Disclaimers: No one and nothing here is mine.

Spoilers: Mildly AU-ized ones for older storylines, and a
very small reference to NW:YO.

Summary: "I'll tell *Batman* on you, you freak."

Ratings Note/Warnings: Sexual content. Also... well, some
people may find the content disturbing.

Author's Note: Happy birthday, Jason! Let's call this "ice
cream, take two." Owes rather a lot to this picture by
Audrey, since it reminded me of a bunny I'd had floating
around for quite some time.

Also -- hey, guess what? Denny O'Neill said Jason was
*twelve* when he stole the tires off the Batmobile...
and that hasn't been retconned out. Leaving aside the
various horrors that produces -- the timeline *alone*...

Basically, what I'm going for here, in terms of timeline,
is the more old-school version of just what Jason's
early days of Robin were like. Which, interestingly, also
hasn't been retconned out yet -- as opposed to ignored.
Bear with me, okay? More notes at the end.

Acknowledgments: To Petra, Mary, and LC for audiencing,
encouragement, hand-holding, and helpful suggestions.
 
 

It's the clicking sounds that catch his attention, distracting
him almost enough for the dealer Jason had caught to land
a punch.

Almost.

He probably punches the guy too hard because of it -- he's
not, technically, supposed to break any bones if he doesn't
have to -- but the guy has about five inches on him in
height. Bruce'll deal.

And the clicking doesn't stop.

The clicking --

Okay, he's got this. He's trained to not react too obviously,
and he'd already nearly taken an unnecessary hit.

So he's just gonna pinpoint the weird -- and weirdly
familiar -- noise, zip-strip his target, pull his grapple like
he's *gonna* shoot --

Click.

Right fucking there.

Jason turns and pounces, knocking over two trash cans and
slipping a little in something that probably used to be food,
but just kind of smells dead now. It doesn't matter. He's
got the...

Hunh. Kid.

Terrified kid, dangling a little from his gauntlet, staring up
at Jason with eyes so huge --

Fucking kid with a *camera*. "Tabloids hiring 'em young
this year or something?"

Nothing but that wide-eyed stare.

Jason thinks about fixing his expression into something
more kid-*friendly* and -- ("We can't do any good if we're
simply the city's *other* crime-fighters, Jason.")

-- and doesn't do it. He rips the camera off the kid's neck
instead, and *that* gets a reaction. The kid actually
*reaches* for it. Jesus.

Jason holds the camera -- not a digital, but still obviously
really fucking expensive -- out of reach and glares at the
kid, who does his part by kind of tensing up under Jason's
hand and looking like he's trying to shrink himself down
even smaller. How old is he?

"I -- my camera --"

"Jesus fucking --" Jason stops and thinks. "You want this
back pretty bad. Why? What's on here that *isn't* me
beating the crap out of that asshole back there?"

The kid bites his lip -- hard.

"Well?"

A swallow.

It's so loud Jason can hear the -- heh -- *click*. He shakes
the kid a little. "C'mon, out with it."

"I... I wasn't going to... um."

Jason narrows his eyes. The voice is high, but not *that*
high. He mentally ages the kid up a little in his head and
shakes him a little more.

"I wasn't going to do anything with them, Robin, I promise.
I just. I collect them, and. Please."

Unfuckingbelievable. "You go around stalking fucking
*vigilantes* -- taking *pictures* -- and I'm supposed to just
give you your camera and let you walk?"

It's one thing to have the kid so freaked that he can't seem
to look at Jason anymore, but damned if he isn't staring at
the *camera*. Christ. And... wait. Fuck.

"How long have you been doing this, anyway?"

"Four... four years."

Jason blinks. "What -- what were you, *seven*?"

The kid frowns, a little. At the camera. "Nine," he says, just
like that makes so much more sense and how could Jason
be so stupid?

When *Jason* was nine he hadn't even managed to steal
anything bigger than some candy and the occasional six
pack for his fucking Dad. Jesus. He stares, a little, and
then makes it a glare until the kid stops staring at the
camera like it's the source of all joy in his universe and
swallows again.

"I... I promise I won't... if you just..."

"Are you seriously -- you're asking me for the damned
camera *again*?"

The kid winces, and Jason would bet his own damned
money that it was because he'd *cursed. Four years. He'd
been stalking Batman and -- *Dick*.

Jason snickers a little and shakes his head. "I should
introduce you to the Man. He'd make you fucking piss
yourself, you little freak."

"Probably. I..."

And the kid looks so miserable that Jason kind of... well,
he kind of can't. He sets the kid down on his feet and
pushes him back a little. "He'd be fucking impressed,
though. Four *years*? And *I'm* the first one who caught
you?" Jason can't even sneak up on *Alfred*. And he's
*tried*.

The kid shrugs -- and winces. Jason winces a little, too.

He hadn't known what was hiding between those trashcans,
but still. It's one thing to break a drug dealer's face.

It's something else to... well. He reaches over with his free
hand to rub the kid's shoulder, checking the muscles and
movement like Bruce taught him to make sure there aren't
any problems.

The kid stares at his hand like it might stop what it's doing
at any given second and smack him around.

Jason winces a little more, and coughs to catch the kid's
attention again. "So... thirteen, hunh?"

"I... yes." And back to the lip-biting and camera-staring.

Well, camera-staring, then hand-staring, then more
lip-biting. Right. Jason snorts a little to himself and pokes
at the kid's ribs. He's pretty sure a little -- he doesn't even
look like a *city* kid -- guy like that would be whimpering
if Jason actually hurt something, but he still has to check.

"Um. I'm -- I'm okay --"

"Uh, huh. So when you're *not* stalking us, what the hell
are you doing?"

"Collating, mostly. Some indexing."

Jason blinks. "Did you...

"And. Well, school."

Did he really just use the word 'collating?'

"I..." The kid shrugs again, and rubs his right forearm with
his left hand. Not like it *hurts* so much as just...
something. "I have my own darkroom, so I get to... well, I
wouldn't let *other* people develop these, and. Um."

And that... it makes sense. Rich-boy camera, rich-boy
clothes, rich-boy... but it's pictures of Batman and Robin,
right? That's maybe kind of weird, and fucked-up, and his
parents would probably want to know why he wasn't selling
them or something, but...

The kid is staring at the ground. Or possibly at the damned
pixie boots. But...

"Wait. What *kind* of pictures -- *other* than us beating
the shit out of people?"

And the kid actually *blushes*, and that would be kind of
funny and cute in a gay way if it wasn't also completely
fucking terrifying.

"You totally know who we are, don't you?"

The kid bites his lip *again*, but --

"You -- *Shit*. What's my name, kid."

"Robin --"

Jason grabs the kid around the neck and lifts. Bruce says
it'll be a few months before he's got the kind of power to
do this with actual criminals, but the kid is *small*.
"What's my *name*?"

Possibly he should let the kid get enough air to talk.
Possibly.

He scowls and eases the pressure a little. "Say it. Say it so
I can beat the *shit* out of you."

"That's not much..." The kid coughs. "... incentive."

Jason feels himself blinking -- *again* -- and he's really
fucking grateful for the mask, because... did the kid really
just...? Jason would squeeze again, but it's... okay, he has
to laugh. He really does.

He doesn't let *go*, but...

He really has to just snicker. Jesus. *Balls*.

"Robin --"

Jason shakes his head. "Nuh-uh. Say it."

And the kid looks so *completely* miserable that Jason's
actually thinking of easing up, but -- "J-Jason. Jason
Todd."

Shit. *Shit*. It's not like he was hoping for any better,
but... *shit*. Jason drops him, and the kid... well, he
kinda collapses, but Jason doesn't let him hit the ground.
Just shoves him back against the wall. "*How*."

"I... I saw D -- Nightwing perform. At the circus. And then
when I saw Robin do the same move. Um. It was... it was
obvious."

Obvious. Right. *Obvious*. Jason's pretty sure his head
exploded five minutes ago and he just didn't notice, but...
no. It's more like it's floating away. "At least it wasn't me.
Damn. Jesus. You know my *name*."

"I... I can pretend. I don't."

Jason figures he's got a choice -- either laugh or beat the
kid to death. Tough call. "How? Hypnotize yourself into
amnesia?"

The kid rubs at his throat. "I... haven't learned that. Yet."

What... the fuck. Jason punches the wall beside Tim's
head -- *both* sides -- and the kid flinches like he's maybe
going to piss himself for *him*, but Jason can't really
*stop* laughing.

Not for a while, anyway.

"What's *your* name?"

"Um. Tim Drake," he says, in a voice that sounds a lot like
"don't hurt me."

Well, at least he doesn't want to laugh that much anymore.
The kid -- Tim -- is apparently the world's freaking *best*
stalker, and also he has *pictures* and also he knows their
*names*, but... he's totally a kid.

And Jason's doing a really bad job of being Robin, right
now.

He forces himself to take a *deliberate* step back and
raises his hands between them. "Easy, okay?"

Tim gives him a really -- *really* -- skeptical nod and goes
back to rubbing his throat.

"Did I... are you hurt?"

"Oh. I..." Tim rips his hand away from his throat and stares
at it like he doesn't know who it belongs to. "Um. It's a
little sore, but. Um. I understand, and --"

"Shut up."

Another flinch. Damn.

"No, I mean -- don't apologize for me hurting you, okay?
Please?" Jason reaches out -- slowly and *carefully*, this
time, and gives the kid's shoulder a squeeze with one
hand and rubs his throat a little with his thumb.

"Oh --"

And winces because he's still wearing the gloves that you
pretty much *have* to call gauntlets, because they *are*.
Jason pulls back. "Sorry, seriously, it's not your fault we
fucked up, you know?"

"You -- I mean -- why would you notice *me*? I'm just..."

"The little kid who's been following us around since before
I was even *part* of the 'us?'"

For some reason, that makes Tim look guilty *and*, like,
*stubborn*.

Jason snorts again and pats the kid on the shoulder. The
camera bangs against his side, reminding him that it's
there. "Okay, *not* a little kid. The really fucking *tiny*
thirteen-year-old-who-was-nine-when-he-started. I mean,
I just turned fourteen, but *Jesus*."

And Tim kind of.. it actually takes a moment for Jason to
figure out that it's supposed to be a smile. It looks like
the facial expression equivalent of a whisper in a library
or something.

It gets a little bigger when Jason smiles back, though.
That's something.

Dick probably made the kid *beam*.

When he was... damn. *Six*?

"What is it? Um. Robin."

And probably also didn't make the kid look -- Alfred would
call it 'mortified' -- for asking a question. "I was just
thinking," he says, and kicks at one of the trash cans that
*didn't* fall over. It's full enough not to even rock, so
Jason climbs up and crouches on it. It's the kind of thing
Bruce does all the damned time, and Jason has to admit
that it's the kind of quad-stretch that he'll be grateful for
at the end of the night.

"About what?"

And the expression on the kid's face now makes Jason
look at the kid's hands reflexively. It's not like he's ever
been interviewed -- except by that dizzy windbag from
Gotham Society after his adoption got legalized --
but it just *feels* like the kid ought to have a notebook or
something --

"Or I could. Um. Shut up."

Jason shakes his head a little and scrubs a hand back
through his hair. "All you do is stalk, and index, and go to
school."

"I... sometimes I... well. Yes."

Jesus. That's... that's pretty much just *sad*. "You totally
don't even have a girl, do you? You've *never* had a girl."

Tim blinks at him like he's maybe speaking Kryptonian.
"The idea hadn't... I mean. I don't know anyone I. Um."

The idea hadn't... he was totally about to say 'occurred.'
"You *are* thirteen, right?"

"Yes," Tim says. It was almost at a normal tone of voice,
even.

When *he* was thirteen... he wasn't doing any damned
collating. Not when he could be doing *other* things,
anyway, and even if that *did* come down more to
"training with Bruce" than "hooking up,"... well. *Still*.
"So you do know what I'm talking about. Right?"

"Um. Sex."

Jason frowns. *Some* of the kids at his school were still,
well, *kids*. But Bruce had statistics on this stuff, and
everything.

And if he never has to hear Bruce say the word 'condom,'
again, it'll be much, much too soon. He'll take the nasty-ass
antibiotics again first, thank you.

Still, it's *possible* the kid was just... too high on darkroom
fumes to, like, develop. Did darkrooms have fumes?

"What about sex? I mean. What *about* sex?"

Jason looks at him, and tries to figure out how neat the
kid's clothes would've been before all the stalking and
tackling and dangling from his fist. But really... fuck it.
"Are you queer?"

Somewhere, Bruce is glaring at him.

"Homosexual. I mean."

Bruce is probably still glaring, but the kid is just kind of
staring at him. Not yelling, not cursing him out -- even in
non-cursing words -- not trying to punch him, not
anything.

Jason lets his arms rest on his thighs and leans in a little.
"What *else* do you do with all those pictures? Got any
of *Nightwing*?"

"I... I..."

Right. "'Cause that's who -- heh -- caught your eye, right?
Met him at the damned *circus*, watched him smile at
you --"

"He... he gave me."

Probably not an STD. "Cotton candy? Peanuts? Tickets for
the Ferris wheel? What did he give you, kid?"

And Tim stares at the ground. "He hugged me."

And Jason just... stares. He'd never asked about the kid's
parents. He thinks about his *own* parents, and what kind
of freak he might've turned out if he'd gotten a hug from
the guy who could keep the Teen Titans sane and happy
and talking like family (TV-family, even) instead of just
*soldiers* --

He doesn't want to ask about the kid's parents. Not really.
But.

"A hug, hunh?"

"He was. He was really *nice*, and you could tell... you
could tell he *meant* it, and then his parents... I couldn't
stop it. I used to dream about it every night. I still do, a
lot."

Jason means to let out a low whistle, but it comes out more
like a sigh. And Tim has gone back to staring at the ground.
And Jason doesn't really have a *plan* or anything, but it
still just kinda feels right to wrap his arm around the kid's
waist, squeeze him when he gasps, and shoot his grapple.

He's light enough that Jason totally *could* just fly them
around the city for at least a while -- there are a lot of
rooftops where Jason could stash him if he found some
more muggers or dealers to beat up, and he kind of
already has an image of what the pictures the kid took
would look like but --

Really, no.

Bruce has vetted him for flying kids out of burning buildings
and, like out of the way of machine gun fire, but really not
for picking up freaky silent stalker children and flying them
around the city just because he can.

If *Dick* were around tonight, it'd be completely different --
he's almost *positive* Dick would be doing exactly what
he's doing, only like, with flips and totally unnecessary (and
cool) detours around towers and flagpoles -- but he's in
New York, or maybe in space somewhere.

This has to be good enough.

Not that he can tell, really. Tim isn't actually doing much
other than staring at the ground when he's not staring at
Jason with big, big eyes, and --

Wait.

"Am I freaking you out?" He has to yell, and he knows the
wind is probably taking most of it, but the kid shakes his
head so violently Jason squeezes him a little tighter just to
be sure he doesn't, like, shake himself to an early death.

Okay, then.

And it feels just as good as it always does, only better,
because he has to work for it now. It takes a longer swing
to build the momentum he needs -- and practicing with
huge fucking sandbags is *nothing* like actually flying
with an actual person -- but that just means they wind up
even higher, going even further, even *faster*.

He thinks about what the kid's wearing -- the chinos
probably cost more than what he'd been able to beg
whenever he stopped stealing for a while -- and about
whether or not it's, well, *appropriate*.

But fuck that, too. *He's* wearing panties.

Still, though...

He lands them on a rooftop he likes -- remembering to lift
the kid a little so he won't drag or turn his ankle and fuck
their landing -- and sets them down.

Tim is panting a little and staring at him and -- pretty much
just staring.

Well, Jason's a little winded, too. "You okay?"

"I -- you -- yes! You -- you took me *flying*!"

Jason shrugs and scrubs a hand back through his hair. It's
a little tangled from all the wind, but then again it pretty
much always is.

"You... you took me flying," Tim says again, and just...
yeah, that's staring.

This is where he should pick up on his patrol -- after
dropping the kid in a taxi or something -- but...

Everything feels a little unfinished. He still doesn't even
know what he's gonna do with the camera that's been
banging itself against his armor for the past twenty
minutes.

And there's a *reason* why he likes this rooftop. He grabs
the kid's arm and -- pauses.

Normally, he just kind of jumps and climbs down from
here until he can swing down from the fire escape and
stomp on somebody's illegally parked car a little. He's not
sure --

"Robin?"

Ah, well, that's what the *other* grapples are for. Jason
grins at the kid. "Ready?"

"For --"

They only free-fall for about twenty feet, but the kid still
buries his face in Jason's tunic and squeaks a little. The
grapple catches, and Jason rappels them down the rest of
the way in four long jumps.

By the time Tim looks up again, they're pretty much on the
ground.

Jason stakes the line and sets Tim on his feet again.

"Um. What now...?"

Jason points to the shop across the street.

"Ice cream?"

"Ice cream."

The kid actually tries to order vanilla. Not vanilla *and*
something -- Jason always gets Neapolitan, because the
strawberry is really *good* here, and strawberry doesn't
really go well with anything else -- but just vanilla.

Jason elbows him gently and tells the vendor -- who's
giving him the "oh my God Robin is buying ice cream" look
which Jason, actually, loves beyond almost anything other
than the Batmobile -- to give him chocolate chip cookie
dough, instead.

"But --"

"*Live* a little, kid. Jesus."

He lets Tim hold their little cups and grabs him around the
waist again. He could just climb up the grapple he'd left --
he has to retrieve it, anyway, and it would be a fantastic
workout, but... nah.

He shoots another line up to their rooftop, grinning at Tim
when he makes that little 'eek' sound again, and *then*
retrieves both grapples.

There's a whole timing thing to this, because by the time
he's got all the stuff tucked away, his ice cream is melting
around the edges just *enough*.

He sits on the ledge and pats the space beside him and --
stops. Ledges, kids, probably bad --

But Tim just sits beside him -- carefully -- and dangles his
legs over the edge in an almost entirely believable
impression of not freaking out.

Which is cool, even if the kid is eating *around* the chunks
of dough.

"They *are* edible, you know."

"They... there are raw *eggs* in there, Robin."

Jason slides his spoon through until he gets just about the
same amount of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. "Well,
yeah. It's *dough*."

Tim takes another pure-vanilla bite. "Salmonella is... well,
it makes you really *sick*. It's *food* poisoning."

Jason stares at the kid. "You realize that if, like, you'd
sneezed at the wrong time we would've both fallen to our
deaths, right?"

"Um."

"Okay, it wasn't *that* unsafe -- I've done it a couple times
before," Literally. A couple. "... but... eat the damned
cookie dough, okay?"

There's a little whisper-smile on Tim's face. "What'll you do
if I don't?"

*Balls*. "I'll tell *Batman* on you, you freak."

The smile gets a little louder. "But then won't you have to
tell him that you took me flying and bought me ice
cream?"

Jason snorts. "I -- okay, I'll tell Batman I caught you
*robbing* the ice cream shop. At gunpoint."

That was either a laugh or just a noise. Jason decides to
go with 'laugh.'

"Yeah... you had hostages, and you were making little kids
*cry* --"

"I thought I *was* a little kid?"

"*Littler* kids. Toddlers. And babies. And... there was a
pregnant woman in there --"

"Was I making the fetus cry, Robin?"

Jason snickers and nearly inhales a little ice cream. "You
made the woman *go into labor*, Tim. It was terrible.
Like, her water broke all over the *floor*."

"That... seems really unsanitary..."

Jason gives up and laughs, and Tim smiles at him and
completely fails to eat his ice cream for... really kind of a
while.

He's just kind of *looking* at Jason, happy-looking in this
really quiet way, and Jason thinks about the fact that
getting hugged was apparently enough to set the kid on
a lifetime of high-stakes stalking, and he thinks about
giving the kid another one, because maybe this time it'll
make him into, like, a metahuman or something.

Only, if he actually did it... well, it would be kind of
fucked-up and fake, because Jason's just not ever going
to *be* Dick, and no matter how much shit he talks about
breaking the guy's records...

Well, he'd gotten a hug from *Dick*, back in the days
when... Kory always said Dick used to be even more open,
more just...

God, he'd started calling Jason 'little wing' before Jason
even stopped trying to be an asshole.

*Weeks* before.

So he doesn't hug Tim, but he does kind of punch him in
the arm. Except that's a mistake, too, but he manages to
keep Tim from, like, falling to his death. The kid's cup is a
total loss, though. Oops.

"Sorry! Robin -- I didn't --"

Jason laughs and gives up and just pulls the little freak
against his side, pulling the damned camera from around
his neck and setting it down and away from where Jason
could destroy it if he's not careful. It's not a hug or
anything, but, well. This close, it's easier to share his little
cup of Neapolitan.

Especially when he tosses his own spoon over the side so
they *both* have to just lick at it like kids.

When it's all gone but the melted stuff, Jason swallows
back most and yanks on Tim's hair until he tilts his head
back.

"Open up."

"I -- what -- *glrk*"

And... okay. Possibly he could've predicted that Tim would
wind up with pinkish-brown melted ice cream all over his
face.

Possibly, just possibly, he *had* predicted it and done it
anyway.

It doesn't matter -- it's still just damned funny, especially
with the way Tim is just *blinking* at him, and probably
Jason has nothing in his stomach but sugar, but at least it's
not all over his *face*.

He snickers helplessly and leans in and -- snickers more,
because licking it off Tim's face just kind of makes the kid
look like a very sticky deer in Jason's headlights.

It's just *ice cream* --

"Jason, I --"

And he shuts up again when Jason *licks* again -- God,
he'd nearly gotten it in the kid's *eye*, and maybe it's a
little -- heh -- suggestive, but --

Tim moans. Totally moans. That's *nothing* but a moan.

So... okay. It's a *lot* suggestive. And Jason hadn't even
gotten to the stuff near the kid's mouth, and maybe he
shouldn't --

"R -- Robin... oh, you're --"

And maybe it's even kinda *mean* for a kid who sex (with
*girls*) hadn't freaking *occurred* to, but he can't help
but make the lick a *lick*. Wet and slow and a little nasty
and way more *thorough* than the amount of ice cream
would excuse.

And Tim is -- kind of shuddering now. All over. He stops
when Jason grabs him by the arm, but starts right up again
when Jason licks his mouth again, and --

Opens his mouth. Well. And this is where he should
absolutely stop -- especially if he doesn't plan to *go* for
it -- but it's kind of like...

Tim knows Jason's name. And he knows Jason's *Robin*.
And that's... that's fucking *rare*.

It's... it's *rare*, because no one gets to know him
anymore who isn't a cape, and even most of the capes
don't get to know him because Jason is *Batman's*
partner, and the Titans belong to Dick, anyway, and
Jason is --

Jason is already kissing the kid, too deep and too hard,
and the arm Jason's holding kinda *spasms*, and the
one he's not comes *right* up to his shoulder and
*grips*.

Not all that hard -- the kid is way more bone than
muscle -- but. Maybe it's *not* too deep and hard.

Or maybe it's just *hot* that he can hear -- *feel* -- how
strangled Tim's noises are around his tongue. It's just a
kiss. It's not like... Hell, the kid's *thirteen*. And the
things *Jason* was doing when he was thirteen -- no.

He knows it's not like that for this kid -- he *knows* --
and he knows this pretty much has to be the first time
anyone's kissed him for real, but it all stops mattering
when the first thing Tim says when he pulls back is,

"Robin... oh. I... *Robin*."

Just like Jason is not just real, but like he'd never been
anything but -- dirty mouth or not.

And Jason swallows, tasting ice scream and spit, and...
"Yeah, Tim. That's me."

And Tim is *panting*, eyes so wide that Jason wants to
cover them, hide them, something, and his mouth is
red and wet, and when Jason moves his hand from Tim's
bicep to his knee...

He'd never been with a girl who spread that fast, that --
*naturally*, like it was some kind of reflex Jason triggered
by being this horny.

And it's *safer* to push Tim down onto his back, shift and
*move* him a little further away from the edge of the roof,
but that's not why Jason's doing it, and he can't even
pretend it is. The kid's chinos (and what kind of freak stalks
vigilantes in *chinos*?) aren't that tight, but he's hot under
there, *hard* under there, and --

What if he hadn't been? What if... what if the kid hadn't
even --

But he *is*, and he *had*, and Jason's barely got the
zipper down before the kid is biting his fist and screaming
and *coming*.

Just like that.

And it *absolutely* doesn't matter that it's all about how
young the kid is, how Jason is totally his *first*, it's hot.
It's...

"Fuck, I'm hard," Jason says, because it's the first coherent
thought he can form, and the sound Tim makes is *almost*
like a word (Robin?), but mostly it's just sex. Jesus. "How
long before you are again, hunh?"

"I... I..."

"Do you know?" And Jason catches himself playing with
the waistband of Tim's briefs -- he *catches* himself, but
that doesn't seem to be stopping him from doing it. Damn,
he's... "You jerk off, right?"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and blushes so hard that it's
obvious, even in the cloudy moonlight.

Jason licks his lips and doesn't think about it, just yanks the
kid's briefs out of the way and leans in. Breathes on the
kid right *there* --

And gets a strangled, bitten-off scream.

"You look at the pictures, don't you? When you're jacking it?"

"J-Robin... Robin, please."

"It's okay, you know. It's not like I *mind*." Especially if
Tim's hot enough to want to call him *Jason* rather than
Robin, because that's... Jason shakes his head and
reaches down to squeeze himself through the stupid
fucking panties because he *has* to. And when he
grunts --

Tim opens his eyes, and looks down between them, and.
*Damn*. Licks his *lips*.

"Yeah," Jason says, and maybe he's nodding like an idiot,
but right now he really doesn't *care*. "It's not like I don't
do it all the *time*."

And Tim's panting again, breathing hard and staring like he
maybe never even needed a camera. Just his own freaky
little brain, and... fuck, Jason really fucking *wants* to...

He rolls to the side and over onto his back, shooting off a
little pre-come in his jock when that -- *that* -- makes Tim
whimper, and forcing himself to just... *deal*. He pushes
down the panties and the jock and wraps his fist around
himself. "It's not like... nn... it's not like I don't think about
Batman -- " No. He *knows*. "It's not like I don't think
about *Bruce* bending me over -- over the car --"

"Oh --" And just like that, Tim is kneeling up and leaning
over him, clenching and unclenching his fists like he doesn't
know what he wants to *do* with his hands.

"Or..." Jason licks his own lips. "*Dick* sparring with me
until I'm panting on the floor and then just -- just fucking
jerking off on me --"

"Robin -- *Jason*, *oh* --"

And Jason closes his own eyes and reaches for his balls
with his other hand and -- stops. Freezes, because there's
*another* shaking hand on his thigh. Just.

He opens his eyes again.

Tim is staring, wide-eyed and. It's just his fingertips on
Jason's thigh, and Jason has to lick his lips again and just
try to *breathe*. Because the kid is rock hard again,
staring and...

"Tell me... what else..." The swallow looks *convulsive*.
"What else you... think about. Please. I... please."

And the groaning noise he makes should probably be
embarrassing -- for the volume *alone* -- and maybe it
even will be. *After* he gets off. "You wanna touch me,
kid?" It's a stupid question. It's an *unfair* question,
but --

But Tim's hand is shaky and soft and sweat-damp, it's like
a *girl's*, even with his erection poking out right there.
It's like being felt up by any of the soft little virgins at his
school, all trembly and slow, only it *isn't*.

Because Tim knows him. And when Jason grabs the kid's
hand and pulls it up to his balls, the kid's eyes just get
wider and his mouth falls open a little, and --

"Tell me, J-Jason. Please, I... oh, you feel... you're so
*warm* --"

"I want him in my mouth," Jason says. "Both of them.
Or... oh fuck. One of them in my mouth and the other
*fucking* me -- oh God --"

Tim moans and *squeezes* him, and it's almost a little
too hard and that's --

"Oh fuck that's perfect, that's -- just. Squeeze 'em for
me -- fuck -- Jesus --"

"More, Jason, more please..."

And yes. Yes, absolutely fucking -- "Yeah. Yeah, just. Touch
yourself. Your free hand. Show me --"

Tim's whimper cuts him off like a fucking *knife*, making
Jason buck into his own fist -- and do it again, because
he's *doing* it. Squeezing himself so hard the tendons
show in his soft little hand and -- "Oh God, *Jason* --"

"I just --" *Knows* him. Knows him and it's *okay*. "Oh,
fuck you're *hot* -- just want them to *touch* me,
Tim --"

"Yes --"

"Anything -- fucking *anything*, sometimes --"

"All the time. All the --" And Tim bites his lip and squeezes
himself faster, squeezes Jason's *balls* faster, and Jason's
gonna shoot all over the fucking tunic in about a
*heartbeat*, but --

"They could -- they could use me anyway they wanted --"

And Tim screams -- too *loud* -- and comes all over
Jason's *dick* --

"Oh fuck, that's -- *fuck* --"

"Oh Jason, Jason, you... I think you're just like *me*."

And he feels himself going *rigid* and has just enough
time to punch himself in the teeth so he can muffle his
yell before he's coming --

"Oh, Jason --"

Coming so fucking *hard* --

And Tim kind of... it's less of a hug than Jason kind of
being the sexually-satisfied grenade Tim is throwing himself
on, hard enough that it knocks the breath out of Jason, a
little, but, well.

It's not like he doesn't get it, kind of. That was really --
well, it was *intense*.

And they're sticky and Tim smells like come and ice cream,
and every bit of grime on this roof is going to wind up
stuck *to* them, and Tim is kind of -- well, squeezing him
and panting against his neck in a really *nice* way, and
Jason tries to cope enough to squeeze back, but the kid
abruptly tenses up hard and jumps *off* of him --

"Sorry! I just -- I -- oh God --"

And Jason lunges and *grabs* and, no, no
Tim-falling-to-his-death.

That would be *bad*. Just.

"Holy shit, kid, what was *that*?"

"Oh, I... well... I didn't mean to..." And the gesture Tim
makes is really vague and takes in both of them, so for
a minute Jason has to wonder if he's apologizing for the
sex, but...

But he thinks about it, and really probably not. "It's... uh.
It's okay," he says, and shrugs, hoping just a little for one
of those whisper-smiles.

He doesn't get it, though, and Tim looks like he kind of
wants to move closer to the ledge again, or maybe...
maybe like he *wants* to want to.

Damn. "So... come back here?" And Tim looks at him
and doesn't move and doesn't move and doesn't *move*,
and Jason's wondering if he called it wrong, but --

"Really?"

He really kind of wants to buy Tim ice cream and not...
well, not bring him home, because what the hell is he
going to say to Bruce? He has to say *something* -- that
*camera* -- but...

Well, more ice cream. But first he sits up and tugs Tim back
to him, and goes to kiss him right about the same time that
Tim is moving to duck his head back against Jason's chest,
so he just kind of winds up licking the kid's jaw.

Which makes Tim jump, and kind of bonk Jason in the
nose, which makes Jason snicker, and that's how he winds
up with Tim's tongue in his mouth. He *almost* bites it
by accident, but he doesn't, and then they're just kissing.

Kind of a lot, really.

Tim doesn't seem to mind being sprawled over Jason's lap,
and Jason doesn't really mind it either, even though it feels
like he has about two pounds of gravel imbedded in his
thighs and his cape is choking him a little -- every time
Tim tugs on it.

So he just holds on and goes with it.

Maybe he can take Tim back to his house on -- heh -- a
train.

Dick would probably think that was just the right thing.

end.

*

Okay, so I spent hours trying to work my head around
the new timeline, and it's not like there are any
comfortable answers -- especially if you use the retcon
which has Dick only being Robin for five years before
he gets fired. And the retcon where Tim was six.

In the end, the math cuts short the prime, canonical,
Tim-stalks-Batman-and-Robin-because-he-knows-who-
they-are time, and that's just not kosher.

I've done my best to work around the timelines of pain,
but, in the end, I'm just more comfortable positing a Tim
who would be pushing fourteen by ALPoD than positing
a Tim who would've only had a few *months* to stalk
Dick.

Because that's just silly.

And wrong.

Whether or not I play with the new-to-me timeline in
the future is up in the air.