Communication (Jason/Tim, NC-17, DCU)
Title: Communication
Author: Mimic
Characters/Pairings: Jason/Tim
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't play for keeps. DC owns them.
Notes: I think this is my way of sticking it to current canon, or at least part of it. Thank you to naughty__pixie for planting the bunny, audiencing, and generally being the best friend a girl could hope for. Also for 018 - Regret on my fanfic50 table.
Feedback: Loved and appreciated.
Word Count: 1400
“I can’t actually let you throw yourself off a building.” Jason lands close enough so that when Tim jumps back it’s all about the human instinct to avoid becoming a pavement pancake. He stares at the kid, and the way he doesn’t bother doing much of anything besides straightening out of his flinch.
He looks less like Robin and more like a sorry excuse for a teen tragedy. Jason can practically wipe away the mask in his head, replacing it with tear swollen and bruised eyes. “I wasn’t going to jump,” he says, voice so dead Jason’s surprised he can hear it over the whip of the wind.
“Sure, and I don’t kill people,” Jason says, not rolling his eyes, but letting the beginning of a smirk curl at his lips.
Tim stares somewhere past his shoulder in a way that isn’t about seeing anything beyond what’s inside his head. Jason clenches his jaw, and reaches out to Tim, jerking him by the shoulder until he can get a real hold on him.
It actually scares him, makes his blood pump a little faster and a pressure build up in his throat, when he doesn’t get any sort of reaction out of him. No struggles, or protests, not even a fucking *tense*. What the fuck was Bruce thinking letting the kid out when he was so obviously messed up?
He shifts Tim in his arm, fitting them together in a way where Jason can use his other hand to draw a grapple from his belt.
Tim finally moves, chokes on something like a sob and presses himself into Jason’s chest. Jason grits his teeth, fighting off the sudden swell of lust, knowing it’s fueled by too many other things to be real.
Taking advantage of someone, even in this state, was far from beneath him, but Tim was supposed to be, in some stupid way, his family, and the thought of making things worse for him -- now -- made the back of his mouth taste bitter.
He shoots the grapple, and eventually coaxes Tim to run the last distance back to his apartment, which Jason has never been more glad for having easy roof access.
They stumble into his bedroom, Tim refusing to let go of the now iron grip he has on Jason’s gloved hand. Jason maneuvers them as best he can, locking down the window and shoving Tim onto his bed.
“You gonna tell me what the hell happened?” he asks, his tone rising higher than he would have liked.
Tim shudders, once, all over, and squeezes Jason’s hand like that’s an adequate answer. “I --“ his voice is rougher now than on the roof, but other than that just as lifeless, “I couldn’t save any of them.”
Jason pulls of his hood, and fumbles around in his belt for the little tube of solvent he keeps. Tim’s mask is too easy to pull away, most of the glue dissolved by the tears leaking from his eyes. They looked exactly like Jason had thought they would back on the rooftop, only with his eyelashes dark and wet from new tears.
He knows Tim’s been going through pretty much more shit than the rest of them put together, and he still wants to know Bruce’s reasoning behind letting the kid go out. Especially alone, with, apparently, no link to Oracle unless he wanted one.
Jason continued his adventure in undressing them, not making Tim talk. Details were things he could find out from other, less fucked up, less *close* sources later.
He pulls his own mask off a second after he gets Tim out of his cape, and it slides down his bed and pools in an inky mass on the floor. Sharp, sudden memories flood to the forefront of Jason’s mind, and he bites them back viciously, focusing on both of their gloves and his own jacket.
He eases Tim’s fingers from his own, keeping a grip on Tim’s shoulder so he doesn’t lose Jason’s presence, and quickly stripping off the gloves.
His breath catches in his throat when Tim’s fingers guide his to the locks on the tunic, and Tim gives a shuddering gasp, “Please.”
Jason swallows, and unfastens the snaps, helping the tunic off, and then the belt.
Tim’s chest is all thin muscles and the brief shadow of ribs, underweight for his age group, but he always would be, Jason thinks as he ghosts a hand over Tim’s stomach.
He shudders at the touch, not quite holding back a soft moan that makes everything sharper in Jason’s mind before it melds back into gray space and endless thought. Tim reaches for him, pulling them both onto the bed, spreading them out so they’re laying to face each other.
He cups Tim’s cheek, wanting to caress and strangle him at once. Envy, hate, duty blending into lust, and making his skin ache with the need of it.
Tim slides his hands under Jason’s shirt, quickly stripping him of it, and unfastening his belt. His hand lingers, before cupping Jason’s crotch through his pants.
He sucks in his breath, sharp and real as pleasure clouds his vision.
“I want to --“ Tim bites his lip, looking lost and sure at once. “I need you in my mouth.”
Jason groans, not in the sort of position to dissuade him no matter how wrong -- morally, whatever -- this is. Tim is undoing his pants with the sort of slow, precise study that makes Jason think of Dick and the bikes, and Bruce and whatever latest bit of evidence Gordon managed to slip him.
And then Tim is pulling his pants down to his knees and pressing his face into Jason’s cock, and he can’t think past good and more and fuck --
Tim is licking and sucking, slow and sensual enough to drive Jason crazy with need. Just a hint of teeth there, and his head hits the mattress, wanting to burn the image into his brain and not being able to open his eyes.
“”Fuck, this isn’t --“
He has to stop, he has to -- be the fucking adult in this.
He feels himself sliding down Tim’s throat into the warm -- good -- so *hot*, and his mind derails as his hips thrust into Tim’s mouth, fucking him, and Jason can just slit his eyes open and see Tim’s eyes staring at him through heavy, wet lashes and his hands gripping his hips, forcing Jason down.
His breath his hot and uneven in his throat, and Tim sucks sharply at his dick, making him moan. He bucks hard, coming down Tim’s throat, feeling him swallow and struggle not to gag.
Tim is staring at him, looming over him with Jason’s come on his face, licking it from his lips and tasting the soreness there.
He reaches, dragging him back down, and shoving his hand into Tim’s tights.
He nearly fucking screams at the contact, and Jason strokes over his erection, cradling the hot, hard organ in his hand and smirking down at Tim.
“Why?” he asks, punctuating the question with a squeeze to Tim’s dick.
His eyes shoot open even wider and he moans, tongue working against his lips. “I needed -- I need,” he moans again, “*Please*, Jason.”
The use of his name makes Jason growl, and squeeze Tim harder, before jacking him off in long, steady strokes that make Tim squirm against his hold and pant his name and so much other gibberish mixed with half-formed curses.
“You wanted me,” he pauses wickedly, “or just *this*?”
Tim struggles harder, “*Both*. I -- Jason. *Jason*.”
He quickens his hand, rubbing his thumb over the head of Tim’s cock, and using the pre-come to slick up his dick against the friction.
Tim comes, gasping and panting, “thank you, god, Jason,” into his hand, and Jason sucks his palm clean before focusing Tim into his arms on the bed, throwing the sheets over them both.
Someday he would find an effective way of communicating with his family that didn’t involve sex.
Author: Mimic
Characters/Pairings: Jason/Tim
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I don't play for keeps. DC owns them.
Notes: I think this is my way of sticking it to current canon, or at least part of it. Thank you to naughty__pixie for planting the bunny, audiencing, and generally being the best friend a girl could hope for. Also for 018 - Regret on my fanfic50 table.
Feedback: Loved and appreciated.
Word Count: 1400
“I can’t actually let you throw yourself off a building.” Jason lands close enough so that when Tim jumps back it’s all about the human instinct to avoid becoming a pavement pancake. He stares at the kid, and the way he doesn’t bother doing much of anything besides straightening out of his flinch.
He looks less like Robin and more like a sorry excuse for a teen tragedy. Jason can practically wipe away the mask in his head, replacing it with tear swollen and bruised eyes. “I wasn’t going to jump,” he says, voice so dead Jason’s surprised he can hear it over the whip of the wind.
“Sure, and I don’t kill people,” Jason says, not rolling his eyes, but letting the beginning of a smirk curl at his lips.
Tim stares somewhere past his shoulder in a way that isn’t about seeing anything beyond what’s inside his head. Jason clenches his jaw, and reaches out to Tim, jerking him by the shoulder until he can get a real hold on him.
It actually scares him, makes his blood pump a little faster and a pressure build up in his throat, when he doesn’t get any sort of reaction out of him. No struggles, or protests, not even a fucking *tense*. What the fuck was Bruce thinking letting the kid out when he was so obviously messed up?
He shifts Tim in his arm, fitting them together in a way where Jason can use his other hand to draw a grapple from his belt.
Tim finally moves, chokes on something like a sob and presses himself into Jason’s chest. Jason grits his teeth, fighting off the sudden swell of lust, knowing it’s fueled by too many other things to be real.
Taking advantage of someone, even in this state, was far from beneath him, but Tim was supposed to be, in some stupid way, his family, and the thought of making things worse for him -- now -- made the back of his mouth taste bitter.
He shoots the grapple, and eventually coaxes Tim to run the last distance back to his apartment, which Jason has never been more glad for having easy roof access.
They stumble into his bedroom, Tim refusing to let go of the now iron grip he has on Jason’s gloved hand. Jason maneuvers them as best he can, locking down the window and shoving Tim onto his bed.
“You gonna tell me what the hell happened?” he asks, his tone rising higher than he would have liked.
Tim shudders, once, all over, and squeezes Jason’s hand like that’s an adequate answer. “I --“ his voice is rougher now than on the roof, but other than that just as lifeless, “I couldn’t save any of them.”
Jason pulls of his hood, and fumbles around in his belt for the little tube of solvent he keeps. Tim’s mask is too easy to pull away, most of the glue dissolved by the tears leaking from his eyes. They looked exactly like Jason had thought they would back on the rooftop, only with his eyelashes dark and wet from new tears.
He knows Tim’s been going through pretty much more shit than the rest of them put together, and he still wants to know Bruce’s reasoning behind letting the kid go out. Especially alone, with, apparently, no link to Oracle unless he wanted one.
Jason continued his adventure in undressing them, not making Tim talk. Details were things he could find out from other, less fucked up, less *close* sources later.
He pulls his own mask off a second after he gets Tim out of his cape, and it slides down his bed and pools in an inky mass on the floor. Sharp, sudden memories flood to the forefront of Jason’s mind, and he bites them back viciously, focusing on both of their gloves and his own jacket.
He eases Tim’s fingers from his own, keeping a grip on Tim’s shoulder so he doesn’t lose Jason’s presence, and quickly stripping off the gloves.
His breath catches in his throat when Tim’s fingers guide his to the locks on the tunic, and Tim gives a shuddering gasp, “Please.”
Jason swallows, and unfastens the snaps, helping the tunic off, and then the belt.
Tim’s chest is all thin muscles and the brief shadow of ribs, underweight for his age group, but he always would be, Jason thinks as he ghosts a hand over Tim’s stomach.
He shudders at the touch, not quite holding back a soft moan that makes everything sharper in Jason’s mind before it melds back into gray space and endless thought. Tim reaches for him, pulling them both onto the bed, spreading them out so they’re laying to face each other.
He cups Tim’s cheek, wanting to caress and strangle him at once. Envy, hate, duty blending into lust, and making his skin ache with the need of it.
Tim slides his hands under Jason’s shirt, quickly stripping him of it, and unfastening his belt. His hand lingers, before cupping Jason’s crotch through his pants.
He sucks in his breath, sharp and real as pleasure clouds his vision.
“I want to --“ Tim bites his lip, looking lost and sure at once. “I need you in my mouth.”
Jason groans, not in the sort of position to dissuade him no matter how wrong -- morally, whatever -- this is. Tim is undoing his pants with the sort of slow, precise study that makes Jason think of Dick and the bikes, and Bruce and whatever latest bit of evidence Gordon managed to slip him.
And then Tim is pulling his pants down to his knees and pressing his face into Jason’s cock, and he can’t think past good and more and fuck --
Tim is licking and sucking, slow and sensual enough to drive Jason crazy with need. Just a hint of teeth there, and his head hits the mattress, wanting to burn the image into his brain and not being able to open his eyes.
“”Fuck, this isn’t --“
He has to stop, he has to -- be the fucking adult in this.
He feels himself sliding down Tim’s throat into the warm -- good -- so *hot*, and his mind derails as his hips thrust into Tim’s mouth, fucking him, and Jason can just slit his eyes open and see Tim’s eyes staring at him through heavy, wet lashes and his hands gripping his hips, forcing Jason down.
His breath his hot and uneven in his throat, and Tim sucks sharply at his dick, making him moan. He bucks hard, coming down Tim’s throat, feeling him swallow and struggle not to gag.
Tim is staring at him, looming over him with Jason’s come on his face, licking it from his lips and tasting the soreness there.
He reaches, dragging him back down, and shoving his hand into Tim’s tights.
He nearly fucking screams at the contact, and Jason strokes over his erection, cradling the hot, hard organ in his hand and smirking down at Tim.
“Why?” he asks, punctuating the question with a squeeze to Tim’s dick.
His eyes shoot open even wider and he moans, tongue working against his lips. “I needed -- I need,” he moans again, “*Please*, Jason.”
The use of his name makes Jason growl, and squeeze Tim harder, before jacking him off in long, steady strokes that make Tim squirm against his hold and pant his name and so much other gibberish mixed with half-formed curses.
“You wanted me,” he pauses wickedly, “or just *this*?”
Tim struggles harder, “*Both*. I -- Jason. *Jason*.”
He quickens his hand, rubbing his thumb over the head of Tim’s cock, and using the pre-come to slick up his dick against the friction.
Tim comes, gasping and panting, “thank you, god, Jason,” into his hand, and Jason sucks his palm clean before focusing Tim into his arms on the bed, throwing the sheets over them both.
Someday he would find an effective way of communicating with his family that didn’t involve sex.