12 Days of JayTim
Hypocritical Holden

"Dick, do you even know how wrong the words that are coming out of your mouth sound?" Tim asks his older brother incredulously.

Read More

"Dick, do you even know how wrong the words that are coming out of your mouth sound?" Tim asks his older brother incredulously. And the older man shrugs at him.

"They sound perfectly right to me," he says in short reply, oblivious to the intensity of the situation.

"You just suggested that I corner Jason under a mistletoe," he relays, "and then kiss him."

"Yep. That's what I said, alright."

"… Why?" he asks, and it comes out sounding like a hiss. The entire situation Dick is suggesting just screams no.

"Well, why not?" he asks, cerulean eyes landing on Tim. Dick's arm was thrown lazily over the couch, and he slouched into the cushions, relaxed and comfortable, which was the exact opposite of how Tim felt.

"Because you're asking me to kiss him," he hisses. "You know, as in pressing my mouth against his."

"Yes, Tim, I am completely aware of what 'kissing' means," he drawls, though the boy's nervousness elicited a smile from the man. "But you have to start somehow. I'm kind of sick of you two just dancing around each other. Christ, I feel like if this continues, one of you is going to jump the other like a horndog. It's just a kiss, Tim."

"Yes, but who the hell starts a– did you just refer to me as a horndog?" Tim asks dubiously, his eyebrows arched quizzically. "Really. Wow. Um, anyway, who starts a relationship with a kiss? I don't even know if he likes me."

"Then you're really bad at reading other people then, little brother," Dick teases and ruffles Tim's hair. "What's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, he could gut me," Tim suggested. "Or strangle me. Again. Or shoot me in the knee. That sounds like it'd really hurt. And then he'd probably shoot you because you suggested it."

"Okay, okay. I get it. But I swear to god if you two continue to give each other lustful, wanton looks when the other's head is turned, I will interfere."

"You're impossible," Tim huffs, but he looks around all of the doorways and arches. "You're going to rig the entire place with mistletoe, aren't you?"

"You know me so well," he coos and bats his eyelashes.

"Shut up," he grumbles before he sighs. This is going to be a long holiday.

Tim can at least say he's had the pleasure to hang out with Jason without having to dread about doltish mistletoe; though, he won't lie and say he's been trying to avoid the older man, but Jason always seemed to find him somehow. And currently, they were stuck in the library of the mansion.

"Are you trying to tell me that this book holds no fundamental values whatsoever?" Tim asks cynically.

"Well, Holden's just a hypocrite who cusses much more than I do, thanks, and he calls everyone a phony. Kind of gets a little annoying," Jason replies.

"Jason, the boy has depression, possibly hypochondriasis, and is suicidal. Dude, he kind of sounds like you," Tim drawls.

"The hell?" Jason hisses.

"You swear and kill criminals, and you want to keep children innocent. Kinda sound like Holden, only you're a bit more extreme," he said with a shrug. And Jason just huffs and wants to throw a book at him.

"Fine, fine. Okay. The fucking bildungsroman is valuable. Sort of. Now can we please get something to eat?" he asked and rolled his eyes.

"Now you sound like him," Tim teased, and he smiled slightly when Jason playfully shoved him.

"Okay, I did not say 'phony'. Who the hell even says that anyway?" he huffed as they both walked over the doorway. Tim leaned against the frame lazily, looking at Jason with interest.

"Technically, you just said it," he pointed out, and Jason began to grumble under his breath.

"Can't we just talk about Fahrenheit 451 or something?" he asked.

"So, you want to talk about a book that's entire plot is really just the burning of other books?" Tim asked.

"Yes, because I bet they burned Catcher in the Rye," he said with that sleazy smirk of his.

"You're evil," Tim glowered playfully and shoved Jason who just laughed at him, eyes still dancing with mirth.

"Never said I played nice," he drawled.

Tim took this moment to really look at Jason, and he briefly began to think that Dick was right. Jason's hands were shoved in his jean pockets as he leaned against the opposite doorframe, his posture slouched and relaxed. That was pretty rare for Jason because he was always guarded some, but he seemed comfortable around Tim. His eyes always held that indistinguishable glint in his eyes whenever he'd mess around with the younger man, and his smiles were always different. Like right now. His smirk had faded into something a bit softer. It's nothing like Dick's gentle, sweet grins, but it has its own softness added into the gruffness. It was completely Jason.

And Tim was hopelessly head over heels for him.

And he took that moment to glance up briefly, and he felt his stomach flip a bit because Dick did hold up on his promise. He probably raided the local store for all of their mistletoes. And he looked back down at Jason who was still wearing that smile, and Tim felt his heart beat a bit faster because he wanted to taste that grin. And he was pretty close to him already, so it'd be easy. Quick too. And before Tim could contemplate on whether or not this was a good idea or not or if his lips were too chapped, he found himself moving.

His hand gently grabbed the collar of Jason's jacket and pulled him down so he could press their lips together. And man, did he instantly become addicted to the taste of Jason's mouth. His mind was rushing far too quickly for him to be able to identify the taste other than Jason, and he didn't really care. He was too busy by the fact that he was kissing Jason. And for a split second, he could have sworn Jason had started to kiss him back before he was abruptly shoved away, his back hitting the doorframe. And by looking at Jason's face, he knew he had made a bad choice.

"What the hell?" he growled and then wiped his mouth forcefully before he looked up. "Is this some kind of sick joke?" he hissed. Tim couldn't even answer him. Not coherently, at least.

"I–"

"You what? Thought that a mistletoe made it okay to kiss me? That it'd make me feel the same or some shit like that?" he asked. "Because, news flash, it didn't. What you feel for me will never be requited. Do you understand?"

There was a large lump stuck in the middle of Tim's throat, and it made it hard to breathe and swallow. He tried to clear his throat, but it still felt constricted.

"I made a mistake, okay?" he said a bit weakly, and he mentally berated himself for sounding so vulnerable. "Just let it go."

"I said, do you understand?" Jason asked, his expression and voice darkening; the younger man thought he was ready to lunge for his throat and rip it out. Tim blinked, eyes glancing between him and the hallway before he uttered a quiet "yes" and then fled the area.

Jason watched him walk away from him before he cursed under his breath. Everything was so messed up.

Dick opened the door to the balcony, his usually cheerful persona having given away to something grimmer. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway as he stared at the other man who was resting his elbows on the banister.

"What the hell do you want?" he asked in a grunt before he took a long drag from his cigarette.

"Why did you say what you did?" Dick asked, referring to the incident with Tim. Of fucking course.

"Because I fucking can," he grumbled, but his brother saw right through him.

"You didn't mean it," he said. And of course Jason didn't. He hadn't meant a single world he spewed at Tim. In truth, Jason liked Tim probably just as much as Tim liked him. But he didn't want him getting tangled up in his affairs. Jason lived a pretty nasty life of issues that were most likely never going to be resolved, and he didn't want to make Tim see the bare necessities of that. It wouldn't be fair, but then again, when were any of them fair? When was life fair? And the answer was never, but Jason wouldn't torture Tim by trying to make whatever it was that they had work. Even though he knew he was torturing the kid, and therefore himself, now by the way he chose to do things. And it was his choice.

"I know," he whispered out into the dark, cold night. Sorry.