A saying old
by Te
August - November 8, 2005

Disclaimers: All is DC's.

Spoilers: Many old issues in an AU-ized way.

Summary: "I will *totally* be your best vigilante-friend."

Ratings Note: Sexual content.

Author's Note: Third in the Everything Spring series. Won't
make much sense without the others.

Acknowledgments: To Jack, Betty, Jam, and Petra for
audiencing, encouragement, and countless helpful
suggestions.

*

So it's totally not tomorrow, is the first thing.

It's not quite *today*, being as how he's been dismissed
from patrol and so it's about three, but it's still not
*tomorrow*, and he's here, at the Drake house -- only
something this big is probably a 'residence,' if not a
'manor' -- even though he said he wouldn't show up until...

Well, there are a couple of things. One, 'dismissed for the
night' means he's got at least another couple of hours to
run around Gotham before Bruce tracks him down and
drags him home. Two, he's pretty sure Tim won't *mind*,
or anything. Three... there's a part of him which is kind
of positive that "Jason didn't come home because he
was hanging with a friend" will just play better than "Jason
didn't come home because he was fucking around being
Robin without authorization."

It doesn't matter that *this* friend wouldn't, like, exist in
his life if he hadn't been, and it doesn't matter that this
friend knows more than he should. (Except for how it
does, and he's pretty much gotta deal with that really
fucking soon, somehow.)

The *important* thing is that the Drakes have a seriously
expensive and seriously *weak* alarm system, and that
he already knows which window to focus on.

And inside is the same as it was, like, twelve hours ago
or whatever -- really neat, really somehow *rich*-smelling
(just in a way completely different way from the Manor),
really... *quiet*.

Even if he didn't know that the only people in this house
were Tim and his housekeeper ('Mrs. Mack,' his brain
supplies, though it's probably Mrs. Mac, and short for
something -- judging by the accent.), he'd still know it.
The place is...

It's kind of weird. There's enough light from the window --
this isn't a mission or anything, he can leave the shades
open -- that he can *see* Tim sleeping right there, see
him breathing, and -- yeah, *hear* him, over the sound
of his own breath and heartbeat. It still feels...

The house feels more like a museum than anything else.
He has this weird, and weirdly powerful feeling that
he's... it's not *trespassing*, so much -- he does that all
the time -- it's more like he's yelling in a church or
something, just by standing here.

Maybe he should've changed out of the suit first.

Still, he's here *now*, and... yeah, this pretty much has
to be sweet. He remembers watching the way the mattress
didn't sink at all when Tim was sitting on it earlier, and
his suspicions are totally confirmed -- it's big enough
and hard enough that it barely moves when he crawls on.

Stealth is really not his thing -- and there's only so much
he can blame on wearing a uniform *Dick* designed --
but still, Tim is totally gonna scream like a girl, and Jason
is going to laugh, and it will totally make up for at least a
few of the months that the kid had spent stalking them
all without being caught.

Even *after* Jason covers his mouth with his gauntlet,
and --

Okay, Tim's awake.

Tim's awake because Jason just snorted out loud, but
dammit, he has an *excuse*.

"Robin...?"

"You totally have Superman sheets. On your bed."

"Um."

"I didn't know they *made* these for big beds. *Jesus*.
They make these for full-size?"

Tim is blinking at him. "Um. It's a queen. Actually. And
my -- Robin?"

Jason stops poking at the giant -- probably wider than
both of them, side by side -- Super-shield. "Where's
your camera, man? I want a picture."

"I..." Tim blinks again, and blushes, and stares at the
sheets.

"Aw, c'mon, just *one* picture. I totally --"

"I think... I was dreaming about you. Um. Just now."

"--deserve it. Uh." Jason grins and regroups. "Yeah? What
was I doing?"

"I... um."

And okay, watching Tim try -- and fail, Jason's *on* them --
to pull the sheets up to his chin is really damned cute and
also funny. And better when he just makes it a game of
tug-o-war.

A really, really short game. He's gonna have to make Tim
do some push-ups and eat eggs or something.

"Tell me or the Supersheets get it, man."

Tim looks at him like he's insane. "Jason --"

"I will *totally* be your best vigilante-friend."

And Jason's maybe a little too happy about the blush. Or...
not happy, but. It's a good blush.

"And shouldn't this be a Bat? Have you been stalking
other superheroes behind our backs?"

It's also a good laugh. "The Bat-sheets are black," he
says, as if that explains everything.

Jason waits.

"Batman wears *blue*, J -- Robin. Or. Well, they could be
grey, too, I guess."

Oh, that's totally... "That's really gay, you know. I'm just
saying."

Tim raises an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, *fine*, but it's not like this is the blue Supes wears.
I *went* to his birthday party, you know."

"They faded in the wash. Mrs. Mac used the wrong
detergent," Tim says, frowning. "Birthday party?"

Faded. Right. "Yeah, it was this whole thing with a tentacle
monster and Wonder Woman. What were you dreaming?"

Blush, blush, blush.

Jason smirks and yanks on the sheets again -- lightly. He's
not gonna rip 'em or anything. "I'll tell you what Batman
gave Supes if you tell *me*."

"I -- really? But -- it's not really that..." Tim tugs on the
sheets again. "I mean, it's not interesting. Or anything.
I've been having... um. It's an old dream."

Old? Jason flicks casually at Tim's fingers on the sheets
with his own. "How old?"

"Well, I... it's a... it's a Robin dream."

And it hits him, just like that. Tim had *said* he used to
dream about... man. "It was about... I mean, was it a
nightmare?"

"What? Oh, no! It's just. Well. It was..." And Tim's still
blushing, but he's also got that tiny one-sided smile on
his face that *isn't* really bright and
huge-even-though-it's-tiny as opposed to sharp and a little
sly. "What *did* Batman give Superman?"

Jason punches Tim lightly on the shoulder -- and catches
him before he bounces off the headboard more than once.

"Um... ow."

Definitely eggs. "Me first."

"You *are* the one who wanted to know."

Jason gives Tim his *own* sly smile. "Like you aren't
totally dying to know what was in the box with the ribbon."

"There was a ribbon? And what did Wonder Woman --"

So Jason kisses him, and Tim doesn't scream like a girl so
much as squeak a little into his mouth, and it makes
Jason think about those messy hot sounds Tim had made
around his *dick*, and it makes him up the tongue-action
really kind of a lot, even though he knows he won't still
be able to taste himself.

After a while, Jason feels Tim's shoulders kind of moving
under his hands, so he moves them and winds up with
Tim's hands in his hair, then one hand in his hair and the
other on his neck -- no, cape.

And it's possible that Tim just wants to analyze the material
by touch -- it *is* pretty interesting, because the cape
can't stop a bullet at close-range, but way increases the
chance of deflection or graze -- but it still feels too good
just to lose it. Pop the buttons and --

Jason shivers, a little, at the feel of Tim's fingers moving
through the sweat on his throat, and gets distracted
enough from the tongue-action that Tim gets *his* tongue
in, and that's a really, really fucking wonderful thing.

He's slow enough and, like, *hesitant* enough, even now,
that everything he does kind of tickles, but it's the good
kind of tickle that goes all the way down and makes
Jason want to squeeze himself through the shorts and
his jock. And makes him want to just see if *Tim* will
do it, if he's obvious enough. Maybe not yet, though.

He pulls back and licks Tim's spit off his lips and watches
Tim staring at his mouth like maybe *he's* remembering
a blowjob, and... yeah. "Tell me your dream."

"It's just -- it's you. And it used to be D -- the first Robin,
and then for a while it kind of... switched back and forth
and I..." Tim licks his own lips, and looks at him. There's
a lot of *sex*, right there, that Jason really kind of can't
wait to...

He really can't wait, and the sheets are tangled up between
them, and Tim doesn't seem to know whether he wants to
hold on to Jason or just feel him up with his arms and
his legs and, like, his *tongue*, but since both feel really
*good*...

The bed's totally big enough to roll around on, even if the
sheets are still in the way. He *likes* seeing Tim on top
of him, likes kind of holding him there with one hand on
his chest and likes that he *has* to hold him, because
Tim really wants more, right now.

Like he does.

"And it 'switched back and forth?'"

There's this bright little flash of *sharp* in Tim's eyes
which is really gonna make Jason's jock *uncomfortable*
if he does it again.

"Did it switch *this* time, Tim?"

No sharp this time, but it's maybe even better when Tim
kind of covers Jason's hand with both of his own, playing
with Jason's fingers through the gauntlet and *looking*
at him until Jason can't really stop being aware that he
has, you know, *fingers*. Which could be touching.

Jason curls his fingers a little, watching the way it makes
Tim's hands shift on his own and pressing against Tim's
chest through his pajamas. "Tell me?"

"It was just you, and you..." Tim's staring at Jason's hand
and Jason can *see* him starting to breathe a little hard
and he can feel it, but he can't decide whether or not it's
bigger that he can *feel* it.

"Just me?"

"You were... you were talking to me, and smiling, and I
couldn't hear what you were saying, but I knew you
were... that you liked it here. Um. Can we stop talking
about it now? It's embarrassing."

Because it was him and he's right here, or because
*that's* totally been Tim's happy dream for years? Jason
kind of thinks it's the latter, but it also doesn't really
matter. "Sure," he says, and scratches a little at Tim's
chest. "Wanna make out more?"

And for a second Tim looks so freaking *torn* that Jason
has to backtrack just to be *sure* that all the kissing
was totally good, that Tim had liked it and hadn't just
been going along, but...

When Tim actually looks *at* him again -- he's really
kind of scarily good at finding where Jason's eyes are
behind the mask, and that's just one reason why he's
ready to ditch it -- the sharp look is back.

And it isn't really a *flash* at all. "What was the present?"

Jason blinks. "Are you seriously not gonna put out if I
don't tell you?"

"I... really can't pretend that would happen, no." It's not a
blush -- it's a flush, and Jason has to at least ditch the
gauntlets. He pulls the one off with his teeth, but Tim
holds *on* to the other. "Can I?"

Jason grins and nods. He can't really *hold* the grin,
though, because he's taken off girls' *panties* faster and
more casually than Tim is taking off Jason's gauntlet. It's
like church and a strip-show at once, or maybe like
having a strip-show *in* a church.

It makes Jason really *aware* of how sweaty his hand --
always -- is, how pale and fucked-up and scarred his
fingers are, and how *hot* his fingers look against Tim's
mouth when Tim brings Jason's hand up to it.

"Jesus, yeah." And he's totally petting Tim's mouth now,
and thinking hard about pushing *in* -- not one finger,
two -- and just feeling Tim's tongue up and --

"... present, Robin?"

"What...?"

Tim is breathing on his fingers. He's *looking* at Jason,
and he's totally curious, but he's also breathing on
Jason's fingers, and that's just too hot. But he can make
a compromise, anyway.

"A rose," he says, and pushes his index and middle fingers
between Tim's lips, right into his hot mouth, his *wet*
mouth, his tight and *sucking* mouth -- "Batman gave
him a rose. He, like, bred it and grew it himself and
everything."

And okay, it's not like he can't understand why that would
make Tim lose a step or skip the groove or something,
but *damn*.

"Keep sucking me," he says, and it sounds like an order,
so he says, "Please?"

And Tim just treats his fingers the same way he'd treated
Jason's dick -- like they're something that really need to
be in his mouth, deep as Tim can get them, and... man.
He looks like he's *concentrating*, like doing it "right" is
more important than having fun or something, but, well,
it's *not* his dick.

Jason can concentrate, too.

He sits up and uses his free hand to brace Tim's back.
He's warm and a little bony and *warm* through his
pajamas, which Jason knows has more to do with the fact
that his sweaty hand is still getting used to not being in a
gauntlet than with anything else, but it still feels really
wonderful. Tim isn't looking at him -- or anything -- so
much as just... going *down* on Jason's fingers, and so
it's really not Jason's fault that 'bracing Tim's back'
becomes 'cupping Tim's ass and squeezing.'

And it makes Tim make this hot little noise and kind of
*jump* a little, and Jason has to lean in and nuzzle Tim's
face and rub his cheek against Tim's smooth one. He
wonders for a minute if Tim's Dad just isn't that hairy,
but mostly he just enjoys the feel -- and the way Tim
presses his face against Jason's own.

"Tim," and he totally meant to say something about, like,
*something*, but he's apparently close enough that he's
breathing against Tim's ear, and it looks like Tim *really*
likes it.

It *feels* like he does, because Tim's teeth kind of scrape
against Jason's knuckles and Tim's body kind of *twitches*.
And then *presses* against Jason's own when he gets
close enough to make it work.

"Damn, you're hot," he says, and Tim squeezes Jason's
hand in both of his own and makes a really messy
sounding groan and --

Sucks his fingers harder.

"Oh, yeah, you're totally getting into that, right? You like
it?"

Another totally accidental *scrape*, and one of Tim's hands
slips down and up Jason's wrist and --

"Jesus, I just... man. I totally just went to the
you-jacking-me, place, and --"

"*Jason* --"

That was barely -- *barely* -- a word around Jason's
fingers, and Tim is totally hard enough that Jason can feel
it through his armor. "I love it when you say my name.
I just -- it's like you -- it's different," he blurts, and laughs
at himself. "Uh... yeah -- *fuck* --"

Tim groans and bucks against him *again* and he's...
Jason knows *some* of what Tim's saying is his name,
but he can't make out the rest at all, and he can't decide
if he wants to pull his fingers out and ask Tim to repeat
it or just...

Jesus, Tim's bobbing his *head* now. They're in the
wrong position for Jason to see it -- still mostly cheek to
cheek -- but just the right one for him to feel it. And --

God. Fuck. He needs to come.

"Okay, so just -- would you believe me if I said that I
totally just meant to make out a little as opposed to
having more sex? I mean, say you do, okay, because..."

And Tim *whimpers* when Jason does pull out, but he
totally goes with it when Jason pushes them back down
on the bed. On top of Tim is kind of -- he can't *not*
grind against the kid at least a few times. On top is
*difficult*, and his hand is all shiny and slick, and it just
really needs to be around Tim's dick. Or his.

Or -- heh -- both.

He yanks Tim's pajama bottoms down his thighs, and
yeah, Tim's hard and leaking and Jason really wants to
be naked *with* him, right now, so he doesn't ask Tim
to pull down his shorts, even though it'd be really hot.
He's betting it would probably take a while, considering
how Tim had treated his gauntlet, and he totally does
not have a while.

At all.

Not with Tim's mouth looking all red and wet and
not-kissed-enough, not-fucked-enough, and not with Tim's
eyes all *wide* like that, like Jason could do anything and
it would be this big huge deal and also fantastic.

He gets their dicks together and --

God, fucking brain-wipe, fucking -- fucking *hot*, because
Tim is arching up off the bed like maybe he already
knows at least half the stretches Bruce had practically
had to beat into Jason, or just like it's so good he doesn't
care that spines don't work that way.

Maybe it's kind of the natural result of being obsessed
with Dick for, like, ever.

And the only reason he has any thoughts at *all* in his
mind is that he's *just* kind of holding them, instead
of --

And he's totally not, anymore, because it feels *perfect*
just to use the same rhythm he always does, even
though he doesn't know if Tim would *like* it that hard,
and it's really unfair and kind of incredible that he hasn't
been fucking Tim for, like, weeks. That there are things
he *doesn't* know --

"Jason -- *Jason* --"

He needs to cover Tim's mouth. He *needs* to, because
apparently noise is just gonna happen if he keeps this up,
and he can't *not*, but --

"Oh God, your *hand* -- so hard, so -- oh *God* --"

But it's *sexy*, and also the housekeeper sleeps on the
*first* floor, and the walls are probably really thick in a
place like this and Jason gives up and braces himself on
his free hand and uses the other to jerk them both off.

"Don't stop -- don't --"

And it's totally a reflex to squeeze himself *hard* when
he's close, and he's going to make sure it stays that way,
because forgetting that Tim's dick was right there
means that now Tim is gasping and coming all over
Jason's fist, because Tim *likes* that, he likes --

He's so --

He's got Tim's come all over his dick *again*, and it might
be possible for that to be anything but incredibly sexy and
perfect, but Jason fucking *doubts* it.

Jason manages to stop squeezing long enough to let Tim's
dick go -- he doesn't want to *hurt* the kid, but that's
about all he *can* manage. He's rock hard and he's hot
and *slick*, and he needs -- he needs --

He needs to get shoved and pushed and fucking
*confused* until he gets that Tim's trying to move him --
oh fuck. "God, okay, just -- sorry --"

"*No*," Tim says, and shoves more, and "I need -- I
want --"

Tim needs and wants to get his mouth on Jason's dick, to
lick him and suck him and make Jason absolutely fucking
*insane*, because there's no good reason to grab Tim
by the hair and fuck his way in, but that's exactly what
he's doing.

Tim's got one hand on Jason's hip and the other on his
dick and he's... he's...

"You're so fucking *good*, Tim, you're so -- you're gonna
make me come, I love your fucking mouth, c'mon -- c'mon
suck me, I want it, I want you, oh Jesus --"

Jason bites his own fist and tries to stop bucking and *fails*
to stop bucking and Tim squeezes with *both* hands and
Jason comes so hard he feels himself shaking.

Jesus. *Jesus*.

And also -- fucking *Jesus*, because he's way too sensitive
for the tongue-action Tim's giving him now, and he'll be
able to stop him right about when he can figure out how
to fly without a damned plane.

There's not a damned thing he can do about the whimpers,
but at least Tim's whimpering, too.

Or... or -- yeah. Just --

"Yeah, I -- god, that's -- you, *too* --" Jesus. Bruce
always says that tone and posture say as much or more
as actual words, and Jason pretty much has to hope that's
true, considering the fact that it *feels* a lot more
coherent to just twist his hips for Tim and grab at his hair
than it does to speak.

And to fucking *pull* when Tim finally backs off,
because -- yeah. He really needs Tim *on* him, sticky
and sweaty and dazed-looking, and --

"Um -- ow..."

And, okay, pained-looking. Jason lets go of his hair. "Heh,
sorry. Just..." He shrugs, feeling the sheets ruck up a little
more beneath him, and cups Tim's face instead. "Kiss me?"

Tim nods and licks his (shiny, swollen, *hot*) lips and
leans in and Jason can't actually wait for that, either, but
he manages to avoid breaking Tim's nose when he jerks
up to *take* the kiss that's taking too long to get to him,
so that counts as victory.

Though not as much victory as Tim moaning at the way
Jason's licking the taste of himself out of Tim's mouth.
It's *never* not going to seem dirtier than just licking
come off his own hand or something, and it's never not
going to be hot, and --

"I want a blowjob from you every day, okay?"

Tim blushes and stares at Jason's mouth. And then smiles.
"Or two...?"

Heh. Yeah. "Two also works," he says, and spreads enough
to get Tim settled comfortably between his thighs. And
then he squeezes Tim, and thinks about using his thighs
to flip Tim *over* again, but... no.

Right where he wants him. Jason cups Tim's ass again,
instead, and squeezes him *that* way. He really likes the
little squeaking noise thing.

"I really like those little squeaking noises you make, man.
It's fucking -- well, it's cute, but it's also hot."

"Thank you...?"

Jason snickers and squeezes Tim's ass again. "Yeah, I
know, I can stop calling you 'cute' pretty much *any* time
now, right?"

"Well, it does make me vaguely worried about whether or
not my pajama bottoms have grown feet or something."

"Heh. Maybe a flap?"

Tim snorts quietly. "And now I'm getting disturbed."

Jason makes a show of nodding seriously. "Yeah, you're
right. It's way less fucked-up to run around stalking
vigilantes with a camera and a notebook."

"I wasn't even *carrying* my notebook, Jason --"

"But you *totally* have one. Man, I knew it. God, you're
freaky."

Tim kind of... blinks at him.

"Hunh?"

The blinking gets even more... *blinky*.

"Did I come in your eye or something --"

"But, Jason. How can I be freaky if I'm *cute*?" Blink,
blinkity, blink.

Jason's pretty much... Alfred calls it 'gaping,' and this time
he doesn't even have being in the massive shrine Bruce
calls a garage as an excuse.

Tim makes his eyes go ridiculously wide. "I mean... freaky
people aren't *cute*, are they?"

"Wow, that's... wow."

Tim snickers at him.

"It's like I blinked and wound up in the terrifying alternate
universe where you're a damned cartoon character or
something."

"I promise not to do anything physically improbable with
a mallet."

"Yeah, okay, that --"

"Maybe."

And he absolutely *does* want to teach Tim a few moves
(somehow it seems like Bruce would react *better* to this
if he... or he... he doesn't really know), but for now it
works just fine that he *can* just pick Tim up off the bed
a little, toss him back down, and pin him.

"You wouldn't hit a cute boy with glasses, would you?"

"You -- you don't *wear* glasses, you little freak."

Tim smirks. "You had to check, didn't you? See if you
forgot?"

"So sue me for paying more attention to your ass. And
your *camera*."

The smirk stays in place for a bit while Jason glares, but
Jason knows *he* doesn't really mean it, so... it's okay.

And the smirk winds up getting softer, anyway. "I... I
never really thanked you for giving it back. My camera."

Jason hadn't really been letting himself think about it. By
rights, the camera should be in carefully-dissected little
pieces on Bruce's work-table and *he* should only be
here now to collect the rest of the evidence. But he's
not, and... he won't.

It's not the same as some tabloid reporter getting a picture
of Batman talking to some secret informant, or of him
after a fight leaves his mask pretty much hanging on by
spirit gum and luck.

It's *worse* than that, in some ways, but it's also --

"Jason...?"

"Yeah, I..." Jason frowns. "I haven't told Batman about you,
yet. I'm still kind of trying to work out *how*."

"Oh. I... do you... you have to," Tim says, sounding a lot
more sure than he looks.

Jason snorts and squeezes Tim's shoulders. "Yeah, I really
do. Um. He's going to be insane about it, I think. I mean,
it's the *secret*. But... I... don't think it'll go too badly?"

Tim's mouth kind of twitches with a fraction of a smile.
Jason misses the steadier ones. "Was that *supposed* to
be a question?"

"No?"

"I... you'll tell him that I didn't... that it wasn't... I mean,
I'll. I'll give him all of my records." Tim bites his lip. "If
he wants them."

"He probably will," Jason says, sighing and letting himself
fall to the bed beside Tim. "But, you know. I bet I could
keep... you know. Some of your stuff for you. Maybe the
stuff where it's *just* Batman and Robin -- or, heh,
Nightwing -- in action. I bet he'd let me do that if I
promised to, like, not skip school for at least a month or
something." He thinks. He hopes. He's not really looking
at Tim, right now.

"You... you'd do that?"

Except for how he totally has to. "Yeah," Jason says,
grinning. "I mean, you'll totally put out for visiting rights
to your freaky collection."

"Only if you let us do it on my Supersheets."

Jason grins a little wider and makes a show of thinking
about it, like when Bruce is asking him one of those
not-really-rhetorical-at-all questions meant to make him
into a better detective, as opposed to just *telling* him
what he's supposed to do.

It's a tough call whether he likes Tim's painful-sounding
snort more than he likes Bruce's little 'hmm' of 'I'm really
just pretending to be annoyed at you,' but it's the kind of
deep conflict he can totally go with.

"I suppose I'll have to get Supersheets for *my* bed."

"In -- the Manor?"

The way Tim says it, it totally has a capital 'm.' Jason
shakes his head. "I do *live* there. Unless you want me
to get some rooftop and alley-sized Supersheets, which
would probably have to be *rubber* sheets, considering.
Maybe if I ask Supes really nicely he'll have his AI whip
me up some out of, like, special stain-resistant
Kryptonian material or something. I --"

He stops, because Tim is holding his hand. Or... kind of
holding Jason's hand *in* his own. Not squeezing or
anything, but...

"Yeah?"

Tim leans in, slow and kind of jerky more than hesitant,
and kisses him, and kisses him *right* when Jason shoves
a hand into his hair.

He gets Tim back on top of him and uses his free hand
to stroke his back down to his bare ass. The pajama
bottoms are still kind of bunched between Tim's knees --
just like Jason's shorts and jock -- and it's really hot and
makes him think of butt-flaps and it makes him laugh
into Tim's mouth and he can't really stop until Tim
half-spreads and half-falls in a way which spreads him
right over Jason's lap. Which is basically perfect.

And more perfect when he spreads his own thighs enough
to *make* Tim spread a little more -- and make one of
those little squeaking sounds into Jason's mouth.

Jason bets Tim could be pretty flexible if he put his mind
to it. Maybe more than him. Maybe...

Jason bites Tim's lower lip gently to stop himself from
thinking and squeezes Tim's ass and rocks him against
him a little bit --

"Oh. Frottage."

"I -- *what* did you -- did you just say 'frottage'?"

"I... um." Tim's totally blushing again, and rocking his
hips, and *blushing*. "I did some -- reading. On the
internet."

"You totally downloaded gay porn after we hooked up."

"I -- that... too --"

"*Lots* of it."

"Jason --"

"Did you Photoshop little masks on --"

Tim kisses him really hard this time, and it's totally just to
shut him up -- maybe he added, like, curly Robin-bangs,
too -- but it's also fucking hot. Jason opens up for it and
takes it, dragging his knees up around Tim's waist and
squeezing him that way.

It makes Tim kind of jerk against him and then thrust --
once.

Jason thrusts *back* and that gets things started. It takes
a minute to get a good rhythm, and by then Tim is panting
and pulling at the pillowcase on either side of Jason's
head, and Jason can just look up at Tim and urge him
faster and harder with his hips.

"C'mon --"

"J -- Jason --"

"C'mon, *c'mon*, Tim, *fuck* me --"

"Oh *God*," and Tim's eyes fly open and he just *stares*,
and Jason can't help but stare back and *work* his hips,
and Tim's mouth is still a little raw-looking and Jason
wants Tim to *really* fuck him now. This isn't a
*surprise*, but he kind of thought it would at least take
a little longer for him to *need* it.

Jesus, he's -- he *has* to tell Bruce before this goes any
further. The last thing he needs is for Bruce -- or
*Batman* -- to burst into Tim's room while Tim's got him
on his hands and knees or something, which means it
probably would happen *just* like that.

For now, though, he can just hold on with his hands and
his knees and watch the look on Tim's face get as hazy
and fuck-stupid as the one on his own *feels*. Tim's
breathing out these little hitching moans and Jason's just
panting and he's so hard, again, so fucking *hard*, and
he can't look away from Tim's *eyes*.

"Oh -- oh, Jason --"

"Do it, I want you to, come on, Tim, come *on* --"

And Tim cries out sharp and *loud* and... comes all over
Jason's dick.

This is officially the best theme ever. Jason wiggles his
hips a little to get slick all over, and his tunic is gonna
be wrecked and fucking *suspect*, and Tim's arms are
shaking where he's holding himself up, and when he
falls over Jason turns them over again and just goes
for it. "You want me to fuck you, too?"

"I -- oh God --"

"I do, I totally want --"

"*Yes* --"

"Oh *fuck*, Tim," and now Tim's pajama top is kind of
wrecked, too, and they're really going to have to do this
naked at some point after Jason can stop feeling Tim up
and kissing him and also sliding their come around
between them.

"I... wow."

"Yeah."

"Also... ew."

"Heh. Also yeah," Jason says, and grinds them together a
little harder. "You're totally going to have to take a shower
before your housekeeper or whatever comes in to wake
you up for breakfast."

Tim laughs. "She doesn't come in, actually, but... yes."

Jason reaches down between them and gives Tim's sac a
little squeeze.

"Nn -- Jason --"

"She caught you jerking off once already? Maybe to a
full-page spread of Nightwing all... spread?"

"Um... I... God, Jason. No, she just, she doesn't. She
doesn't come in."

Jason frowns and tries to decide whether or not he wants
to think about the fact that he isn't really surprised.
Empty fucking *house*. He shakes it off and rubs his
thumb over the slick-soft skin, instead.

"I... you could take a shower, too. I mean, you should.
Here. I mean --"

"Man, that's a really *good* bad idea. I..." He really can't.
He *really* can't. "Save that thought for later?"

Tim nods and bites his lip a little and -- reaches up to pet
Jason's mouth. A little. "You have to go back home."

Jason smiles, doing it slow enough that he can really
*feel* Tim's fingers on his mouth. "I totally owe you a
blowjob, don't I? Maybe I'll do it *in* your shower." Except
that when he thinks about it, he thinks about the shower
in the *Cave*, and if he doesn't stop doing that he's
pretty much going to make Tim *fuck* him in his damned
rich-boy shower, and then he'll have to convince Bruce
that it would be good for the Mission for him to live here,
which, no.

He bites Tim's fingertips, instead, and does *not* pay
any attention to the way it makes Tim's eyes get all wide
and stands up and... looks down at himself.

"Uh."

"There are... um. Towels in the bathroom." Tim points
to a half-closed door which Jason had mostly completely
failed to notice and sits up and doesn't follow Jason,
which is a good thing.

A totally smart thing.

Still, Jason can't quite stop himself from making sure the
door's nice and wide when he's wiping himself down with
a damp washcloth, and Tim is totally watching him do it,
and maybe not to take notes on whether or not Robin
Two prefers hot water to lukewarm.

It's kind of hard to tell when Jason isn't close enough to
feel him breathing. He really wants --

He shakes it off, again, and yanks up his mostly
not-disgusting jock and shorts and completely fails not to
crawl back onto Tim's Supersheets and kiss him again.
Just once, but a really good one, because Tim totally
wraps his arm around the back of Jason's neck and
squeezes while he kisses.

"So, uh..."

"Good-night?"

Jason grins. "Good something, anyway."

He heads for the window, and doesn't pause even though
he can see Tim kind of waving at him a little in reflection,
because... because he's running out of
Jason-gets-to-play-time, and he *doesn't* want Bruce to
track him down, because he's *not* insane.

He rappels down the side of Tim's house and gives the
rope that flick which sends the grapple flying right back to
his palm. He learned it from Dick, and it's a lot *showier*
than Bruce's method, but it totally works.

Maybe especially for this house.

He grins to himself and heads for his bike -- parked the
standard at-least-two blocks away for 'situations which
don't suggest a need for immediate re-deployment' --
and stops.

It's just a tracer on the seat, but it really *wasn't* there
before, and... damn. Damn. You can't *help* feeling
exposed in a damned Robin suit in a neighborhood like
this, but now he *really* feels exposed. Like there are
eyes on him from every damned where and --

Jesus. *Knowing* that it's totally Bruce's way of saying
'get home now' doesn't make him want to head back to
Tim's place any less. For all *he* knows, Bruce is giving
the kid the Bat-treatment right now, and... Jesus.

Jason gets on the bike.

There really isn't anything else he *can* do.

It's probably the least fun he's ever had on the bike,
including those times when the only reason he was
cranking it up to ninety was that he was actively being
shot at. Still, he gets back, and he parks, and he *deals*.

He's totally all square-shouldered Robin's-ready-to-take-
his-punishment by the time he walks into the Cave.

Which is... empty.

Well, not, because Alfred's right there with cocoa, but...

"Master Bruce has not yet returned, young sir."

Well, the question was probably pretty damned obvious
on his face, but... "Uh. Do you know... uh. Where he *is*?"

Alfred raises an eyebrow at him -- it probably shouldn't
make Jason think of Tim -- and generally makes Jason
pretty sure Alfred knows what he's asking *now*, but all
he says is, "Once again, Master Bruce failed to remember
to leave a detailed itinerary for my perusal."

Which... right. Still, he knows enough about computers
now -- and about how Bruce uses the *Batcomputer* -- to
kind of be able to guess at which files were accessed
most recently and... man.

Yeah. While he's pretty sure that there are people named
'Jack Drake' in Gotham who *aren't* related to Tim, he
wouldn't bet Bruce's money that this is one of them. And
the smell of the cocoa waiting for him is making him kind
of nauseous.

"A new target of surveillance...?"

The thing about Alfred is that he's even worse at sounding
innocent than *Jason* is. "Al --"

"Master Jason, it's late. It would, perhaps, be best for you
to get some rest. The morning -- the *later* morning --
will be soon enough, I believe, for all of us to work
through tonight's... revelations."

Jason bites his lip and stares down at the keyboard for a
little longer before nodding. And then he lets Alfred steer
him up the stairs.

And he's pretty sure that he's not going to sleep at *all*,
but it's possible that patrol-plus-sex-plus-more-sex-plus-panic
is more tiring than Jason would've guessed, because it feels
like only about three seconds pass between Alfred closing
Jason's door behind him and Alfred yanking open Jason's
curtains really, *really* wide --

"Ah, always a pleasure to see a young man ready and
eager to face a new day."

"Ow, fuck, Jesus, Al --"

"Really, Master Jason, your enthusiasm is simply too
infectious for an elderly soul like my own."

Also *ow*. Jason's sitting up pretty much by reflex -- and
not thinking about how the vaguely itchy feeling on his
skin is nowhere near as obvious about how he failed to
shower before crashing than how he *smells* -- but it
takes a minute before he can focus enough to make
the blurry images resolve into Alfred.

And into Alfred pulling out one of the damned suits Bruce
had insisted on Jason getting fitted for which he's never
actually worn.

"Al...?"

Alfred sniffs at him. "The shower awaits, young sir."

It had taken him about a week of living here to get used
to the fact that Alfred always wins, no matter what, and
nothing has changed since then. Or...

Well, he's pretty sure nothing has really changed, even
though he has no idea why he's supposed to be wearing
a suit today, and even though Bruce knows he was
fucking around with someone while he was in the Robin
uniform and --

Jesus. Had Bruce *heard* Tim calling him Jason?

It kind of makes his teeth chatter a little, even though
the water's the perfect temperature -- this side of
scalding, and Jason really *likes* being clean more
often than not -- and... Jesus.

Fuck. Also Jesus.

The thing is, he *did* wear one of those suits -- once --
when he went to court with Bruce to tell a judge who
couldn't care less that he was totally fine with being
Bruce's ward. He didn't actually have to go anywhere to
sign the papers agreeing to be, well, Bruce's legal son --
the signature of a thirteen year old counted less than
the DYFS people's -- but...

Jason squeezes his eyes shut and wonders just how
*much* he'd fucked up. And opens them to find Alfred
outside the shower with a towel.

"Uh..."

"Master Bruce is waiting, Master Jason."

Yeah, no, really not getting used to the valet thing.
There's a reason Jason tends to shower at, like, four in
the morning. He wraps the towel around his waist and
grabs the comb out of Alfred's hand before he can start
working on him. "Waiting for -- waiting for what, exactly?"

"Well, for *you* --"

"*Alfred*, I -- please?"

His expression softens enough that Jason feels even
queasier than he had last night -- and he hadn't even
*drunk* the damned cocoa -- and yeah, Alfred is *pitying*
him, which is bad. Really bad.

"At least, you know, you could tell me if, you know, he
doesn't want me around. I mean, I can ditch, it doesn't
need to be a big thing or anything --"

"Master Jason. I assure you that your fears are
groundless."

"But --"

"Master Bruce has an... intriguingly unique sense of the
dramatic, but not a cruel one."

He *looks* at Alfred, and tries to use everything he's
learned in the past year-and-change to tell him what he's
actually seeing, but... it's just Alfred.

Who plucks the comb out of Jason's hand and fixes it
himself. It's not like the style is that bad, really -- it's
basically what his hair wants to do all the time, anyway --
but still. When it's all neat like this Jason kind of gets the
urge to call himself a dork and punch himself in the face.

He needs coffee.

He's so not going to get it, this morning.

What he *gets* is hustled into the stupid suit which has
the nerve to fit him perfectly even though Jason has
totally grown since that fitting session, and the nerve to
actually look kind of *good* on him, in a way that makes
Jason feel like he's betraying some deeply important part
of himself by admitting it.

Or -- something. There's still no damned coffee, and they
don't even get to go into Bruce's garage where the smell
of good engines and the best-grade oil would at least
improve his mood a little.

Alfred had apparently pulled the car around front *before*
retrieving him, and, yeah, 'Master Bruce' is totally waiting
for him. For them.

He's reading the newspaper and he's all dressed-up, too.
Jason's pretty sure he hasn't seen that suit before --
Bruce doesn't *wear* colors that light to work, but it's
still not dressy enough for a party or anything. And
Bruce --

"Morning, tiger. All set?"

Tiger? What...? "Uh... yeah, Bruce?"

Bruce pats the seat beside him when Alfred opens the
passenger door for Jason, and... smiles.

Okay, it's a Bruce Wayne day. *Why* is it a Bruce Wayne
day?

He knows from experience that getting clear answers out
of Bruce when he decides that no, he really has to be a
Professional Moron is pretty much fucking impossible,
but the only thing Jason gets out of Alfred when he
checks the rearview is a tip of Alfred's cap and a wink.

Right. Anyway. "So... where are we headed? Uh... Bruce."

Bruce just keeps reading. Jason checks and -- yeah, it's
totally the society pages. Whole sections of a newspaper
devoted to parties and more parties and, like, whether
or not some useless rich bastard enjoyed his vacation.

"Bruce...?"

"Now *this* is fascinating, son. It says here that there's a
new resort opening up in the Berkshires. The skiing isn't
the best, ha ha, but --"

"Jesus, *Bruce*." Jason represses a shudder. Bruce *only*
calls him 'son' when he's being Bruce Wayne. It's probably
not the most fucked-up thing in *ever*, but it feels that
way.

Bruce blinks at him. "What...? Oh, I'm sorry, I know you
kids tend to prefer Aspen --"

"Uh -- yeah, Bruce, where are we going?"

Alfred probably *doesn't* pick just that time to drive them
under a stand of trees thick enough to throw Bruce's entire
face into shadow. Probably.

It's just that by the time they're in the sun again, Bruce is
the amazing Blandman again -- assuming he was anything
else in the previous few seconds.

"Ha ha, don't worry, son, we'll get there soon enough."

Jason doesn't bang his head against the seat *very* hard.
It's actually pretty much impossible to do it 'very hard' --
the seats are too good for that. And, anyway, even if he
was, like, blind or something, he's pretty sure he'd still get
that stomach-dropping, ball-crawling *feeling* when they
turned onto *this* street.

They're totally going to Tim's house, and... Jesus.

Just...

He's pretty much -- numb isn't the word. He can't exactly
*feel* his legs, but it's not like that. Especially since even
the way Bruce is touching him is wrong -- and in-character.
A hand on his *shoulder*, and somehow Bruce is
managing to make even that feel all soft and bland and
completely not the way, well, *Bruce* actually touches him.

He's being *steered* to the damned door, and it's pretty
much the exact opposite of how it felt to walk here himself
yesterday. Yesterday, it'd been kind of a fucked-up but fun
game to ring the bell and paste on "friendly local kid"
face. Now it's kind of... he can *feel* himself smiling
idiotically.

It's like he's got the world's worst case of Bruce Wayne
cooties, and it's possible that the only cure will be to use
some of the really expensive-looking stonework on the
Drakes' house as a handy self-bludgeoning tool.

*If* that works.

And it's early, still, but Mrs. Mack - Mac...? -- is right there
less than a minute after Bruce rings the bell.

"Jason, oh! Did you come for breakfast?" She puts her
hands on her hips and kind of glares at the space between
him and Bruce. "I swear, Tim is usually so *good* about
letting me know about visitors beforehand... not that there
are all that many, and -- oh. Goodness!" She looks up --
finally -- at Bruce. "Where are my manners? Are you --
you look *familiar*." She squints at Bruce like maybe the
answer to his identity would be written in his brow furrows.

Does Bruce Wayne, Dumbass even *have* brow furrows?
Not right now he doesn't, the smile on his face could be
used to light up a small ballroom. Or just blind and cripple
any nearby Robins. "Hi! Mrs. MacIlvenne, I presume?"

Of course Bruce would actually know the woman's name.

"Why -- yes," she says, and smiles like it isn't at all
suspicious that Bruce actually knows.

They're in the *other* world, now, where it isn't, and
Jason's head hurts and it's probably because *he's* still
smiling, too.

"Bruce Wayne," Bruce says, and smiles even wider, and
offers Mrs. *Mac* his hand.

Her eyes look kind of like vaguely watery saucers, because,
yeah, she *knows* who Bruce Wayne is, all right, and --

"Oh, and you're -- you'd be Jason *Todd*, then, oh! I'm
going to have to tear *strips* from little Tim's hide for not
sharing that news."

"Ha ha," Bruce says -- and all of his Bruce-Wayne laughs
are totally spoken-out like that, and why anyone thinks it's
*real* is completely and totally beyond Jason. "Really,
Mrs. MacIlvenne, we're just people like everyone else."

Jason actually gets a shoulder-squeeze, probably because
he'd tensed up so damned hard for that.

"Well, I -- I'm *sure*, but -- goodness! And -- oh, come in!
Please!"

And he knows this house, this smell of vaguely more
lemony-than-chemical cleaner and, well, *money*. It's a
little dark after the sun on the front step, but Mrs.
MacIlvenne couldn't be more efficient about shooing them
into the family room if she had a broom and a cattle prod.

And the stairs up to Tim's room -- all the main bedrooms --
are right there, and Jason's pretty sure he saw the edge
of one of Tim's trainers, which means Bruce *definitely*
saw it, which means Tim is doing a bad job of hiding. A
*really* bad one, and why -- *how* -- had he not gotten
caught before now, again?

Maybe it's a question of how they're on his turf now, which
is supposed to be safe, and --

It kind of makes Jason feel even queasier, like maybe his
face is green enough, by this point, to clash with his suit.
He really would've *liked* for Tim's house to be safe. It's
kind of --

If they're not doing this to keep the people they love safe,
then -- but then, it isn't really about keeping the people
they love safe from them. It can't be. Or Dick would be
able to spend more than an hour in Gotham without
looking like everything inside him is about three seconds
from exploding out over, well, everything.

But maybe it's not about keeping *them* safe, and --

"... like your tea?"

Jason blinks back to himself and the sight of Mrs. Mac sort
of expectantly beaming at him and the right answer isn't
'made from coffee beans.' Right. "Oh, I -- just some
sugar. Is good."

Bruce ruffles his hair.

Jason does *not* flinch. Much.

"So, I take it that the Drakes *aren't* home today? Whew,
I've got a handful of stockholders who'd probably
surrender their organs if *I* went to work on a Saturday
morning, ha ha."

See, the thing is, Bruce totally knew the Drakes *weren't*
home, so *this*... this has to be all about how Mrs. Mac
will spin it, or finding out if there's anything *to* spin.
Jason turns to watch her, knowing that Bruce is doing
the same in some creepy fake-on-the-outside-way,
and... yeah. He only has a profile view, but he'd bet his
own money that that was a Mac-flinch, of sorts.

"Oh, they're... well, they travel a lot for Drake Industries,
I'm sure someone like you understands," is what she says,
and her smile is just for Bruce and mostly, mostly right.

Bruce nods at her. "I'm sure."

The question is whether or not Bruce is trying to figure out
if Drake Industries is dirty, somehow, or if this is just
about the fact that their kid had had kind of way -- *way*
too much freedom over the past few years. And how
much Bruce knows about that freedom, and --

"Well, at least Timmy's home, right?"

And Bruce squeezes Jason's shoulder again, so Jason bites
his own tongue to keep from correcting. It's totally another
test.

"Oh, well -- well, yes, he is! He must be busy on his
computer to not have come down by now," Mrs. Mac says,
and sets the tray down on the coffee table in front of the
couch he and Bruce are on. "Shall I fetch him?"

Bruce smiles. "Please. I really would like to meet Timmy.
Jason's been so very *excited* about their friendship,
ha ha --"

"It's Tim. Actually. Um. I prefer... I prefer Tim."

And Bruce tightens his grip on Jason's shoulder, but really
just no. It's Bruce's own fault for letting Mrs. Mac steer
them to a couch that would leave their backs to a door,
and Bruce is being *Bruce*, so he doesn't try as hard as
he could to keep Jason from turning and grinning,
because, yeah, Tim's right there.

Jason bites back the urge to say... pretty much all of the
first seventeen or so things that pop into his head -- Tim's
hair is wet and only half-spiked, like maybe the doorbell
had rung before he could get serious with the product,
and he looks freaked, and he's got balls like Jason can't
even believe.

Grinning works, especially since it has to leaven the way
Bruce is grinning at him, too, and standing and moving
closer, or... well, something should leaven it.

Tim takes a really *obvious* step back before stiffening
his own spine -- also really obviously.

"Well, all right, I'll just call you 'Tim,' then, ha ha. Bruce
Wayne," Bruce says, offering Tim his hand and more of
that terrifying *smile*. "I believe you already know my
son Jason, ha ha ha."

"I --" Tim shoots him a look, and he's totally looking for
a cue, and Jason's willing to bet his little shrug completely
isn't cutting it. Tim shakes Bruce's hand and gives him the
world's *sickliest* smile, and --

"Well, goodness, Tim! I'm going to have to bell you for the
sake of my heart!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Mac," Tim says, never looking away from
Bruce's eyes. "The carpeting in here is... very thick."

And also you're the best stalker since *ever*, but Jason's
not sure how much of that he can get into a facial
expression without looking like Mrs. Mac's jabbing him with
that hypothetical cattle prod. So... talking would maybe
work. A little better. "Yeah, uh... Bruce totally wanted to
meet you, Tim. You know, after all that talking about you
I did."

That gets Tim's attention, and a questioning look which is
all about *when*, but -- yeah.

"You know, after we went to the park yesterday," he says,
and he can *feel* Bruce calling him the worst kind of liar
with every tensed-up square inch of the man's body, but
he can also *see* the knowledge in Tim's eyes that Jason's
just as out of the loop as Tim. Which is good enough, or
at least...

Well, it *feels* better, somehow, to give Tim at least as
much ammo as *he* has, especially since Tim's the one
who's getting the Bruce Wayne treatment and the *Bat*
eyes. Jason can't *see* Bruce's eyes from here, but he
totally doesn't have to.

"So, uh..." Jason makes himself turn around deliberately.
"Got enough tea for Tim, Mrs. Mac?"

"Why, of *course*," she says, beaming. "Just let me put
more water on!"

Had she seriously only made enough for him and Bruce,
before...?

Tim raises an eyebrow at him when he picks up the teapot
to check, and... yeah. Well, maybe she'd just planned on
making tea for herself and -- how much time *had* she
had to make tea for him and Bruce?

There's no real way to be sure -- he's pretty much been
too stupid to notice much of *anything* since finding that
tracer -- but...

But it would be so much easier if Bruce would just give
him a hint about why they're *actually* here, instead of
smiling benignly at Tim like if he stops his face will fall
off or something.

It would be better if Tim had sat next to him, as opposed
to on the couch across from them both, but that wouldn't
fit within this little social drama of maximum suffering.
Maybe this is supposed to be punishment. If he betrays
Bruce, then --

He hadn't. He *hadn't*. He was going to talk to Bruce,
only Bruce wouldn't let him before, and now he really
can't.

Especially when Mrs. Mac comes bustling back out with
another nice-looking teapot that's probably second-best
or something and starts handing out fresh cups and
sugar cookies. Jason hates sugar cookies. Tim's looking
at them like he's trying to figure out what planet they
came from.

Bruce crunches into one -- managing to smile while he
does it -- and freaking *winks* at Mrs. Mac, who looks
like she's about to have a fluttery middle-aged woman
aneurysm.

At which point Jason starts picturing Bruce -- heh --
macking on her like a debutante at some stupid-assed
charity ball, and he thinks he should probably be forgiven
for physically shaking himself like a dog.

"Goodness! Are you all right, Jason?"

"Ha ha, easy there, son, don't want you to shake out all
the brains in your head. That would be *dangerous*."

And he should totally be forgiven for the pure "what the
fuck" look he's throwing at Bruce, especially since it makes
Tim's mouth twitch in that really good way that totally
isn't all-Jason's, but feels that way, but --

Damn. Bruce is looking at Tim again, and the twitch is gone,
and if he elbows Bruce in the ribs, the man will just call
him 'tiger' or 'son' again, and then he'll have to try to
make a break for it with Tim, maybe Rolls-jack Alfred,
and --

"So, how are you doing in school, Timmy?"

Tim flushes hard. "Tim. Please. I'm... I'm doing well, I
think. Tidwell Boys isn't especially... um. Challenging."

"Ha ha, well, you just keep it up, kiddo, school's
*important* -- or so all my teachers tried to tell me."
And Bruce winks at Mrs. Mac *again*, and she --

The only word for that is 'titter.' It's like she's trying to
do bird calls and flirt at the same time.

Jason's pretty sure Alfred would forgive him for the
Rolls-jacking. Now he just needs to get far enough away
from Bruce that he won't be able to stop his initial escape
attempt. Tim's staring at him so hard that he *has* to
know what Jason's thinking -- it could totally work.

"I'm afraid Jason here is more the kind of student *I* was,"
Bruce says, and gives him the Bruce-Wayne-is-Stern face
combined with the Bat-version of 'don't try it' eyes.

It pretty much pins him to the couch. "Bruce --"

"You should be more like your friend here, tiger." And he's
totally wagging a finger.

Mrs. Mac sucks her damned *teeth* at him.

He could totally point out that he'd *seen* Bruce's
transcripts -- Alfred had showed Jason when he asked --
and he'd gotten straight As in everything except, like,
fucking *Music*. Tim already knows that -- Jason'll eat the
ugly-ass tea cozy if he doesn't -- and Mrs. Mac totally
wouldn't believe it.

Well, at least the fact that he probably has the world's
most sullen look on his face probably fits right into Bruce's
plans -- whatever the fuck they are.

"I... could probably tutor if Jason wanted me to. I mean.
I've done it before," Tim says, and Jason pretty much
has to scramble to *keep* his expression correct.

Especially since Tim's looking right at Bruce, and -- that's
totally a challenge. He's *calling* Bruce on this stuff.

"Ha ha, that's --"

"Hey, Tim's pretty smart, uh..." Say something. He's gotta
say something. "He probably *could* bring my grades up."

The twitch of Tim's mouth *almost* makes Jason lose his
fake-earnest look for a grin, but he manages to keep it
together.

He can't read Bruce's eyes at all -- and really not once the
man pastes on yet another smile. "Well, I guess I'll just
have to check with my accountant to make sure I can
afford your services, *Mister* Drake, ha ha."

"I would settle for Jason's allowance, Mr. Wayne," Tim
says, and, yeah, he's got a kind of nervous -- or possibly
terrified -- tic going on with his left foot, but he's
working it. He's totally --

"Wait. My *allowance*?"

Tim smiles at Jason with his mouth and does something
kind of *else* with his eyes, something kind of -- Jason
doesn't know, only it makes him want to be alone with
Tim kind of right now. "Well. If your grades are *that*
bad, Jay..." Tim's shrug is completely fake and --

It hits like a fucking brick. He's totally playing this exactly
like Bruce. *Exactly*, and -- and he really doesn't need
to say that out loud. No, he totally does. "You know,
Bruce, Tim really reminds me of you in a lot of ways."

And okay, it's kind of terrifying how true those words feel
once they're out of his mouth, it's a whole different brick,
or maybe the same one hitting him again, and the look
on Bruce's face is pure *Bruce*, now, but it's the one
Tim's giving him that's making him blush.

"Well, now, that's quite the compliment, Jason!" There's a
quiet smacking noise and Jason looks up just in time to
watch Mrs. Mac's hand patting Tim's wrist really kind of
hard and see Tim staring at the hand like maybe it belongs
to the same alien planet as the sugar cookies. "You
*thank* Jason now."

Tim blinks at Mrs. Mac. And then at him. And then he smiles
in a way that only manages to not be a smirk by the fact
that it's on *Tim's* face, and Tim's smirks are a lot sharper
than that. "Thank you, Jason."

Jason grins back. "You're welcome."

But he can feel Bruce watching him, again, and ignoring
that is pretty much entirely impossible, so he turns to
Bruce again, and... man.

It *is* Bruce looking at him now, the real one -- so real
that he has to check to make sure Mrs. Mac is still doing
something blithery and oblivious out of the corner of his
eye -- she's totally 'fixing' Tim's hair -- because it's the
kind of look which makes Jason feel kind of weird unless
he's actually wearing the Robin suit, and he doesn't even
have it on under his clothes now.

It's even worse that it's a *question* on Bruce's face, and
Jason maybe knows what it is, but he doesn't have any
idea how to answer.

And it's just -- in his head, Jason knows that the look has
only lasted for a few seconds, but it feels like forever until
Bruce turns away and pulls another Bruce-Wayne smile
onto his face and he can breathe again.

"Well, Jason and I won't take up any more of your time,
Mrs. MacIlvenne --"

"Oh, it's no trouble at all!" And she actually jumps up and
nearly takes a lock of Tim's hair *with* her. "Really, I -- I
could put on a late brunch?"

Bruce stands, too. "Ha ha, now you be careful, Mrs.
MacIlvenne! If your hospitality gets any better my valet will
be *jealous*, ha ha ha."

"Oh, *you*! But... are you sure you can't stay?"

Bruce reaches across to take Mrs. Mac's hand in both of
his. There's some kind of flirty hand-patting going on, and
he's not going to make the 'eww' face. If he can deal with
the debutantes -- including the ones who decide that
hitting on *him* is a good way to get closer to Bruce
Wayne, Eligible Bachelor -- he can deal with this.

He stands up, too, and focuses on Tim doing the same.

"I really do have to go, I'm afraid, but -- well, perhaps I
can come around again once the Drakes get back from...
where did you say they were?"

It seems to take Mrs. Mac a moment or two to focus, but,
well, she's human and Bruce is Bruce. Jason takes the
opportunity to edge a little toward the door -- and a little
closer to Tim.

"Oh, I, goodness, I don't -- oh! I remember, yes -- the
Drakes are visiting Bermuda at the moment. On... on
business, I presume. Yes." The smile on Mrs. Mac's face
makes her look like the world's most broken down little girl
trying to please her Dad or something.

The eyebrow Tim's raising at her back pretty much says it
all, as far as Jason is concerned.

"Ah, Bermuda. Ha ha. I've gotten *lots* of business done
down there," Bruce says, and gives Mrs. Mac one last wink
before letting go. "I'll check back when I can -- and
maybe you can tell me more about that 'Mrs.' on your
name when there's no ring on your finger, hmm...?"

"Oh, Mr. Wayne!"

She's totally tittering again, and Bruce is moving, and all
that means is that they're leaving, *finally*, and...

And Jason still doesn't have the foggiest fucking clue
what any of this *means*. It's worse when Tim stops
trying to be subtle about looking at him, looking *to* him,
because all Jason can do is shrug. He wants to reach out,
he wants to --

He wants to do *something*, but it's not like hugging Tim
right here will win him any points -- anywhere.

He shrugs again, and thinks about maybe mouthing
something like 'I'll call you,' as soon as Bruce's back is
turned all the way, as opposed to just part, and then he
thinks about how that doesn't mean *jack*, especially
since Bruce could totally yank his phone privileges -- and
everything else -- easier than Jason can *blink*, and
Bruce is at the door and there's no fucking *time*.

Jason steals a moment -- Mrs. Mac isn't looking at
anyone *but* Bruce -- to just think 'fuck everything' and
touch his fingers to Tim's own for a second, and then
moves to follow Bruce.

"Oh, I almost forgot, ha ha, I swear you'd better check to
make sure I didn't leave my head behind, Mrs. Mac!"

She kind of blinks at Bruce. Tim's looking at Bruce, too, but
it actually kind of reminds Jason of the way he looks at
the kind of thugs who actually know how to use their
weapons, more than anything else.

It actually gets worse when Bruce reaches for an inside
pocket, but Jason pretty much has no way to tell Tim not
to worry until Bruce actually shows what he's pulling out
and -- tickets? *Three* tickets?

"Lucius Fox -- good man -- reminded me that I have a box
at Knights Stadium. The tickets are a formality, of course,
but..." He kind of waggles them at Tim, and, Jason
guesses, at him by extension.

"Uh. You want us to go to the game?"

"Were you planning on catching up on your homework
today, instead, kiddo?"

Jason rolls his eyes and -- catches himself too late. God,
he *does* have Bruce Wayne cooties. "Seriously, Bruce,
uh... are you..." Sure? Insane? Going to tell me what's
going on *anytime* soon?"

"Well, you *did* say how much Tim loved basketball, son,
ha ha."

Yeah. When they'd done all that talking. Right.

"Oh, Tim! Let me get your jacket!"

It's totally not cold enough for a jacket, but with Mrs. Mac
out of the room Jason can at least shrug more freely for
Tim's benefit.

He can tell by the feel of Bruce's gaze on his back that
he's leaving the script again -- as if he'd need a fucking
reminder when he's being himself as opposed to a little
pod-Wayne -- but, fuck it, there's just no *reason* for
the game.

Not with... not with the *three* of them.

If Bruce wants to play... let him play with himself. Jason
throws a look over his shoulder at Bruce that he hopes
is as challenging as he wants it to be and then turns back
to Tim.

"You know, if we bail now, your housekeeper will probably
totally forget we were ever here."

"Now don't be rude, son --"

"Who's being rude, *Bruce*? You charmed the mind right
out of her," Jason says, and smiles as sweetly as he knows
how.

"I... I do like basketball. Actually. Some."

"Of course you do, kiddo," Bruce says. "Jason *said* so."

And it's possible that the fact that Jason's no longer
absolutely sure that Bruce isn't about to kill them -- or at
least tie them to something for some pointed terrorizing --
should make him want to be more careful -- and man,
Tim is definitely trying to do damage control since his
whole posture has gone back to 'harmless, really,' but...

No. Really no. "So are we really going to the game, Bruce?"

"Ha ha, where else, son?"

Jason squares up and raises his chin a little in a gesture he
knows Bruce hates except when he's only pretending to
hate it. "You tell me, Bruce. *I* can think of a few places."

And there's another one of those moments, those
*question* moments where Bruce is right there, where
he belongs, only he's not actually giving Jason any --
any fucking *hints*.

"Bruce --"

"Ah, here we are," Mrs. Mac says, walking back into the
foyer holding Tim's jacket like some kind of damned
banner. "Tim always keeps his things *very* neat."

"My valet likes him *already*," Bruce says, and deftly
snags the jacket just before Mrs. Mac can start trying to
dress Tim, then hands it to Tim himself. "Well, we're all
settled, I think -- oh!"

"Yes, Mr. Wayne?"

"Please, Mrs. MacIlvenne, call me *Bruce*."

"Oh, you're a *bad* one, you are," she says, and Tim
edges closer to him, but he doesn't reach out when Jason
does.

Jason tries to shoot Tim his own question-face, but just
gets a head-shake, and -- no. It's more than a head-shake.
It's... he totally is on damage control, and Jason wants to
say something about how he and Bruce are kind of *like*
this, sometimes, how it's kind of expected that Jason kick
up a little, but...

But it's really not true. Not like this.

Usually, it's the two of them, or the two of them teasing
Alfred for trying to do stuff like insist they sleep
sometimes, or... it's the two of them, and now it really
isn't.

"... woolgathering, son?"

And yeah, he'd completely missed whatever bullshit Bruce
had finally ended the conversation with, but Tim's blinking
a little, too, so at least he's not alone. "Uh... yeah. Let's go?"

It comes out weak, but Bruce only nods, and steers them
out the door -- right hand on Jason's left shoulder, left
hand on Tim's right.

Alfred's standing in front of the back rear passenger door
of the Rolls, looking like he'd just been clipped out of
some kind of old-school car ad and pasted on Tim's
neighborhood -- hat, car, and all -- and the light says it's
still way too damned early for anything but sleeping in or
maybe -- *maybe* -- training.

When did the game even *start*?

And Bruce surprises him again by getting in first, but the
surprise really doesn't last. He gets one window, Tim gets
the other, and *Bruce* gets the middle. Yeah, fine,
*whatever*.

Jason crosses his legs more to stake out a little more room
on the seat than anything else and pointedly puts his back
against the door so he can focus on Tim, who spends
most of the drive looking like he wishes he knew how to
meditate and staring at the back of Alfred's head.

Bruce, for his part, reads the damned paper and makes the
occasional noise of dismay or interest or whatever. It's
all the same, it's all *fake*.

It turns out that they *are* headed for the stadium, even
though it's pretty much empty except for the people who
get things cleaned up for the cameras and the paying fans.

Still, it's a luxury box and it's Bruce *Wayne's* box, so
they're not even sitting down or anything before a
waiter -- or whatever you called waiters for luxury boxes
in sports stadiums -- in a tux is showing up with a damned
wine list and complimentary hors d'oeuvres.

Jason can't recognize whatever food product they used to
be, and Bruce would totally eat plastic if he was being
Bruce Wayne when somebody handed it to him -- or at
least make it *look* like he was -- so Jason can't go with
that, but Tim actually eats two, so they can't be that bad.

They aren't -- Jason actually likes cucumbers, though if he
ever admits it out loud Alfred will start throwing salad at
him with every meal again.

He eats three and watches Bruce look benign and
brain-dead and wonders what the man would actually say
if Jason just flat-out started making out with Tim, or
*walking* out with him.

He wonders if Tim would let him.

Tim is still looking at him like a small person-shaped
warning of *something*, but... he doesn't know.

He gives up and sits on Bruce's right, which Tim takes as
his cue to sit on Bruce's left.

Bruce raises an eyebrow -- slightly -- and says, "Scrambler,"
which makes no sense until every -- *every* -- light in the
place flickers once, twice, and then goes back to normal.

And then Bruce... he doesn't relax. That's completely the
wrong word for it. It's more like he was only a
two-dimensional drawing of himself a second ago, and
now he's finally real.

"I don't expect there to be any listening devices directed
here, but..." He raises the eyebrow a little higher and he's
back, he's right *there*, and Jason doesn't have a thing to
say.

"Is there a reason why you preferred to risk your security
at a public venue than... well." Tim's got his own eyebrow
up, and Jason pretty much wants to cheer, at this point,
but he'll settle for just getting *up* again.

He doesn't really like this split thing Bruce has got going
on, and if he had more room in his head for thinking as
opposed to just moving again, *breathing* again, he
might spend some time on the fact that that last thought
was something he should've had, like a year ago. "I'll
second that what the fuck, Bruce. What the --"

"Robin."

It stops him, like always, like the first time, when he still
had fucking welts on his wrists and he was busy wondering
if Alfred had more roast beef sandwiches anywhere. It
*stops* him, and it stops Tim, too.

Because Tim is totally not used to trusting... anyone's
security but his own, probably. Well, at least Tim being a
little fucked-up-looking gives Jason an excuse to deal.

"It's all right, man," he says, and then focuses on Bruce
again. Bruce is focused right back on him. "Why?"

"I know a great deal more now than I did 'after you took
Tim to the park,' Jason, but I *don't* know everything. Not
yet."

And you did when you practically threw me in your damned
car? He can't say that out loud. He still can't.

"I intend to know everything. Right now," he says, and
turns to Tim.

Tim kind of jerks a little -- and if Jason can see it, Bruce
must be able to pretty much *taste* it -- but he meets
Bruce's eyes. "Where should I start?"

"How you met Robin," Bruce -- *Batman* -- says, and just
keeps on staring.

And Jason doesn't know if he's really shocked that Tim
would spend just as much time talking about the moves
Jason had -- and hadn't -- used on the drug dealer in
that alley as he does on anything else -- he hadn't
realized he'd *used* that many -- but... still.

For a while, it's still easier to pace than to stand still, but
*after* that while, it's easier than that just to crouch by
Tim's chair.

Tim is actually making it sound like Jason had given him a
formal interrogation as opposed to freaking out and trying
not to freak out *worse*, but it doesn't really matter. It's
not like Bruce can't read between the lines. And he knows
in his damned bones that Bruce would just find some
Battish way to tell him to shut the hell up if he tried to
interrupt.

Still, it's fucking choice when Tim gets to the part about
just *how* long he'd been following all of them around
and Bruce's eyes actually *widen* before narrowing to
fucking *slits*, and --

"Four years ago. You began attending more charity and
business functions with your parents then."

"I -- yes," Tim says, and looks down --

"Look at me, Tim." In the Bat-voice, there's always an 'or
else.'

-- for about a second. Jason leans close enough that he
can push his shoulder against Tim's knee.

Tim swallows. "Yes?"

"What did you leave out, just then?"

"I... I began attending more of the functions which I had
reason to believe you would attend. Specifically."

"Because I tended to force Dick to join me?"

Jason blinks, a little, but it's not like Bruce *wouldn't*
recover fast.

"Yes," Tim says. "In any event, I couldn't... I didn't know
how to..." He laughs, a little. "I stopped telling myself it
was a hobby three years ago."

"When you were ten," Bruce says.

Tim nods.

And he completely hasn't said anything about the flying or
the ice cream or -- or anything else, at all, and the silence
feels heavy and artificial for Jason right up until he looks
at Bruce and finds him looking at *him*.

"What else, Bruce? What else do you need to know?"

Again -- *again* -- the question is right there, like maybe
Bruce can't *tell* how badly Jason needs to know what's
going on, and Jason wants to run and wants to see if there's
anything he can use to swing down to the court -- after he
busts the front window of the box with a chair or something --
and he wants to just *shake* Bruce, but Bruce just turns
away from him again. "What do you want, Tim?"

Tim blinks like he's waking up from something. "I don't --
nothing. I mean. I want. I want to be Jason's friend."

"You're aware of the importance of the secret you were
never supposed to be a part of -- that much is clear."

"Four *years*, Bruce --"

"Robin," Bruce says, quietly, and closes his eyes for a
moment.

Jason shuts up.

"You're aware, and yet you -- both of you -- have been...
incautious."

And Jason really wants to protest there, except that he
really completely can't. The park was okay, but... rooftops?
Screwing around with Tim in his house *in* the Robin suit?
He winces a little and waits for Bruce to actually aim
something *at* him again.

"I -- I have no excuse," Tim says. "I could say something
about... about surprise and the heat of the -- of the
moment, but..." He looks down again, but looks up before
Bruce can tell him to. "I certainly intend to be more
careful in the future."

Jason leans against Tim's leg a little harder and watches
Bruce's eyes narrow in that *other* way. He wonders if
Tim can tell it's a smile.

"You intend for there to *be* a future?"

"I -- well, I --" Tim's blushing hard, so the answer to if he
can tell is totally a no.

Jason shifts away enough to jab Tim a little with his elbow.

"Ow, I -- what?"

"He's fucking with you, now. Totally."

Bruce gives him a *look*. "Am I?"

Jason gives it back. "Yeah, you are. Look, can we just --
can we cut this?"

Bruce tilts his head at him. "What point do you feel we're...
dancing around?"

"The fact that Tim was good enough to stalk us -- all of
us -- for years without being caught. The fact that the
only reason I *did* catch him is that I got lucky at the
same time *he* got overconfident about just how much
attention I pay to my surroundings when I'm beating
on some asshole. The fact that he's smart, fast,
obsessive, and fucking *tricky*."

"Jason --"

"No, shut up a second, Tim." Jason puts a hand on Tim's
knee and squeezes. "Seriously, I -- you read Bruce in
about two minutes back at your place and started
playing his freaky little game like maybe *you* had a
mask in your damned bat-closet, somewhere."

"Just a lot of photographs. And it's a password-protected
hard drive. Um. I -- Jason --"

Jason squeezes Tim's knee again and focuses on Bruce.
"He's good and he could be better. He's got fucking
*brass* ones, Bruce -- you *saw* it. And he already
knows -- fuck, everything. He's got -- he's got more
than I did when you picked me up off the damned
street. He's got more than I have *now* --"

"You think he should have *your* job, Jason?"

And it makes his heart trip over, because it's everything
he's fucking *afraid* of, at night, when he's not dreaming
of whatever Two-Face had done to his Dad to earn him
an autopsy report like the one on Bruce's computers. But
he can deal, because he *knows* that tone in Bruce's
voice. ("Ready, Robin?") "I think," he says, "I could use
a partner, *too*."

He can feel -- he can *totally* feel -- Tim looking at him
like he's insane, just like he can hear Tim gasping a little,
but Bruce only looks at him for a long, long moment before
turning to Tim again.

"What do you want?"

"I --" Tim stares at him kind of frantically.

"Be *honest*, man, we're all right *here*."

And Tim... licks his lips. A little. And then he turns to Bruce.
"Everything I can have."

And it's just...

It's *not* a look Jason's seen on Bruce's face before, but it
feels like he has.

Like maybe it was just hidden behind a cowl the last time,
or maybe Jason was busy trying to jack Bruce's fucking
*tires*. It doesn't matter. It makes Jason seize up inside
and want to move in a completely different way, and he
knows Tim feels it -- *it* -- too.

To the point where they both kind of gasp a little when
Bruce stands up and stares down at them for half a
second -- not *long* enough -- before moving for the door.

"Bruce --"

"Not here, Jason," Bruce says, and that's pretty much
when Jason realizes that it had been him that had said
something. "Not... not here."

Bruce calls Alfred from the hall outside the box, and Jason
nabs another few hors d'oeuvres from the waiter as he
trails the man. He gives one to Tim and smiles when Tim
looks a question at him this time. And he moves to catch
up to Bruce, walking a little faster -- Leslie had said he'd
probably wind up a little taller than Dick whenever he
stopped growing, but it's *not* happening fast enough. --
but Tim totally grabs him.

"C'mon, we're going -- you *know* where we're going."

"Jason, I -- what just *happened*? I don't -- we can't
just --"

And Jason should probably do more than just glance
around before kissing Tim, but hell, it's not like they aren't
in civvies.

Civvies -- both of them, because Tim is going to -- God,
will he be Robin, too?

He kisses Tim a little harder, and for a little longer -- long
enough for Tim to kiss him back and a little more than
that and pulls back and grabs Tim's hand and forces them
into a little jog until Bruce is in sight again, until Jason
feels *comfortable* just walking again.

"Jason --"

"Do you really want it? Want *this*?"

"Yes, but --"

"Do you want it more than anything?"

And it actually takes Tim long enough to answer that Jason
looks at him again, squeezing Tim's hand a little.

"Hey, are you -- I mean. I think I -- I think I need you,
you know?"

"Yes," Tim says, and kisses him again, fast and awkward
and their teeth click and Jason is totally going to get to
help design the uniform. If Tim gets to wear pants, *he*
might.

Someday.

They actually have to wait a little while for Alfred once they
get to the -- private, natch -- parking garage, but they
*are* downtown. Even when there aren't supervillains
running around fucking shit up, there's still traffic.

Bruce has got Bruce Wayne pulled back over him like the
world's creepiest cloak, but it's okay, because now
*both* he and Tim are allowed to realize that it's a
fake-job for whoever's wandering around.

And because even though Jason *had* been thinking it
already, it's still different when Bruce is thinking it, too,
when Bruce can tell how *much* Tim belongs right there,
wherever right there *is*.

So long as it's with them.

"So I'm trying to decide whether I should introduce you
to Dick or just have him show up at your house one night.
In the -- in his work clothes. Heh."

"Don't be silly, son, Dick doesn't have work clothes. He's
a *bartender* of all things, ha ha ha. Boys will be boys,
eh?"

Jason ignores Bruce and smirks at Tim. "You'd totally piss
your Supersheets. Admit it."

Tim folds his arms and smirks right back. "You did say
something about getting me rubber ones."

"Or Kr -- uh. Special ones. From out of *town*."

Tim smirks a little wider. "So the rubber ones are for
*your* bed? What are *you* scared of, Jason?"

"Bruce making me wear B -- Babs' heels, of course."

"Boys," Bruce says, and it's a funky little mix of the Bruce
Wayne voice and the real one, which means that it's a mix
of worth listening to and really not.

It's not like there *is* anyone around. "I don't look *good*
in yellow, Bruce. Even the... uh... work clothes make me
look sickly. And kinda gay."

"I thought that was just your bangs," Tim says, under his
breath.

"*Boys*."

"Like you can talk. Your hair dried all funny, you know.
You look a little like a half-crushed hedgehog."

"What does that say about your taste in... friends?"

And no, he's not really shocked when Bruce's hands land
on their shoulders again, and he totally deserves the
squeeze he's getting that's about a millimeter and a pound
of pressure away from being a nerve pinch -- he hopes
Bruce is being at least a little easier on Tim -- because he
*is* acting like an asshole. And so is Tim.

But it's... it's okay, somehow, to do it with Bruce, and
maybe a little for Bruce. Like it's an apology or something,
or maybe just the way their life should be, weird little
spoken-out fake laughs and nerve pinches and all.

Because it *feels* good.

Because Tim's blushing like he just figured out that he was
*being* an asshole, but he's also still smiling.

Because... because it feels good.

That's enough.

And when Alfred pulls the car up, Bruce lets Jason take
the middle.

That's enough, too.

He's about two hours post-Alfred-sandwiches and one
hour pre-needing-more-sandwiches and he's in the Cave.
They all are -- even Alfred, though he's doing that thing
where he's not lurking so much as being subtle about
paying attention to everything, everywhere, but especially
the way Bruce is working with the New Kid.

And okay, that's just beyond huge -- because Jason hadn't
even really noticed it, that there was a shift in there
somewhere between Tim being, well, kind of *his* and
Tim being...

Well, okay, Tim being tossed halfway across the mats.

Ow.

Damn, that looked painful. Still, it also looked familiar, in
that way that makes Jason realize that he hadn't really
given much thought to what his own training was like
since... well.

Since the first time he got to wear the suit on the streets.
It's not like Bruce can't *still* beat him like a little bitch,
it's just that they both know that just because *Bruce*
can doesn't mean that most of the criminals and
supervillains out there can. It's this whole... *thing*. It's
how Bruce looks at him and how Jason kind of looks at
himself.

And it's everything Tim's really not having right about now.
Ow. Damn. Jason also remembers *exactly* how it feels
to skid off the mats and wind up on that stone floor. And,
like, wind up with pieces of the floor imbedded in your
skin. Jeez.

Still, what Tim is having now -- other than the pain -- is
exactly what Jason had back when he first got here. And
probably what Dick had, too. Tradition.

Later, Alfred will patch Tim up -- and damn well let Jason
*help* -- until he's solid enough to go back home, and
there'll be cocoa, and Alfred will say something that will
start rebuilding Tim's self-esteem, and then... and then
Jason is really going to have to *see* how fucked-up
Tim is, because he kinda totally wants to make out more.
And other things. And...

Jason narrows his eyes at Bruce. He hadn't even been up
to jerking *off* for a while in the beginning of his
training. This could all be some kind of fucked-up
Bat-abstinence thing. This could *suck*.

Maybe he should, like, convince Bruce that *he* needs
more one-on-one sparring time or something. Just to
give Tim some time to catch his breath and remember
the importance of saving a little something for his...
his soon-to-be partner. Heh. Yeah. That could work.

There's a soft clatter on the work-table that's Alfred
simultaneously handing him the colored pencils he'd
asked for and also reminding him not to be so obvious.
Alfred's good at stuff like that. Jason forces himself to
look away from Tim's suffering and nods his thanks to
Alfred before turning back to his little work-sheet.

And... okay, so he completely sucks at drawing. Tim's
skinny, but he's not, actually, a stick figure. Still, he
doesn't have to make this pretty, he just has to make it
comprehensible.

Jason makes the arrow pointing to the stick figure's
*covered* legs nice and thick and, well, pointed.

And then he starts working on the cape.

The cape could be just as short as his own, after all. Tim's
got a sweet little ass.

end.
 
 

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