Penitence
Pairing: Jason/Tim
Verse: flashpont!verse
Word Count: 828
Summary: Tim is possibly the worst Catholic ever.
---
Tim pulls at his beads. They are clamping around his throat. He’s probably going to have to rip them. That’s fine. He is the worst Catholic in history anyway. The only hard part about ripping the beads his that he is having trouble getting his fingers between the beads and his windpipe. Especially with another student driving his fists into his gut.
(This is what I get-)
Tim finally does weasel his fingers between his skin and the beads. And he pulls. The tension on them from behind, as well as Tim tugging in the opposite direction, splits the string, scattering rosary beads everywhere. Tim gasps, his vision expanding out of the black tunnel that almost pulled him under.
This is his chance to retaliate.
He throws punches. Kicks. In return, he gets punched and kicked and God save me, anyone save me. Because Tim is down, grabbing and clawing ant ankles, pulling and tugging.
He will concede that, okay, maybe he deserves this. He had slept with a man. Okay. Bad marks for Tim. And, yes, it had been a holy man. More points docked from his Heavenly score. He had almost lost Jason his church, so maybe this was karma. (Please forgive me, Jason.)
A sharp kick to the forehead makes his head snap backwards and spots shower his vision. He knows that these students are yelling at him. They have been. But he has learned to tune out that which holds no interest to him. He used to do that to his parents all the time.
“What the hell is going on here?”
The feet stop. The yells silence.
“None of your damn business.”
Blood is getting into his eyes. It stings. It stings like sin.
“It is my damn business because you’re beating someone to death.”
Not to death, Tim corrects. Beating me to penitence. But Tim doesn’t (won’t ever) regret being with Jason. Ever. Not for even one minute. A new shadow falls over him. Tim can’t really tell who it is (because he knows the people that were beating him. They go to his university and he used to go to their church). The blood in his eyes prevents that.
A hand falls in front of his face. “Get up. I’ve got you.” There is an angry scoff. The students (once his church-mates) just sort of walk off. They have nothing to be afraid of, not really. It’s not like Tim’s going to report them. I fell down a flight of stairs. Abusive relationship 101.
Tim takes the offered had, but when he is pulled up, his body screams, everywhere. A groan tears past his split lips.
“Are you okay?” Tim wipes the blood from his eyes to see a pretty boy a few inches taller than him. Bright blue eyes. Dashing smile. He knows this guy. Not personally, but he knows him.
“You’re Dick Grayson.” Everyone knows who Dick is. He is the adopted son of Bruce Wayne, billionaire. Dick also has a habit of sleeping around, but everyone he sleeps with is treated so well and the sex is apparently so wonderful and heartfelt that no one complains.
Dick smiles a little bigger. “Indeed I am. Again, are you okay?”
Tim nods. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.” He feels the bruise the rosary beads left starting to form. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” His eyes look over him. “Who are you? And what did you do?”
“Tim,” he replies, wiping the blood from his eyes again, also catching the stream oozing from his lips. “And it’s a long story.” A really long story. A story that Tim doesn’t really want to talk about.
He feels for his iPod (still, thankfully, intact, in his back pocket).
“I can take you to my house. Get you looked at. My, ah, dad’s, uh, staff is really good about that.” Tim shakes his head. He does not want to go to Bruce Wayne’s house. Dick tugs Tim forward by the shirt. “I was actually, sort of demanding your company.” Another wide smile. “And then you can tell me the story of why you were getting the poop kicked out of you.”
Tim looks away. “Nothing to tell. I slept with a priest. Those kids were from my church.”
Dick’s eyes touch the bead marks on his neck. “Oh.”
“I told my church I seduced him. The church is his life. I couldn’t let him lose it.” Tim shrugs. “There you go. Do I still have to go with you?” There. He had ruined Dick Grayson’s opinion of him too. Who would want some sleazy young man tagging along to his home?
“Yes. You still have to go with me.” Dick’s eyes hold no contempt. Or disgust. “Come on, Tim.”
Tim doesn’t have him in it to protest anymore. He hurts everywhere, his heart is in pieces, and there is still blood in his eyes. He lets his shoulders droop.
“Okay. Lead on.”
(Tim desperately misses Jason.)
Verse: flashpont!verse
Word Count: 828
Summary: Tim is possibly the worst Catholic ever.
---
Tim pulls at his beads. They are clamping around his throat. He’s probably going to have to rip them. That’s fine. He is the worst Catholic in history anyway. The only hard part about ripping the beads his that he is having trouble getting his fingers between the beads and his windpipe. Especially with another student driving his fists into his gut.
(This is what I get-)
Tim finally does weasel his fingers between his skin and the beads. And he pulls. The tension on them from behind, as well as Tim tugging in the opposite direction, splits the string, scattering rosary beads everywhere. Tim gasps, his vision expanding out of the black tunnel that almost pulled him under.
This is his chance to retaliate.
He throws punches. Kicks. In return, he gets punched and kicked and God save me, anyone save me. Because Tim is down, grabbing and clawing ant ankles, pulling and tugging.
He will concede that, okay, maybe he deserves this. He had slept with a man. Okay. Bad marks for Tim. And, yes, it had been a holy man. More points docked from his Heavenly score. He had almost lost Jason his church, so maybe this was karma. (Please forgive me, Jason.)
A sharp kick to the forehead makes his head snap backwards and spots shower his vision. He knows that these students are yelling at him. They have been. But he has learned to tune out that which holds no interest to him. He used to do that to his parents all the time.
“What the hell is going on here?”
The feet stop. The yells silence.
“None of your damn business.”
Blood is getting into his eyes. It stings. It stings like sin.
“It is my damn business because you’re beating someone to death.”
Not to death, Tim corrects. Beating me to penitence. But Tim doesn’t (won’t ever) regret being with Jason. Ever. Not for even one minute. A new shadow falls over him. Tim can’t really tell who it is (because he knows the people that were beating him. They go to his university and he used to go to their church). The blood in his eyes prevents that.
A hand falls in front of his face. “Get up. I’ve got you.” There is an angry scoff. The students (once his church-mates) just sort of walk off. They have nothing to be afraid of, not really. It’s not like Tim’s going to report them. I fell down a flight of stairs. Abusive relationship 101.
Tim takes the offered had, but when he is pulled up, his body screams, everywhere. A groan tears past his split lips.
“Are you okay?” Tim wipes the blood from his eyes to see a pretty boy a few inches taller than him. Bright blue eyes. Dashing smile. He knows this guy. Not personally, but he knows him.
“You’re Dick Grayson.” Everyone knows who Dick is. He is the adopted son of Bruce Wayne, billionaire. Dick also has a habit of sleeping around, but everyone he sleeps with is treated so well and the sex is apparently so wonderful and heartfelt that no one complains.
Dick smiles a little bigger. “Indeed I am. Again, are you okay?”
Tim nods. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m good.” He feels the bruise the rosary beads left starting to form. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” His eyes look over him. “Who are you? And what did you do?”
“Tim,” he replies, wiping the blood from his eyes again, also catching the stream oozing from his lips. “And it’s a long story.” A really long story. A story that Tim doesn’t really want to talk about.
He feels for his iPod (still, thankfully, intact, in his back pocket).
“I can take you to my house. Get you looked at. My, ah, dad’s, uh, staff is really good about that.” Tim shakes his head. He does not want to go to Bruce Wayne’s house. Dick tugs Tim forward by the shirt. “I was actually, sort of demanding your company.” Another wide smile. “And then you can tell me the story of why you were getting the poop kicked out of you.”
Tim looks away. “Nothing to tell. I slept with a priest. Those kids were from my church.”
Dick’s eyes touch the bead marks on his neck. “Oh.”
“I told my church I seduced him. The church is his life. I couldn’t let him lose it.” Tim shrugs. “There you go. Do I still have to go with you?” There. He had ruined Dick Grayson’s opinion of him too. Who would want some sleazy young man tagging along to his home?
“Yes. You still have to go with me.” Dick’s eyes hold no contempt. Or disgust. “Come on, Tim.”
Tim doesn’t have him in it to protest anymore. He hurts everywhere, his heart is in pieces, and there is still blood in his eyes. He lets his shoulders droop.
“Okay. Lead on.”
(Tim desperately misses Jason.)