Fic: Plan B; Tim Drake/Roy Harper; Hard R
Title: Plan B
Series: Poaching
Author: Aravis Tarkheena
Pairing: Roy/Tim
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Violence, discussions of sex, probably there's swearing.
Disclaimer: Not mine, everyone's legal.
Word Count: 2500ish
Author's Notes: Written for the Fic or Treat Meme for lkidl. It's inspired by this picture that she drew. Also written for my dcu_freeforall prompt table #09 Tornado.
This takes place several years before Poaching starts. The is one of the stories that Tim never told Kon. Consider this the first of The Secret Adventures of Roy and Tim. There'll be more.
Plan B
Tim's lungs ached, and his legs were shaky. They were so wobbly and weak from adrenaline and running, he wasn't sure how much longer they could hold his weight without his knees giving out.
His head pounded and his heart raced. Tim could feel his pulse throbbing at his throat, and he swallowed hard.
Sweat slicked Tim's face and neck. His undershirt was drenched, and sticking wetly to his chest under his uniform. Tim wiped at the sweat on his face, clearing his vision, as he ducked behind a large bank of packing crates. He dropped the two heavy bags he carried to the floor at his feet. and rubbed at his sore hands.
The garage that he and Roy had fled into in an attempt to escape their pursuers were lined with small stacks of the crates. Tim had made for the largest one closet to the exit. He was so close to it that he could smell the fresh air outside.
They were almost out.
Tim had all but collapsed with fatigue when Roy ducked down next to him with a curse. Roy dropped one of the bags off of his shoulder, and winced. He had been covering their retreat, and his quiver was almost entirely devoid of arrows. Another of the large, heavy bags was smashed half way into the empty space in Roy's quiver.
“It turns out that two hundred thousand dollars in cash is a hell of a lot heavier than I thought it would be,” Roy groaned and rubbed at his shoulder.
Tim gave Roy his best 'no shit' look.
The report of scattered gunfire echoed through the garage, and both of them ducked involuntarily. Tim had a brief instant to hope there was nothing even remotely explosive in the large case he and Roy were crouched behind.
Roy was trying hard to quiet his panting, but Tim was pretty sure he didn't need to bother. The shouts from their pursuers, and their very loud guns, drowned out any other sounds. Roy settled to his knees beside Tim.
“Very little fire power, Roy?” Tim asked, his voice a breathless hiss. “Only two guards?”
Roy gave him a sheepish smile. “So maybe my intel wasn't dead on-”
Tim cut him off. “Not dead on? Roy, there are at least twelve of them and they all have very large guns!”
“Ok,” Roy conceded with a hand gesture that was probably supposed to be placating. “Plan A didn't work out quite like I'd hoped.”
“Plan A never works out the way you hope!” Tim felt a helpless frustration wash over him. He was about to say more, but the sound of gunfire echoed through the garage. It sounded closer than it had before.
“Remind me why I work with you? I mean ever?” Tim hissed.
“Because you always love Plan B,” Roy smiled at him smugly.
Tim rolled his eyes.
Plan B, in Roy's lexicon, was essentially always the same.
Step 1: Flee whatever foul up you were mixed up in. Preferably with out serious bodily injury.
Step 2: Go back to the nearest base.
Step 3: Make out.
Step 4: Regroup and try again. Preferably with more ammo.
Some things never changed. Tim was pretty sure Plan B was going to be a constant in his life for years. Despite all the messes Roy ended up getting him into, Tim couldn't seem to stay away.
It was baffling, really.
Tim had shown up at Roy's city only a few hours ago. When had called Roy, to let him know he was in town, he was trying hard to fight the jet lag. The time difference, plus the long flight had worn him out. He had hoped Roy would come over to his hotel and keep him awake until a reasonably late hour.
Roy had quickly agreed. He had come right over to Tim's hotel with an idea on how to do just that. The idea just wasn't at all what Tim had in mind when he pressed the send button on his cell.
Roy had rushed over to Tim's hotel with fresh intel on a drug deal that was time sensitive. Roy told Tim all about it. Roy had explained the plan, and hurried Tim into his uniform.
Tim was suited up, and on the street twenty minutes after checking into his hotel.
The plan had been to steal the money from the pushers, and destroy the drugs the wholesalers were trying to unload. Roy had been informed that, for safety sake, the deal was being kept small time. The heads of both groups plus one solider each was all the man power they could expect. Four guns total, two hundred thousand in cash, and more narcotics than any city needed.
They two of them had managed to infiltrate the meeting place with ease. They knocked out the guards, and grabbed the money without being spotted. They were working on destroying the drugs, when things finally went bad.
Unfortunately, as it turned out, Roy intel had been completely wrong, and now, an hour and a half after his plane had touched down on American soil for the first time in four months, Tim was dodging bullets, and trying to figure out how to salvage Plan A.
Plan A, Tim had to admit, wasn't even very good in the first place. It was made even less effective by the sheer number of baddies who wanted the two of them dead.
Tim sighed, and reached into a belt pouch to extract a few items. He pulled out two breathers, and threw one to Roy. Tim slipped his own expertly between his lips, and flicked the on switch. Roy was a touch more hesitant. Tim glared at him, inserted the breather into Roy's mouth himself, and flicked the on switch.
With his other hand, Tim activated several exploding gas bombs. He tossed them high and long over the top of the packing crates he and Roy had hidden behind.
The flash of light came first, then the concussion of the blast. The roar of the explosion came almost as an afterthought, and Tim regretted not pulling out his ear plugs for this.
Jet lag was making him sloppy.
Tim couldn't hear any gunfire over the ringing in his ears, but he could hear, dimly, the sounds of the gunmen coughing. They yelled to each other as best they could through the smoke that was billowing it's way through the large garage in a large, encroaching cloud.
Tim gestured for Roy to follow as he made his way to the exit to the garage, using the smoke screen for cover. The two of them made it outside, and streaked across an alley way that feed into the garage. They sprinted down towards a bank of dumpsters where Tim had stashed his bike and their equipment.
Tim got to his bike first. Roy tossed him his bags, and Tim tossed Roy the keys to the bike. Tim worked quickly to stash the bags in one of the side storage compartments. Roy slid on the seat of the Ducati and started the engine, as he pulled his helmet over his head. Tim buckled the bag shut, before pulling on his own helmet, he slid on the back of the bike behind Roy.
Wind whistled past Tim's helmet, and he clung tighter to Roy, half wishing he hadn't given the other man the keys. Roy was swerving through the streets, clearly trying to lose whatever tail they may have acquired when they made their rather sloppy escape.
Roy's driving methods tended to be a bit more artistic than Tim's. As they flew through an alley and knocked over a small fruit stand, Tim was more concerned about Roy drawing more attention to them, rather than a tail it was looking like they might not even have.
While a bright red Ducati often drew attention in and of itself, a bright red Ducati splattered with banana mash and kumquats would almost certainly be more memorable.
Roy tore through the city streets like a tornado on wheels. By the time they reached one of Roy's hidey holes, Tim decided he was never letting Roy drive ever again.
It took them twenty minutes to change out of their uniforms, and take the train back to Tim's hotel. Tim's uniform had caught most of the damage from the fruit stand, but he had accidentally smeared some banana mash into his hair when he pulled his helmet off. He also smelled very strongly of the smoke he had used to blind drug dealers.
When they stumbled through the door of Tim's room, all he wanted was a shower. Then he would consider throttling Roy, and making plans to leave the country.
Shower first though.
That was imperative.
Tim had his shirt off, and was making his way doggedly to the bathroom .when Roy wrapped an arm around his waist. Tim let out a huff of air as Roy pulled Tim back against his chest.
“Hey,” he whispered in Tim's ear, “what about Plan B?”
“Roy, I have banana in my hair and I smell like a cigar bar. How could you possibly think that now is a good time for Plan B?” Tim asked with a sigh.
“I'm a Dad, Tim. I'm immune to fruit splooge and bad smells. Anytime when a child is absent is an excellent time for Plan B,” Roy informed him wryly. “Besides, I'm pretty sure a nice blow job will take care of that scary look you got in your eyes, Babe.”
Then Roy sucked on a spot just below Tim's ear. After a moment of reflection, Tim had to concede that oral sex would be at least as much fun as strangling Roy, and probably easier to clean up after ward.
Tim shrugged out of Roy's hold, grabbed him by the belt buckle, and dragged him into the bathroom.
“We'll multitask,” Tim informed Roy.
Roy laughed as Tim briskly removed both of their clothing. He flicked on the taps, and shoved Roy into the stall before stepping in after him.
“First, I'm going to wash my hair. Then, we'll move on to Plan B, which had better be a hell of a lot better than Plan A,” Tim instructed. “Then, I'll decide whether or not to kill you.”
Roy smiled, and reached for the shampoo. He stepped in close to Tim, and wrapped his arms around him.
“You know damn well Plan B is always better, beautiful. And I feel pretty confident I can convince you to let me live,” Roy murmured, and squeezed some soap into Tim's hair.
“There are kumquats in my Ducati,” Tim said darkly. “Don't be so sure.”
Roy chuckled low in his chest as he bent Tim's head over to scrub his fingers through Tim's messy hair. Tim felt the rumble beneath his check, and let out a slow breath.
“I forgot where I stand in your list of priorities. It goes Justice, the Ducati, stalking Batman, me--” Roy started in as he worked up a lather in Tim's hair. Tim cut him off.
“No no no, it goes Justice, the Ducati, my camera, stalking Batman, corporate espionage--” Tim went on but Roy cut him off with a laugh, and tilted his head under the spray to rinse the suds and banana mess out of his hair.
“Hey now, you know that's not true.” Roy chided, still smiling widely as he pulled Tim back up out of the spray. “If you hurt my feelings like that, I may not be able to focus on Plan B.”
Roy's eyes went dark and heavy lidded. They spoke of things that Roy had never said out loud to Tim, things he would never have to say out loud because Tim could read it all in his eyes, and the set to his face. Roy's smile turned lazy and knowing and there was a confident sort of slouch to his shoulders that made Tim's belly roil in all the best and most terrifying ways.
Roy pressed his still smirking mouth to Tim's neck. Sharp teeth and soft lips played their way up Tim's throat, and back to his ear. Tim couldn't fight back a shudder.
“You wouldn't want to compromise the mission, now would you Boy Wonder?” Roy husked in his ear.
Then he kissed Tim for the first time in four months. The kiss was deep and consuming. The pressure of Roy's lips, the press of tongue, the delicate dance of teeth against Tim's mouth made Tim's body limp, and his mind fuzz out.
Tim had been missing this, far more than he thought he had. Far more than he had ever let himself realize. This whole evening, these touches, this closeness, this kiss all drove home what exactly Roy had come to be to Tim.
Roy had insinuated himself into places in Tim's soul that Tim had thought he had placed off limits long before Steph even left him. It was terrifying in ways that would have had him hyperventilating if the skate of Roy's fingers down his spine hadn't put him in a near comatose state.
“Well?” Roy asked again, voice husky and low and smug. “Would you?”
Tim blinked and tried to come back to himself. He tried to swim his way out of this bog of desire and emotions, that seemed to be pulling him down into a quagmire of pure feeling he wasn't sure either of them could handle right now.
Tim swallowed hard, and pushed it all back. He pushed down the impulses towards those emotions he knew it would be problematic to feel. He took back those places in his soul that Roy shouldn't ever have been, and locked them down tight. He took back his control and his poise.
He gave Roy a look as quelling as he could manage.
“Kumquats. In. My. Duc,” Tim enunciated very clearly.
Roy threw back his head and laughed, his green eyes went from dark and knowing, to bright and dancing in a split second. It hurt to see that depth of feeling, of need, in Roy's eyes disappear. However, Tim thought, replacing it with amusement wasn't such a bad thing.
There were worse things to replace it with, after all.
“Remind me never to let you drive ever again,” Tim scolded.
“Now that,” Roy told him, laughter still thick in his voice, and sparkling in his eyes, “I'm absolutely sure I can make you reconsider.”
Roy had been right about several things that evening. First, Plan B was always better than getting shot at. Second, fruit splooge wasn't always a mood killer. Third, oral sex did quell the urge to throttle Roy. Lastly, Tim did like Roy more than Corporate Espionage.
But only just a little.
Poll Roy vs The Ducati
ETA: Incidentally, I think I should get an award for Supreme Creative Bravery using the term 'fruit splooge' in the lead up to a sexy scene.
Series: Poaching
Author: Aravis Tarkheena
Pairing: Roy/Tim
Rating: Hard R
Warnings: Violence, discussions of sex, probably there's swearing.
Disclaimer: Not mine, everyone's legal.
Word Count: 2500ish
Author's Notes: Written for the Fic or Treat Meme for lkidl. It's inspired by this picture that she drew. Also written for my dcu_freeforall prompt table #09 Tornado.
This takes place several years before Poaching starts. The is one of the stories that Tim never told Kon. Consider this the first of The Secret Adventures of Roy and Tim. There'll be more.
Plan B
Tim's lungs ached, and his legs were shaky. They were so wobbly and weak from adrenaline and running, he wasn't sure how much longer they could hold his weight without his knees giving out.
His head pounded and his heart raced. Tim could feel his pulse throbbing at his throat, and he swallowed hard.
Sweat slicked Tim's face and neck. His undershirt was drenched, and sticking wetly to his chest under his uniform. Tim wiped at the sweat on his face, clearing his vision, as he ducked behind a large bank of packing crates. He dropped the two heavy bags he carried to the floor at his feet. and rubbed at his sore hands.
The garage that he and Roy had fled into in an attempt to escape their pursuers were lined with small stacks of the crates. Tim had made for the largest one closet to the exit. He was so close to it that he could smell the fresh air outside.
They were almost out.
Tim had all but collapsed with fatigue when Roy ducked down next to him with a curse. Roy dropped one of the bags off of his shoulder, and winced. He had been covering their retreat, and his quiver was almost entirely devoid of arrows. Another of the large, heavy bags was smashed half way into the empty space in Roy's quiver.
“It turns out that two hundred thousand dollars in cash is a hell of a lot heavier than I thought it would be,” Roy groaned and rubbed at his shoulder.
Tim gave Roy his best 'no shit' look.
The report of scattered gunfire echoed through the garage, and both of them ducked involuntarily. Tim had a brief instant to hope there was nothing even remotely explosive in the large case he and Roy were crouched behind.
Roy was trying hard to quiet his panting, but Tim was pretty sure he didn't need to bother. The shouts from their pursuers, and their very loud guns, drowned out any other sounds. Roy settled to his knees beside Tim.
“Very little fire power, Roy?” Tim asked, his voice a breathless hiss. “Only two guards?”
Roy gave him a sheepish smile. “So maybe my intel wasn't dead on-”
Tim cut him off. “Not dead on? Roy, there are at least twelve of them and they all have very large guns!”
“Ok,” Roy conceded with a hand gesture that was probably supposed to be placating. “Plan A didn't work out quite like I'd hoped.”
“Plan A never works out the way you hope!” Tim felt a helpless frustration wash over him. He was about to say more, but the sound of gunfire echoed through the garage. It sounded closer than it had before.
“Remind me why I work with you? I mean ever?” Tim hissed.
“Because you always love Plan B,” Roy smiled at him smugly.
Tim rolled his eyes.
Plan B, in Roy's lexicon, was essentially always the same.
Step 1: Flee whatever foul up you were mixed up in. Preferably with out serious bodily injury.
Step 2: Go back to the nearest base.
Step 3: Make out.
Step 4: Regroup and try again. Preferably with more ammo.
Some things never changed. Tim was pretty sure Plan B was going to be a constant in his life for years. Despite all the messes Roy ended up getting him into, Tim couldn't seem to stay away.
It was baffling, really.
Tim had shown up at Roy's city only a few hours ago. When had called Roy, to let him know he was in town, he was trying hard to fight the jet lag. The time difference, plus the long flight had worn him out. He had hoped Roy would come over to his hotel and keep him awake until a reasonably late hour.
Roy had quickly agreed. He had come right over to Tim's hotel with an idea on how to do just that. The idea just wasn't at all what Tim had in mind when he pressed the send button on his cell.
Roy had rushed over to Tim's hotel with fresh intel on a drug deal that was time sensitive. Roy told Tim all about it. Roy had explained the plan, and hurried Tim into his uniform.
Tim was suited up, and on the street twenty minutes after checking into his hotel.
The plan had been to steal the money from the pushers, and destroy the drugs the wholesalers were trying to unload. Roy had been informed that, for safety sake, the deal was being kept small time. The heads of both groups plus one solider each was all the man power they could expect. Four guns total, two hundred thousand in cash, and more narcotics than any city needed.
They two of them had managed to infiltrate the meeting place with ease. They knocked out the guards, and grabbed the money without being spotted. They were working on destroying the drugs, when things finally went bad.
Unfortunately, as it turned out, Roy intel had been completely wrong, and now, an hour and a half after his plane had touched down on American soil for the first time in four months, Tim was dodging bullets, and trying to figure out how to salvage Plan A.
Plan A, Tim had to admit, wasn't even very good in the first place. It was made even less effective by the sheer number of baddies who wanted the two of them dead.
Tim sighed, and reached into a belt pouch to extract a few items. He pulled out two breathers, and threw one to Roy. Tim slipped his own expertly between his lips, and flicked the on switch. Roy was a touch more hesitant. Tim glared at him, inserted the breather into Roy's mouth himself, and flicked the on switch.
With his other hand, Tim activated several exploding gas bombs. He tossed them high and long over the top of the packing crates he and Roy had hidden behind.
The flash of light came first, then the concussion of the blast. The roar of the explosion came almost as an afterthought, and Tim regretted not pulling out his ear plugs for this.
Jet lag was making him sloppy.
Tim couldn't hear any gunfire over the ringing in his ears, but he could hear, dimly, the sounds of the gunmen coughing. They yelled to each other as best they could through the smoke that was billowing it's way through the large garage in a large, encroaching cloud.
Tim gestured for Roy to follow as he made his way to the exit to the garage, using the smoke screen for cover. The two of them made it outside, and streaked across an alley way that feed into the garage. They sprinted down towards a bank of dumpsters where Tim had stashed his bike and their equipment.
Tim got to his bike first. Roy tossed him his bags, and Tim tossed Roy the keys to the bike. Tim worked quickly to stash the bags in one of the side storage compartments. Roy slid on the seat of the Ducati and started the engine, as he pulled his helmet over his head. Tim buckled the bag shut, before pulling on his own helmet, he slid on the back of the bike behind Roy.
Wind whistled past Tim's helmet, and he clung tighter to Roy, half wishing he hadn't given the other man the keys. Roy was swerving through the streets, clearly trying to lose whatever tail they may have acquired when they made their rather sloppy escape.
Roy's driving methods tended to be a bit more artistic than Tim's. As they flew through an alley and knocked over a small fruit stand, Tim was more concerned about Roy drawing more attention to them, rather than a tail it was looking like they might not even have.
While a bright red Ducati often drew attention in and of itself, a bright red Ducati splattered with banana mash and kumquats would almost certainly be more memorable.
Roy tore through the city streets like a tornado on wheels. By the time they reached one of Roy's hidey holes, Tim decided he was never letting Roy drive ever again.
It took them twenty minutes to change out of their uniforms, and take the train back to Tim's hotel. Tim's uniform had caught most of the damage from the fruit stand, but he had accidentally smeared some banana mash into his hair when he pulled his helmet off. He also smelled very strongly of the smoke he had used to blind drug dealers.
When they stumbled through the door of Tim's room, all he wanted was a shower. Then he would consider throttling Roy, and making plans to leave the country.
Shower first though.
That was imperative.
Tim had his shirt off, and was making his way doggedly to the bathroom .when Roy wrapped an arm around his waist. Tim let out a huff of air as Roy pulled Tim back against his chest.
“Hey,” he whispered in Tim's ear, “what about Plan B?”
“Roy, I have banana in my hair and I smell like a cigar bar. How could you possibly think that now is a good time for Plan B?” Tim asked with a sigh.
“I'm a Dad, Tim. I'm immune to fruit splooge and bad smells. Anytime when a child is absent is an excellent time for Plan B,” Roy informed him wryly. “Besides, I'm pretty sure a nice blow job will take care of that scary look you got in your eyes, Babe.”
Then Roy sucked on a spot just below Tim's ear. After a moment of reflection, Tim had to concede that oral sex would be at least as much fun as strangling Roy, and probably easier to clean up after ward.
Tim shrugged out of Roy's hold, grabbed him by the belt buckle, and dragged him into the bathroom.
“We'll multitask,” Tim informed Roy.
Roy laughed as Tim briskly removed both of their clothing. He flicked on the taps, and shoved Roy into the stall before stepping in after him.
“First, I'm going to wash my hair. Then, we'll move on to Plan B, which had better be a hell of a lot better than Plan A,” Tim instructed. “Then, I'll decide whether or not to kill you.”
Roy smiled, and reached for the shampoo. He stepped in close to Tim, and wrapped his arms around him.
“You know damn well Plan B is always better, beautiful. And I feel pretty confident I can convince you to let me live,” Roy murmured, and squeezed some soap into Tim's hair.
“There are kumquats in my Ducati,” Tim said darkly. “Don't be so sure.”
Roy chuckled low in his chest as he bent Tim's head over to scrub his fingers through Tim's messy hair. Tim felt the rumble beneath his check, and let out a slow breath.
“I forgot where I stand in your list of priorities. It goes Justice, the Ducati, stalking Batman, me--” Roy started in as he worked up a lather in Tim's hair. Tim cut him off.
“No no no, it goes Justice, the Ducati, my camera, stalking Batman, corporate espionage--” Tim went on but Roy cut him off with a laugh, and tilted his head under the spray to rinse the suds and banana mess out of his hair.
“Hey now, you know that's not true.” Roy chided, still smiling widely as he pulled Tim back up out of the spray. “If you hurt my feelings like that, I may not be able to focus on Plan B.”
Roy's eyes went dark and heavy lidded. They spoke of things that Roy had never said out loud to Tim, things he would never have to say out loud because Tim could read it all in his eyes, and the set to his face. Roy's smile turned lazy and knowing and there was a confident sort of slouch to his shoulders that made Tim's belly roil in all the best and most terrifying ways.
Roy pressed his still smirking mouth to Tim's neck. Sharp teeth and soft lips played their way up Tim's throat, and back to his ear. Tim couldn't fight back a shudder.
“You wouldn't want to compromise the mission, now would you Boy Wonder?” Roy husked in his ear.
Then he kissed Tim for the first time in four months. The kiss was deep and consuming. The pressure of Roy's lips, the press of tongue, the delicate dance of teeth against Tim's mouth made Tim's body limp, and his mind fuzz out.
Tim had been missing this, far more than he thought he had. Far more than he had ever let himself realize. This whole evening, these touches, this closeness, this kiss all drove home what exactly Roy had come to be to Tim.
Roy had insinuated himself into places in Tim's soul that Tim had thought he had placed off limits long before Steph even left him. It was terrifying in ways that would have had him hyperventilating if the skate of Roy's fingers down his spine hadn't put him in a near comatose state.
“Well?” Roy asked again, voice husky and low and smug. “Would you?”
Tim blinked and tried to come back to himself. He tried to swim his way out of this bog of desire and emotions, that seemed to be pulling him down into a quagmire of pure feeling he wasn't sure either of them could handle right now.
Tim swallowed hard, and pushed it all back. He pushed down the impulses towards those emotions he knew it would be problematic to feel. He took back those places in his soul that Roy shouldn't ever have been, and locked them down tight. He took back his control and his poise.
He gave Roy a look as quelling as he could manage.
“Kumquats. In. My. Duc,” Tim enunciated very clearly.
Roy threw back his head and laughed, his green eyes went from dark and knowing, to bright and dancing in a split second. It hurt to see that depth of feeling, of need, in Roy's eyes disappear. However, Tim thought, replacing it with amusement wasn't such a bad thing.
There were worse things to replace it with, after all.
“Remind me never to let you drive ever again,” Tim scolded.
“Now that,” Roy told him, laughter still thick in his voice, and sparkling in his eyes, “I'm absolutely sure I can make you reconsider.”
Roy had been right about several things that evening. First, Plan B was always better than getting shot at. Second, fruit splooge wasn't always a mood killer. Third, oral sex did quell the urge to throttle Roy. Lastly, Tim did like Roy more than Corporate Espionage.
But only just a little.
Poll Roy vs The Ducati
ETA: Incidentally, I think I should get an award for Supreme Creative Bravery using the term 'fruit splooge' in the lead up to a sexy scene.