Tim watched the young man as he slept, the side of his face pressed against Terry's warm chest. Terry looked so peaceful at rest. The lines on his face from the near perpetual scowl he wore smoothed over, and he looked more like the teenager he was. His chest rose and fell gently as he breathed, and his heart beat steadily in Tim's ear. Tim admitted that the boy was handsome while awake - but asleep, he took on a soft vulnerability, and became beautiful.
That wasn't why Tim had become so enamored with the boy, though. Yes, Terry was physically attractive, but Tim's appreciation for it wasn't particularly romantic. There was something else. The boy's righteous anger, his stubbornness, his dedication to saving people. It struck Tim that he was attracted to Terry because the boy was a hero. Tim had long ago grown jaded about heroes, but he had to admit that Terry made a good one. A hero Gotham could be proud of.
Tim's fingers slowly wandered across Terry's chest, lightly tracing the outline of a scar. The boy didn't react. He'd had plenty of energy earlier, but he'd used that energy up quickly, and then crashed. That tiny part of Tim that still thought about the old days, that little voice that still called himself Robin, noted that Terry lacked self-discipline. He'd noticed the same thing when Terry had fought The Joker - the boy fought so hard, harder than needed, and it left him weak to attack.
At that thought, Tim shut his eyes, pressing his face harder against the boy's chest. He didn't need to be thinking like that. That such a thought could enter his head scared him. He didn't need to be thinking like a Robin, and he most certainly didn't need to be thinking like The Joker. His hand left Terry's chest and cradled his own head. His body began to unintentionally curl up. He'd fallen asleep like that for much of his life. If he curled up small enough, The Joker couldn't do much.
His knees dug into Terry's side, enough to wake the young man up. He wearily blinked and moved his head from side to side, trying to find the source of whatever was digging into him. Tim wasn't aware that Terry was conscious until he felt hands on his wrists. He glanced up, meeting Terry's gaze. The boy was looking at him with a mixture of confusion and concern. Carefully, with a firm but gentle grip, Terry pulled Tim's arms away from his chest, unfolding the older man from his fetal position.
Tim didn't object, though his body resisted somewhat. The young man pulled him up, practically draping him across himself. He set Tim's arms next to his shoulders and let go of his wrists. He wrapped his arms around Tim, his head just under Tim's chin. Tim was tense for a moment, but Terry tightened his grip, and Tim felt himself relaxing. The boy held onto him so tightly, as if he was afraid Tim would vanish if he eased up his grip in the slightest.
Tim tried to speak, but the young man hushed him. Tim was grateful for the silence, in a way. For years, all he'd ever done was talk. Talk to Bruce. Talk to Barbara. Talk to Stephanie. Talk to the shrinks. The talking had helped to piece back together his shattered mind, but sometimes, he just wanted to not have to talk. He wanted someone to hold him without asking if he'd had a nightmare again. That's exactly what Terry was doing, though for what reason, Tim wasn't sure.
Still, the silence was welcomed. Tim returned Terry's embrace, holding back just as tightly. He was sure that if he let Terry go, the boy would disappear. He was a young man, with his life ahead of him. He had no reason to hang around with a broken old man. But he did anyways, and Tim was grateful. He wanted to show that gratitude, to make it clear how much it meant to him that Terry needed him - or at least, put on a good act for needing him. But words failed him.
He buried his face in the boy's dark hair, as always just wanting to be held. Yet his couldn't help but remember how Terry never seemed to be content with that. For now he was, maybe, but... Tim didn't want to loose him. He didn't want the young man to drift away, and how else could he hold on to him?
Tim kissed the top of Terry's head, gently, more like a parent than a lover. Was he even Terry's lover? He wasn't sure. He had the feeling he was being selfish, using the boy for his own purposes without thinking about what Terry wanted. Couldn't he be allowed a bit of selfishness, though, if it made him happy? He kissed Terry's head again, more deeply, and felt the young man tense up slightly beneath him. He stroked Terry's cheek, willing the boy for once not to be afraid of him.
He kissed Terry's head one more time, then leaned down, pressing his lips to Terry's collarbone. He was afraid to kiss Terry's face, to look into his eyes and see only confusion. His hand moved from Terry's cheek to brush down along the boy's arm. Terry still held on to him, but his arms were tense, the affectionate gesture turned into an uncertain one. Tim worked his way out of that vice-like grip, slowly moving down Terry's body. Terry's abdomen moved as he inhaled, as if about to speak.
He didn't, though. He remained silent as Tim moved down, his body remained rigid. The only change Tim noticed was that the boy's breathing got faster when he felt Tim's breath against his groin. Terry wasn't hard, and he shuddered when Tim stroked his length with the tip of a finger. It didn't take much to arouse the boy, Tim was discovering - but he was just a teenager, after all. Tim could remember with some embarrassment his own teenage years, and how everything made him think of sex then.
Wordlessly, without warning, Tim took the half-erect shaft into his mouth. Terry inhaled sharply, the air escaping his lungs in a low moan as he hardened. Now that he was here, of course, Tim wasn't sure what to do. He understood Terry's apprehension earlier - he'd never made love to a man before. Neither of them knew what they were doing, and yet they were putting forth their best effort anyways. Tim questioned if this was even right, if he was just confusing affection for lust.
That line of thinking ended abruptly when he felt Terry's hand hesitantly run through his hair. No, of course it wasn't right. But why did something have to be right for him to enjoy it? He wrapped his tongue around Terry's penis, trying to remember what exactly his partners had done to him when they gave him oral sex. The moans coming from Terry seemed to imply that he was doing something right, at the very least.
Tim stopped thinking. A challenge for him, but he was able to manage it. He simply let his mouth and tongue move on their own, exploring Terry's erection in minute detail. The boy's moans turning into a half whimper as his body relaxed. Tim moved forward, swallowing Terry into the back of his throat, fighting his gag reflex. Terry's body suddenly grew tense again, and he cried out softly. Tim didn't like when the boy wouldn't relax, but this was a different kind of tension. One he did like.
He released Terry from his mouth and leaned over the boy, wanting to see his face. Terry's eyes were closed, his lips parted but his teeth clenched. Tim kissed him, those teeth scraping against his lips. He reached down and touched the sensitive little area he'd found on Terry's groan, and the boy gasped, suddenly biting down on Tim's lower lip as he came. His breathing remained ragged, his chest heaving. He was shivering slightly, grasping at Tim's shoulders once more.
They drifted in and out of sleep, bodies intertwined with one another, quiet, contemplative. Tim murmured something without thinking about how muscular Terry was, the first time he'd spoken about the young man's body without drawing attention to his scars.
"I work out," Terry mumbled from his half-sleep, then grinned. Tim couldn't help but snort. The boy really did have a sense of humor. When it showed, it made it so hard for Tim to reconcile the fact that the boy was also Batman. Batman wasn't supposed to laugh, wasn't supposed to be fun and make people feel happy. Safe, maybe. But this was just a boy, a child. He didn't need to carry that dark weight that Bruce did. He would've been better as a Titan, as a Robi-
Tim forced himself to stop thinking like that. Still, Terry felt so alive and emotive and human. It was so hard to hate him the way he had hated Bruce.
A buzzing noise came from the nightstand. Tim almost asked Terry not to answer it, but he knew that would be selfish of him. The boy slipped out of his arms and picked up the phone. Once again, there was that endless pit of guilt in Tim's stomach as he knew he was probably keeping the boy from his girlfriend, from the person who he should have been with. The mattress shifted as Terry got out of the bed.
"Sorry," he murmured, searching for his clothing. "Gotta go to work. The boring, drive-Bruce-to-the-doctor's kind, not the⦠other kind."
The fun kind. That's what he had meant. And he'd caught himself from saying it for Tim.
"That's fine. We've probably been here too long, anyways."
Terry nodded and yawned, pulling on his shoes. He made for the door, grabbing his pack as he did, but as he opened the door, he paused. Tim could see his shoulders suddenly tense up. The young man stooped, then straightened himself back up. He stood very still, hand clutching the door handle until his knuckles turned white.
"What is it?" Tim asked.
"...We've got mail."
"What?"
Terry turned around, holding a small cardboard parcel. He carried it over to the bed and carefully set it down. His eyes were narrowed and icy, and there was a look of fury on his face that Tim had not yet seen before. Tim looked down at the parcel. There was a label on it: "T. McGinnis, Gotham Arms Hotel."
Tim immediately felt a tremor moving through his hand. Terry, though, was remarkably steady as he ripped the tape off of the box.
"Careful," Tim murmured. "Might be trapped."
Terry nodded, but the words didn't seem to really penetrate. He pulled the flaps open, both of them bracing for the possibility it might be a bomb.
It wasn't. The box was half-filled with tissue paper, and sitting on top of the paper was a black arm band, the kind worn to funerals.
"A funeral band? Is it a threa-" Tim wasn't able to finish his question before Terry let out a horrifying yell, something full of rage and frustration. It wasn't quite human. Terry picked up the box and hurled it against the wall, still holding out the yell, before his knees buckled and he fell forward, pounding his fists onto the bed. The yell slowly faded.
"What?" Tim asked, reaching out to touch the boy's shoulders but hesitating. "What is it?"
Terry looked up, his ice blue eyes full of hatred. "My old gang."
