's shoulder. Jason leaned down and put his mouth to Tim's ear in such a blatant display, no one thought anything of their whispering.
"Got what we came for?"
"Possibly."
"Let's head back to base, then."
"No, not yet."
"What? Why? You got a sample of the shit and a name, right?"
Tim was massaging his temples, and moaned in appreciation when Jason batted his hand away and got to the task himself.
"A sample and that boy's mobile phone, I'm afraid. Nothing on our suspect."
Jason muttered some choice words under his breath. Aloud he said: "It still accounts for something, right?" and shrugged, careful not to dislodge Tim.
Tim made a thoughtful humming noise, and relaxed further into Jason's chest. Jason's solid warmth, the rhythm of his heartbeat, his familiar scent... it was all soothing and arousing at once. Acting on instinct only, he turned around, drawing himself up onto Jason's lap, and draping his arms around Jason's neck. This close, Tim could almost taste Jason's beer-scented breath. It made him purse his lips.
"You're actually drinking what they're serving here?"
Jason jiggled the bottle around, making the beer slosh against the glass.
"They'd have to be damn good to slip me something, Baby B. But if you can think of another occupation for my mouth, I'm open to suggestion."
Tim didn't know if he kissed Jason to shut him up, or because he was actually funny in that outrageous way of his, but kiss Jason he did. A few seconds into it, he'd all but forgotten where they were, and why. A minute, and he was fumbling to pull Jason's vest from his pants and rocking against him.
"...mon Dieu, but vous iz tres sexy."
To his credit, Tim didn't quite scramble off Jason's lap and into his own stool as the barmaid spoke. He was blushing a fiery red, though, and looked only moments away before his ears started to smoke. Jason was no less flushed, but the glaze in his eyes had nothing to do with embarrassment. Nothing at all.
Grinning, the barmaid leaned closer to them across the counter, her arms crossed under her bosom and her eyes twinkling with mischief. Admittedly, she was something to gawk at – midnight black hair cut as if she were an Egyptian princess, smoky bedroom eyes and smooth skin. She had a pretty voice, that the accent turned into something exotic and almost birdlike. Rule number one of undercover operations was not to trust anyone, but she'd been perky and nice with them all night, enough to garner herself a kernel of trust.
"Vous mind me asking if vous are... ah... exclusive?" she asked.
Tim's eyes sprang wide, and he all but chocked on air, which earned him a dimpled, amused grin. Jason cocked an eyebrow and drawled: "you bet we are," adding an hint of growl at the end that had the barmaid throw back her head, her throat rippling with laughter.
"Oh là là! Vous iz the possessive kind, oui?"
"Compulsive-possessive."
"Je vous ai compris," she nodded. She tilted her head, and the look on her face was both soft and curious. "Iz thiz... ah... new?" she waved in their direction, struggling for the right words in a language that wasn't hers. "Vous iz always touching. Iz zweet. New lovers do that."
Actually, they were always touching because Tim was stubborn and Jason was in denial and there was nothing between them. It was a sad, sad thing that needed to be rectified soon, if Tim had anything to say about it. Pursing his lips in thought, he glanced at Jason. There was such intent behind his narrowed eyes, one could almost see the wheels getting into motion inside his head.
When his lip curled up at the edge, and his eyes gained an odd gleam, Jason was considering whether he should bolt. He was still calculating how far he could reach, when a teasing fingertip was placed on his chest, freezing him in place.
"Oh, I wouldn't call this new..." Tim purred. "Jay and I go a long way back."
We do? Jason wanted to ask, but didn't bother, because all of a sudden Tim's finger began to feather downwards, at the sound of a whispered: "but the sex is a recent development", and then there came this laugh, a low and rippling sound that had Jason squirming.
It was... it made Jason think... it put such images in his head that... and he already had enough of those without Tim adding shamelessly to his collection at every given chance, thankyouverymuch. There kid knew there could be nothing between them; nothing more than this odd, twisted thing they already had, comprised as much of stolen kisses as of reeling punches, desperate passion and clinging comfort and reckless violence. The teasing... the double meaning... the blatant offers... they'd better stop soon, or one of these days Jason would snap and bend Tim over the first flat surface available. Then again, that was probably what Tim wanted, so...
And Jason'd better start focusing again, because that damned finger was still trailing down, down, down, feather-soft and stove-warm, and he was going to need all his brain power not to do something he'd regret. Or rather something he would not regret, even if he really ought to.
"Oh, do tell!"
The barmaid sounded so eager, it was nothing short of endearing. Tim took his hand back to himself not a moment too soon, and gave her a look that was shy and just the right side of smug.
"I met him when I was about twelve," he stage-whispered. "And used to follow him around everywhere he went – I was literally his shadow for a couple of years."
Jason raised an eyebrow at that. He'd done his homework, and knew everything about the adventures of Timmy the Tiny Stalker. If Tim was saying what he thought he was saying, it meant that Robin II had been stalked for as long as Robin I. Which was... cute. Creepy as hell, yeah. But cute. Did that mean the kid's obsession with him was rooted in their childhood?
"Zo vous were childhood friendz?" the barmaid asked, as if reading Jason's mind.
Tim had the decency to look sheepish.
"Uh, I think the correct definition would be 'invisible little kid with a bad case of hero-worshipping begins to stalk the older, cooler kid'."
Jason didn't snort at that. Honest. And he didn't almost choke on his beer to hide said snort, either.
"Ah... hero-worshipping?"
The barmaid looked confused, her eyebrows dipping together as she rolled the foreign term around in her head.
Jason angled his beer towards her.
"It means I was so awesome, that birdie here wanted in my..." he took a long swig of the beer's dregs as Tim glared all sort of bat-weapons at him, daring him to say what it looked like he was going to say. "...life," he finished with a roughish grin.
"Vous were an interesting keed then, oui?"
"Nah, just your average Gothamite kid." Jason chanced a glance a Tim. Little Robin was all but leaning into him, soaking the information like a damn sponge and looking thirsty for more. Jason figured it wouldn't cost him anything to oblige. "I lived in a shitty neighbourhood, the sort where kids can't be about on their own, not even in plain sunlight. I was a big kid for my age, or at least not as food-deprived as most. I was sort of like... everyone's big brother." He shrugged. "Or their grandchild, depending on the age. You know, the one person to turn to when you need... help. But then I was adopted and had to move. Not that the change of scenery changed anything else, mind you. I still bullied the pervs away from the kiddies, and the thieves from the little old ladies."
"You were no bully." That was Tim, and he looked so scandalized by the notion, it made Jason smirk.
"Sure I was."
"You were a hero."
"More of a bully, really."
"A hero."
"I spell it 'possum', you spell it 'opossum'. It doesn't change the fact I gallivanted around punching people way bigger than me in the guts."
In green undies, he didn't say.
Tim's lips twitched secretly, anyway.
"Which is exactly a hero's job."
"Possum, darling," Jason spelled into Tim's face, perhaps way too close than decency allowed. "Possum."
The barmaid held up hers hands.
"Have merzy," she grinned. "Tranzlate?"
"In short, seems like I was prince charming and whisked the lil' bird here off his feet with one sweep of my baby blues."
"...uh..."
"Translated again," Tim supplied, voice hushed, "he was my firstlove."
And just like that, Jason felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, leaving him breathless and faintly nauseous. The charade suddenly wasn't as fun as it had been, and Jason wanted nothing more than bolt.
First love. Christ. And I went and almost killed him... what? Twice?
Tim reached out casually and touched the inside of Jason's wrist, rubbing slow, tiny circles across his jumping pulse point. The touch unnerved Jason as much as it calmed him, so he allowed it. He chugged down the last of the beer. It had warmed in his hands, and it tasted cheap against his tongue, flat and sour, like something vaguely sexual.
"Well, both his brother and him, I think," Tim explained to the barmaid. "They were both so pretty... and their legs were to die for." Tim grinned at her startled laugh, then gave another one of those endearing shrugs.
"But then I chose him. I still liked his brother, but suddenly it occurred to me that it was different. I didn't... his brother wasn't the one I dreamed of." And with the amount of stress he put on the word "dreamed", he wasn't talking about innocent let's play tag dreams.
Oddly enough, the barmaid caught on that particular subtext pretty much effortlessly.
"Dreams. How zweet. But... perhaps moi can ask why vous haz beecome lovers only rezently?"
Tim went still. His body shuddered, one long ripple that started from his head and ended in his toes, and made even his eyes and nostrils widen and quiver.
"There was a... tragedy. A death in the family. And he... he left." Tim began to pick imaginary dirt from his pants, pointedly looking at no one in particular. Jason told himself he was imagining the half-chocked grief he could hear in Tim's voice, but he wasn't that bad a detective to miss a clue when it glared him hard in the face.
Besides? First love. His mind poked the notion like the tongue that can't resist prodding an aching tooth. The sting of it made Jason feel nauseous all over again.
"He zust... left?"
"...yes. He didn't keep in touch, so I don't know what happened with him in those years."
Tim was looking at him square in the eyes, now. There was a lilt at the end of the sentence that didn't quite beg for more information, but went close enough. Jason set his jaw. If Tim wanted to play 'let's give each other the shock of a lifetime', he was in for one hell of a ride.
"I was really out of it," he began, offhandedly enough to fool the casual bystander. Even the way he reached out and began to shred a paper coaster might have looked like a bored exercise to the untrained eye. In truth, it was just the best way he had close at hand to anchor himself to the here and now.
"After the "tragedy", I mean. The death. You could say I blacked out for a few months. When I came to, I found myself in a dark and lonely place, so to speak. I had to dig myself out of the pinch, but somehow I made it back to the land of living, if only a little worse for the wear."
Nowhere near as subtle as Tim's own little tale, but he'd never meant it to be. He recognized the moment when the image of a young Jason clawing his way out of his own coffin clicked inside Tim's mind. He'd wanted to put that image there, and while he didn't regret it, the look on Tim's face made something twist in his guts.
Tim swallowed forcibly, rocking backwards and forwards, looking as if he were suffering from vertigo. A tremor started in his chin and travelled all the way to his hand, fisted white-knuckled in his lap. Jason had to fight off the urge to pick up that hand and uncurl the fingers, one by one, mostly because he wasn't sure what'd he do afterwards. Hold it? That was preposterous.
"Jay..."
Jason was aware of the barmaid looking between the two of them like the audience of a tennis match. She seemed aware that there was a deeper meaning to what they were telling each other; but she wisely held her tongue, scanning them for impending trouble.
Her deepened focus helped Jason swallow down his next words, whatever they might have been.
"Anyway." He looked up at the barmaid, facing his audience as unemotionally as any well-trained Bat knew how. "I was hospitalized for a while, but ran away pretty soon. I tried living on the streets, but it turned out that one of my father's ex was on the look out for me. She dragged me to live with her for a while, then she pushed me into taking a journey, something to find myself and my purpose, or something. If found it, came back home, paid Timmy a visit, have been seeing him ever since. End of the story" He shrugged. "I doubt it'll be the next best-seller, but that's it."
Tim nodded once, briskly, whether to confirm Jason's little tale or to reassess something he'd just figured out in his mind, it was anyone's guess. His eyes still weren't back to normal – too wide, too bright – and his jaw was set so tightly it looked painful. Jason kind of missed the days when he would have revelled in that pain, but it was only a half-hearted "kind of".
"I..." Tim exhaled loudly, probably performed some relaxing routine of the other inside his head, because his fists began to loosen up, slowly and then more surely as blood returned to his fingers. "I think..."
The barmaid reached out to him, and looked sympathetic when he shied away from her and off the stool.
"...I think I saw that friend we were looking for way there in the back, Jay. If you'll excuse me, I'll go say hello."
He moved away in a controlled flight. The barmaid looked like she wanted to say something, but another customer was beckoning to her, drunk and rude and entirely too loud. Biting her bottom lip, she gave a long, searching long at Jason. She apparently found something reassuring in his face, because she forced herself away and further down the counter.
The drunk customer grabber her wrist in a bruising grip, and something triggered inside Jason at the sight. An instinct to protect that rooted deeper than his Bat-training, that didn't require much brain function to get active and memorize the man's features for future reference.
With the ease born of practice, the barmaid slithered free. She sauntered towards the glass rack, picking one up at random, and Jason wondered vaguely how he'd missed the bruises and scars hiding under layers of make-up along her arms. Deftly, she threw an handful of ice cubes into the shaker. Then she poured in bright liquid from two oddly shaped bottles, one red and one green, and began to shake.
After a minute, she slowly and deliberately strained the cocktail into its glass, and ignited it in a sudden round of applause. Jason looked at the flames, wondering if he should read some hidden, deeply philosophical meaning in two apparently non-mixable substances bursting into beautiful fire. Then his inner countdown reached from 300 to 0, and he ran after Tim.
"You saw our friend my ass," was the first thing out of Jason's mouth when he found Tim, bent over a sink inside the men's restroom.
It probably was a sorry choice of words, as proved by the glare Tim fixed on him through the intermediary of the mirror. With his face wet and his eyes red from rubbing, it failed to be anywhere near menacing.
"I thought I'd seen our suspect coming in here. I couldn't just ignore the..." Jason tuned him out after that. There was something angry and obsessive in the way Tim was washing his hands, rub, rub, rubbing them under the scalding water. Jason punched the faucet off, glaring right back when Tim's eyes narrowed and his mouth dropped open in outrage.
"I was..."
"Rubbing the skin off your hands. I kinda noticed."
Tim averted his eyes, clenched his fists. His shoulders quivered, they were so tense. Jason exhaled through his nose.
"I'm not gonna apologize, you know that. So let's skip the crap and get back to work. Gotham's not going to patrol herself, and we still have to-"
"I just wanted to know more about you," Tim whispered. And really, that was heartbreaking, but life wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, and Jason refused to feel any sort of remorse. Tim should know better than to play mind tricks on him. Not with the sort of past Jason was bound to have. If anything, Tim should be grateful for the lesson. About cans of worms, and how one shouldn't play with fire and all that proverbial shit. If Jason kept telling himself that, he might even start believing it before the next century.
But Tim wasn't done talking and, "How is that a crime, Jay?", he asked, voice low and begging and thin, like some fuckin' kicked puppy left in a bloody cardboard box under the rain.
Jason scowled, then forced a shrug. There was much he wanted to say; ever more that he could say, given the situation. As it often happened with him, what he didn't say was the most important part.
"Nah, not a crime." I wasn't trying to punish you, Tim. Honest. "A mistake." Just drop the games and try asking, next time, like a normal person. "What were you expecting, really?" And, you know, not dropping First-Love bombs would kinda help my temper, too. I'm... mean, when I'm... cornered. "A tale of singing angels carrying me back from a shiny tunnel of light and that sorta shit?" I was dead, Tim. And death is messy and painful and you just don't ask for details. You just don't. Because what you'll get is not pretty stuff.
Tim clenched and unclenched his fists, gathering himself. After a minute, he looked up, caught Jason's eyes burning holes through him via the mirror, and held his gaze. His mouth curved in a patently false smile.
"Honestly? I have no inkling as to what I was expecting, other than to gain some intelligence on a person that happens to be important to me. However, you did make a valid point, when you said we should not dally. Not when we have duty to attend to. May I suggest we go back to work? If anything, it will keep us from discussing personal matters in a public bathroom."
Jason contemplated pounding his fist against the wall, and resisted the urge by only a small margin. If the little bird had reverted to that kinda speech, he had to be worse off that Jason had originally thought.
Time for drastic measures. Though the kid was right on at least one account: a public bathroom was so not the place to have this conversation.
Jason's eyes darted to the lines of stalls. All doors were closed, and there was silence in the room, giving them the illusion of privacy. But then Jason spied smoke curling lazily up from the furthermost stall. Tugging Tim by the wrist he stalked to its door, kicked it open and hauled up by the collar the suddenly-terrified boy with the joint.
"Out," he growled, (needlessly, since the kid was already scampering off towards the exit). He pushed Tim roughly inside, bolted the door behind them, and used his bulkier frame to back Tim into a wall. It wasn't the best choice of place for privacy, but... "spill it," he ordered gruffly, and Tim all but flung himself at Jason, clinging tight, muscles shivering ever so faintly with restrained emotion.
"Jay, you... Clawing your way out of your coffin? Really?"
Jason nodded. Tim glanced briefly up at him then burrowed back into his chest.
"I should've... could've..." he exhaled deeply. "Do you have any idea how many times I went to visit your tomb? If any of those nights I'd arrived earlier... or stayed just a little longer... maybe... maybe..." he swallowed when he realized no word was forthcoming from Jason. "Why didn't we notice anything amiss with the burial site?"
Jason looked thoughtful for a moment, but in the end could offer nothing more than a shrug.
"No idea, here, Baby B. No idea at all."
"I'm sor..."
"Don't apologize."
"Sorry."
"Don't apologize, I said."
"Sorry."
"Tim..."
"I'm sorry."
"Christ, kid. It's not like you could have done anything."
And just like that, Tim crumpled. He didn't start crying, or had any outer reaction other than hold onto him for dear life, but Jason couldn't miss the way he shattered, sagging onto himself, and there was no way Jason was really going to do this, and in a fucking bathroom stall, but...
...but Tim tasted like salt and strawberries when Jason kissed him, felt taut and hard and shivery and fit perfectly when Jason yanked him roughly to his chest and held him there, trapping him between the wall and his body, so that they touched everywhere, everywhere, from mouth to chest to groin to knees.
He pulled back only long enough to breath, gripped Tim's hair, his hip, pushed Tim harder against the wall, deeper into his own chest, as if he was trying to set him there, like a precious stone, inside his heart.
"Forget it, okay? Shit happens. Shit happens all the time, to everyone, though fate's a bitch and really has it out for those like us. I meant it when I said there was nothing you could do about it. I don't know who thought it'd be funny to bring me back while I was still buried, but it. Wasn't. Your. Damn. Fault. Got it?"
Tim didn't answer, not verbally. His eyes were riveted to the base of Jason's neck, where the pulse point jumped erratically. His fingers slipped along the collar of Jason's vest, playing across his skin, tracing his jaw. Jason turned his head, first kissing the palm, then biting gently on the thumb, tonguing the sting away. His eyes were dark and hooded and demanding, so Tim let out a shaky breath and nodded. Just nodded, just once.
He probably knew better than anyone it was illogical to feel guilty, or sorry. But he couldn't help imagining it, imagine a world where he'd found Jason right after his resurrection, helped him out of the tomb and into the Cave and away from the Red Hood persona and the anger and the killing, and then perhaps growing up with him, fighting alongside each other and-and it was agony. And he just needed a little bit more time and closeness to truly get over it.
He burrowed even closer, revelling in the warmth and scent and strength that was Jason, and mentally apologized to Gotham. The Mission would have to wait. Right now, being in the arms of an undead love inside a smoke-filled bathroom stall felt too much like belonging to move away.
~*~おわり~*~
Piece of trivia: I wasn't sure where the boys should have this conversation, so I rewrote this many, many times. In the end, I erased all complementary characters, and pushed them in the pub/local I'd invented from an old DBZ fic of mine XD;;