Ficlet: Let Sleeping Tims Lie
Title: Let Sleeping Tim’s Lie.
Fandom: Batman
Characters: Tim, Damian
Genre: Humour?
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: One-sided slashy lust
Word Count: 731
Summary: It’s been a long “day” and Tim just wants wants some sleep.
A/N: You guys keep wanting Tim and Damian, but my Timmy Muse is soooooooo not having any ^_^;; This comes after Booty and The Beast and Duct Tape Use #41
One thing about this life is that sleeping deeply will never happen. Instead Tim, as with the rest of his “family” is a light sleeper. Even when he’s at the Manor. Maybe especially. For all that it has been his home for many years, and remains such even if he has his own place, it has its own perils.
And one of them is making the back of his neck itch. As he lies on his stomach in his old bed, the young man is keenly aware that he’s being watched. Without opening his eyes he knows it’s not Bruce, the presence at the foot of the bed doesn’t wave Batman’s....weight? And it’s not Dick. Even when the first Robin is tired, he has this continuous energy about him. It can’t be Jason since he’s over in Europe currently. That just leaves....
“I’m sleeping, Damian.”
“Seeing as you are talking to me, we both know that’s not true,” is the brusque reply. The boy’s annoyance is palpable. Nothing new there. And Tim is too tired to care what set the annoying hobbit off this time.
He’d decided to crash here tonight because the prospect of driving back to his own condo after Alfred patched him up was just too much. Oh, he’ll live. Nothing is broken, but there is a new set of scars across his ribs and he’s going to have to keep an eye on the left knee. Not that he’s thinking about any of that at the moment.
“Tootired. Goaway,” Tim slurs.
“No! We have to talk!” Then the blasted brat is pulling off the comforter! Bloody hell, it’s too cold for this!
One clear blue eye glares at Damian as his elder “brother” snatches the comforter back. “In the morning kid,” he says, but he notices the way the kid has gone still, eyeing Tim’s bandaged ribs.
“I thought.” There is a scowl on the pre-teen’s face as he takes himself in hand and the customary coldness replaces surprise. “The report said your injuries were negligible, Drake.”
“I’ll live,” he mumbles into the pillow as he lies back down again. Flapping his hand at the annoying brat is just too much effort. “After sleep. Go.”
But the boy is reaching for him! Pulling up his shirt to expose his back. Tim flips over and grabs his pajama top form Damian’s hands. “Stop that! I’m tired. I need sleep, so unless someone is about to die, this can wait until morning, Damian!”
The boy is ON the bed and actually straddling Tim’s hips. Okay, this is not good.
Damian is eleven for crying out loud, so Tim is working very hard to deny what is pressing against him. “Off!” The current Red Robin growls, quickly losing what little patience he has left, or so he tells himself, since that sound much better than the near panic stricken alternative.
The smirk that spreads over Damian’s face is wrong on so very many levels. “Make me.”
In a conjunction with a strong twisting motion, Tim forcibly throws the boy off him. The kid lands gracefully on his feet. For a second they just stare at each other. And Tim begins to hope that Damian has gotten the message. Then the pipsqueak (it is kind of nice to have someone smaller then himself in the family) is moving, circling the bed like a predator. Well bugger.
The boy says nothing. He just keeps moving, which is really getting on Tim’s nerves. Fine, he’s not going to play this game. “I’m going to sleep now,” the teen declares as he rolls over again. Of course he’s still very much awake listening to Damian’s almost imperceivable footsteps. He’s heading back around to the side of the bed Tim has taken for himself.
Closer, he’s getting closer.
Just a little more.
In the darkness, Tim stealthily slips his hand into the drawer of the nightstand. Just as Damian leaps at him-is the kid really trying to get on top of him again?!-Tim, with is face still in the pillow, holds up the mini can of instant Bat-knockout-gas and fires. Damian goes down in a boneless heap that slides of the side off the bed.
Tim manages to move enough to look over the edge of the bed.
Damn. Now he’ll have to get up and carry Damian back to his own room.
Fandom: Batman
Characters: Tim, Damian
Genre: Humour?
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: One-sided slashy lust
Word Count: 731
Summary: It’s been a long “day” and Tim just wants wants some sleep.
A/N: You guys keep wanting Tim and Damian, but my Timmy Muse is soooooooo not having any ^_^;; This comes after Booty and The Beast and Duct Tape Use #41
One thing about this life is that sleeping deeply will never happen. Instead Tim, as with the rest of his “family” is a light sleeper. Even when he’s at the Manor. Maybe especially. For all that it has been his home for many years, and remains such even if he has his own place, it has its own perils.
And one of them is making the back of his neck itch. As he lies on his stomach in his old bed, the young man is keenly aware that he’s being watched. Without opening his eyes he knows it’s not Bruce, the presence at the foot of the bed doesn’t wave Batman’s....weight? And it’s not Dick. Even when the first Robin is tired, he has this continuous energy about him. It can’t be Jason since he’s over in Europe currently. That just leaves....
“I’m sleeping, Damian.”
“Seeing as you are talking to me, we both know that’s not true,” is the brusque reply. The boy’s annoyance is palpable. Nothing new there. And Tim is too tired to care what set the annoying hobbit off this time.
He’d decided to crash here tonight because the prospect of driving back to his own condo after Alfred patched him up was just too much. Oh, he’ll live. Nothing is broken, but there is a new set of scars across his ribs and he’s going to have to keep an eye on the left knee. Not that he’s thinking about any of that at the moment.
“Tootired. Goaway,” Tim slurs.
“No! We have to talk!” Then the blasted brat is pulling off the comforter! Bloody hell, it’s too cold for this!
One clear blue eye glares at Damian as his elder “brother” snatches the comforter back. “In the morning kid,” he says, but he notices the way the kid has gone still, eyeing Tim’s bandaged ribs.
“I thought.” There is a scowl on the pre-teen’s face as he takes himself in hand and the customary coldness replaces surprise. “The report said your injuries were negligible, Drake.”
“I’ll live,” he mumbles into the pillow as he lies back down again. Flapping his hand at the annoying brat is just too much effort. “After sleep. Go.”
But the boy is reaching for him! Pulling up his shirt to expose his back. Tim flips over and grabs his pajama top form Damian’s hands. “Stop that! I’m tired. I need sleep, so unless someone is about to die, this can wait until morning, Damian!”
The boy is ON the bed and actually straddling Tim’s hips. Okay, this is not good.
Damian is eleven for crying out loud, so Tim is working very hard to deny what is pressing against him. “Off!” The current Red Robin growls, quickly losing what little patience he has left, or so he tells himself, since that sound much better than the near panic stricken alternative.
The smirk that spreads over Damian’s face is wrong on so very many levels. “Make me.”
In a conjunction with a strong twisting motion, Tim forcibly throws the boy off him. The kid lands gracefully on his feet. For a second they just stare at each other. And Tim begins to hope that Damian has gotten the message. Then the pipsqueak (it is kind of nice to have someone smaller then himself in the family) is moving, circling the bed like a predator. Well bugger.
The boy says nothing. He just keeps moving, which is really getting on Tim’s nerves. Fine, he’s not going to play this game. “I’m going to sleep now,” the teen declares as he rolls over again. Of course he’s still very much awake listening to Damian’s almost imperceivable footsteps. He’s heading back around to the side of the bed Tim has taken for himself.
Closer, he’s getting closer.
Just a little more.
In the darkness, Tim stealthily slips his hand into the drawer of the nightstand. Just as Damian leaps at him-is the kid really trying to get on top of him again?!-Tim, with is face still in the pillow, holds up the mini can of instant Bat-knockout-gas and fires. Damian goes down in a boneless heap that slides of the side off the bed.
Tim manages to move enough to look over the edge of the bed.
Damn. Now he’ll have to get up and carry Damian back to his own room.