Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/9713444.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      DCU_(Comics), Batman_(Comics), Red_Hood_and_the_Outlaws_(Comics), Red
      Robin_(Comics)
  Relationship:
      Tim_Drake/Jason_Todd
  Character:
      Tim_Drake, Jason_Todd, Bruce_Wayne, Dick_Grayson
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Student/Teacher, Angst, Why_angst_for_valentines?,
      we_just_don't_know, Alternate_Universe, Consensual_Underage_Sex
  Series:
      Part 1 of JayTim_Week:_Valentine’s_Day_Edition_2017
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-14 Words: 6562
****** They say the devil's water, it ain't so sweet ******
by vertigo
Summary
     He expects everything from businessmen running with their suitcases
     over their heads, to respectable ladies in their kitten heels finding
     shelter in the nearest café and the invisible population of Gotham
     seeking somewhere at least less drenched to hide until the rain lets
     up. What he doesn’t expect is to find the young Timothy Drake, still
     in his (drenched) Brentwood uniform, looking at the sky as if it was
     mocking him.
Notes
     Yup, first day of Jaytim Valentine's Week and I'm already setting the
     mood for complete angst. Thank you, as always to my personal fluffer
     BlueFlameBird <3. And since I'm without internet at home, I don't
     know how my posting schedule will be, so sorry in advance :c
See the end of the work for more notes
Gotham is known for two things mainly: its terrible architecture, which is a
mix between slowly decaying gargoyles and skyscrapers reflecting the drops of
rain, present even in the summer, where people were supposed to be happy and
tanned. Butno, torrential summer rains always catch people when they’re leaving
their workplace on Fridays, mentally preparing themselves to a nice weekend.
Gotham probably adopted the weather from its predecessor in England.
 
But Jason Todd still loves the cold showers that bless the pavement at six pm,
he still loves taking Bruce’s car to Gotham U during a cloudy summer day and
drive it back after an exhausting day dealing with his peers.
 
He expects everything from businessmen running with their suitcases over their
heads, to respectable ladies in their kitten heels finding shelter in the
nearest café and the invisible population of Gotham seeking somewhere at least
a less drenched to hide until the rain lets up. What he doesn’t expect is to
find the young Timothy Drake, still in his (drenched) Brentwood uniform,
looking at the sky as if it was mocking him. Jason stops his car, lowering the
passenger window and trying to shout above the splattering sound of the
downpour. Tim turns his head and shows him his most brilliant smile, sprinting
to reach the safety of Jason’s warm car. “You, Mr. Todd, are a life saver!”
 
“I’ve told you Tim, you can call me Jason.” He smiles, ruffling Tim’s wet hair
as he shudders from the heated air hitting his wet clothes. “What happened,
kid?”
 
“Fencing practice. Lost the school bus. The chauffeur is in Metropolis with mom
and dad. Basically? Life hates me. Nothing new.” Jason is laughing, twisting
his body to grab the leather jacket on the backseat and offering it to the
shivering wet kid.
 
Tim thanks him with a small smile and Jason, the poor future literature
graduate, has to advert his eyes and focus on the road instead of drooling over
the sight of the younger boy removing his drenched uniform and wrapping himself
around the brown leather. He has to mentally smack himself in the head for the
sick and sudden urge to stop the car and bend the boy over—he should not be
attracted to a sixteen year old whom he casually tutors. He knows he’s been
harboring the thoughts on his head like a Nabokov cliché and that should not be
happening. He should not notice the little freckles that spread over Tim’s bony
shoulders or the way he casually seems happier whenever he’s around, or even
the little signs his brain identifies as reciprocate affection.
 
Tim buries himself in his jacket, Tim flushes all the way to the tip of his
ears when he speaks in Spanish, Tim always bites his lips when he leans over,
correcting a spelling mistake with an attentive eye. Jason hates himself with
every fiber of his being whenever an intrusive and borderline obsessive thought
about his pupil comes up to his head—he never acted on his desires, even when
alone, which led to many unfulfilling nights with his left hand hanging
uselessly by his side while he chain-smokes until dawn. He feels like a damn
predator in his head and thinks about turning himself to Chris Hansen with a
note stitched to his chest  Fucking sexual predator, shoot me in the head.
“Jason, are you there?” Tim asks with a laugh, snapping himself out of his
reverie as Mountain Drive shows up from behind the heavy droplets of rain.
 
“Sorry, kid.” He says, much to Tim’s dismay—the boy used to retort that he’s
not a kid, he’s a sixteen year old with an astronomic GPA who helps running the
powerful Drake Industries. But Jason needs to say it out loud, he needs to
remind himself that, despite his abilities, Tim is a kid. And he needs to see
Tim as one. “Got lost thinking about my thesis.”
 
The boy giggles, thatfucking adorable giggle that Tim reserves for him only,
reaching out for a crumpled pack of Camel that sits idly on the dashboard and
picks one of them. Jason has to roll down the window, apologizing for the smoke
that comes up when he first inhales the tobacco. “Is Shakespeare giving you too
much work?” Tim asks softly, reaching out with a calloused hand to pat the
fingers resting on the gear stick. Jason tries not to focus on how warm and
soft, despite the rough spots created by his competitive fencing, Tim’s hand
is. He tries to focus on the road, seeing the Wayne manor loom over them, or
the radio blasting Bon Jovi—anything other than the feeling of Timothy Drake.
 
“Fucking bard. I love him, but sometimes I feel like bashing his skull.” Tim
laughs once more, closing his hand over Jason’s when the driveway of the much
less sumptuous Drake manor appears behind the curtain of water. He smiles
brilliantly when the car pulls to a halt in the front porch of his house, the
warm hand still placed gently over Jason’s gives a little squeeze. “Remember to
do your homework. I’ll see you on Thursday.” He nods and the smile he gives
Jason is bright enough to obscure the xenon headlights illuminating the
driveway.
 
“Thank you, Jason.”
 
He’s left with the phantom sensation of his warmth and the burning desire to
see Tim naked, wrapped around his jacket, sitting on his lap. He hates himself
when his mind conjures the image of Timothy riding him, wearing nothing but his
jacket, his chest flushed, pink lips bitten to the point of swelling and his
pretty open mouth moaning just for him. Jason turns around and drives all the
way to nowhere, where Gotham turns into a small dot and he can safely call Roy
and sob for fifteen minutes straight, hitting the hood of the car with his
closed fist—otherwise he might just hit himself.
 
Talking to Roy eases his guilt—he always assures him that Jason is not a
predator, that he would never look at Lian in that way. It’s just a misplaced
crush, Roy tells him, Roy praises him for his self-control, Roy tells him that
it’s good that he’s talking to someone about it. He always offers him shelter,
but Jason doesn’t trust himself near children or teenagers, he’s afraid to find
out that his crush is actually a paraphilia and he doesn’t want to deal with
that. He doesn’t want to look Bruce in the eye and tell him he has a problem
and he needs to be put down like a dog.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Fridays are his days to get acquainted with a bottle of Tennessee Whiskey on
the nearest pub with Roy under his arm (and in his bed) and on Saturday, Jason
feels like he’s paying for all his sins when Katy Perry bids him good morning.
Roy snorts on his bed, ignoring the beat that rattles his windows and
reverberates in his headache—he feels the pulse of the beat in his arteries,
almost making him hit his head against the wall. But he ignores the urge and
gets downstairs, where Dick is bobbing his head to the song while slicing an
apple and Alfred busies himself on the kitchen in order to make whatever he’s
baking the most perfect recipe.
 
“Did the apocalypse come earlier?” He asks, but Dick just laughs, almost
spilling the apple out of his mouth.
 
“Timmy is growing up!” His brother answers, smiling radiantly. Jason is almost
compelled to complain, but bites his tongue when he remembers how he and Dick
were. Terrible teenagers with a penchant for parties that would rival any of
Bruce’s galas. “His parents left for Zurich so, why not give a party? Hell, if
only we were younger, right Jaybird?”
 
Jason wants to throw up, he feels the acidic taste of bile coming up to his
mouth, but swallows it.If only we were younger echoes loudly, along with a list
of repercussions—he would be able to take Tim out, he would be able to date
him, he would be able to do anything he likes to Tim. He just lays his head
down on the cool table, welcoming the refreshing embrace of the wood and a
steaming cup of coffee that makes his world a little better. Jason drags his
body upstairs when the coffee runs cold, back to the room where Roy snores
loudly.
 
He can’t contain the curiosity that propel his body to cross the distance
between the bed and the French windows. The same curiosity that makes him see
that Tim is hosting a private party, with only three other attendants.
 
One of them has Tim in his strong arms, with his mouth pressing kisses to the
side of the boy’s neck. Jason takes a deep breath and tries to sink his fingers
in the glass of the window. He won’t allow himself to be jealous at the purple
marks on Tim’s chest. He won’t let himself fantasize about how good it would
feel to be in that boy’s place. Jason watches the clique for a while, before he
finds out where the party is heading to: the only girl in the group leans in to
kiss Tim, the redhead kid molds himself to Drake’s side, his mouth carving its
place on the unmarked side of Tim’s neck.
 
He doesn’t want to attribute the knot in his stomach to jealousy. Jason simply
shuts the blinds and turns around, finding his space beside Roy still warm.
  
===============================================================================
 
 
When Thursday rolls around, Jason is not sure if he’s ready to face Tim. The
memory of last Sunday is still fresh on his mind and solicits every improper
thoughts he ever had with such force that knocks the air out of his lungs.And
keeps him awake during the long nights, to a point where there’s a darker shade
of black underneath his eyes.
 
He knocks on the door with the courage he doesn’t really possess, ready to face
the good old Mrs. Mac and her smile, but finds himself in the worst of the
predicaments when Tim is the one who answers it.
 
Tim, who’s still wearing his Brentwood uniform that doesn’t even begin cover
the fading purplish trails on his neck.
 
“Mrs. Mac isn’t in,” Tim supplies when Jason looks confused and hesitant to
step in. “family emergency. She’ll be back on the weekend.” Jason sucks his own
tongue, stepping in and leaving his shoes by the threshold and following Tim
into the kitchen. This is literally the worst day of his life, when he has to
stare at the barely disguised ring of teeth embedded in his nape, covered in
faded foundation and not react on the instinct of bowing down and covering
someone else’s mark. “Do you want something, Jason?”
 
“Water.” He asks simply. Because Jason feels like he’s trapped inside a
warehouse caught in a fire, handcuffed to a pipe with a maniac ready to bash
his brains out. Tim answers his request with a smile and sits down on the high
stools of the kitchen, shuffling between papers to find what he’s looking for.
 
“I did the essay you asked me.” Tim is running his fingers through the pages, a
little confused-but-adorable crease appearing between his brows. “But I don’t
know if I got it right, some of the phrases sound a little confusing.” Jason
nods, swallowing the rest of his water and leaving the cup by the sink to
occupy the space beside him. Close enough to inhale the soft cologne that
clings to Tim like a second skin. He uncaps his red pen and starts reading
Tim’s writing—the boy has a terrible handwriting, made it worse by his lack of
faith in pens and correction tapes.
 
Jason runs a hand through his hair, exhaling softly and circling the first few
words that Tim got wrong—this is safe, he thinks. His grammar has improved for
the few months they’ve been having their lessons, but he still struggles with
his writing. “See, here…” Jason starts, tapping the tip of his pen on the paper
as Tim leans in. “ The correct way to phrase it is el vasovacío. In English,
our adjectives come before the noun, the empty vase. Usually in Spanish is the
contrary. And here,” He circles another word, taping it slowly. “you made the
same mistake some weeks ago, realicé means execute, you should use dares
cuenta.Cuandoél se había ido, ella se diocuenta de que loquería.Also, Quedate,
Tim, means stay. Quédate quieto.” Tim huffs a laughter, shaking his head. And
Jason realizes how adorable the gesture is, how cute are those too long bangs
swaying as he blushes for his mistakes.
 
“Spanish is hard, Jason. You make it sound so easy.” Jason leans on his elbows
against the marble top, a smile growing slowly in his face. “I mean I can’t
even say que—ke—da”
 
“Quédate.” He says easily and Tim just laughs, once again shaking his head in a
negative. It’s a matter of getting used to it. I grew up talking in Spanish,
that’s why it’s easy for me.” Jason unconsciously places his hand on Tim’s
neck, rubbing the faint reminders of his weekend.  “But you’ve been getting a
lot better, Tim.” They stay silent for a while, immersed in some soft
atmosphere that shields both of them from the word outside. At this distance,
the things Jason has put together about Tim are clearer and he catalogs it in
his head for further references. The way his eyes are clear and icy blue,
framed by short but curvy thick lashes . His eyes also have a delicate almond
shape, no doubt an inheritance from his Asian part of the family. Tim also has
a few freckles, disguised beneath the slight flush of his skin. There’s a
dimple on the right side of his mouth and when Tim bites his bottom lip, Jason
can see clearly that his teeth are slightly crooked and he crinkles his nose
when smiling.
 
“Jason,” He whispers quietly, almost as if he’s afraid that his words will
sound like shots ringing through the quiet night. “I’m about to do something
incredibly stupid, so, if you want me to stop, now is the time.” Jason’s brain
is short-circuiting right now, every red siren blaring loudly in his head as
Tim closes his eyes and the distance between them, pressing their lips against
each other. Every rational part of his brain shouts, telling Jason to pull away
and run, but little by little, those parts shut down, leaving him basking in
the smell of Tim’s cologne and the feel of too soft lips against his. He feels
his fingers slipping in to too soft hair when Tim bites his bottom lip, asking
for entrance.
 
He feels the last siren shutting down when he allowsit by parting his lips and
his tongue greets the curious exploration from Tim’s tongue. His brain
registers that he tastes like cherry coke and vanilla, but he doesn’t go
further on his evaluation of what he’s been eating, all his senses are tuned to
how warm and soft Tim is in his mouth and how their free fingers are now
entwined over the counter, the pen and Tim’s essay forgotten in favor of their
kiss. In his mind, he never expected this, he never expected to be graced with
such gentleness and devotion. Tim kisses as if it was his first, he
concentrates on matching their rhythm, on exploring rather than giving in to a
crazed lust.
 
Tim, Jason registers when he pulls away, is as sweet as his cherry coke breath.
 
The boy stays with his eyes closed for a while, his face flushed with the
weight of what they did. He doesn’t take long to press their lips again in
sweet chaste kisses that gradually turn heated—too much tongue, too much of
those pearly teeth sinking into his bottom lip. There’s no time to think when
Tim places his open palm against his chest, then curls his fingers around the
cotton of the shirt. “Come upstairs.” He asks sweetly, out of breath and with
eyes so shiny that Jason can’t do anything but to swallow a mix of their saliva
and take a deep breath.
 
His answer is a mute nod that makes Tim jump from his seat and pull their
linked hands, leading Jason through the maze that is the Drake household into
the stairs. He doesn’t register what’s going on—the true weight of Tim’s
request fly over his head when they pass the threshold of a messed bedroom and
stand in the muted light from a nearby lamppost. Tim is the first to move,
placing his hands against the bottom of Jason’s shirt and pulling it up; his
reaction is to immediately place his own open palms over the blue jacket,
brushing the pad of his fingers against the Brentwood insignia before sliding
it down on skinny shoulders. Tim takes another deep breath and leans in for a
kiss, his hands mapping Jason’s chest as the older man undoes each button of
the white dress shirt until it follows the same path of the jacket.
 
The first things Jason sees when they pull apart are the galaxies of fading
hickeys spread across Tim’s flushed chest all the way down to skinny hips and
probably beyond the blue pants. A surge of jealousy fills him and Jason leans
in, sucking a mark in the hollow of the younger boy’s throat as Tim grasps
uselessly at his buckle. His brain does register the timid moan that leaves
pinkish parted lips and how he pushes his pants and underwear in one go.
“Jason.” He whispers, sweetly as always.
 
The older man places his hands over Tim’s hips, pushing down his pants and
giving Tim and himself time to step out of their garments, along with the
precious seconds where he can look at his mark on Tim’s body, standing proud
and glaring red at him. He shouldn’t feel as satisfied as he does when he looks
at his mark—he shouldn’t even be there, with his cock twitching every time Tim
bites his lip. Jason files the guilt and regret for when he’s not backing Tim
against his bed, falling into it with him.
 
He hears Tim giggling when his hand brushes against a well-worn leather jacket
laying inconspicuously between the heap of bedsheets. His brow raises, as if
prompting an explanation from the blushing teenager. “I like your smell,
Jason.” He offers simply, his long spidery fingers tangling on the mess of
Jason’s curls, pushing their mouths a breath apart. “I like having it near me
in my bed. Whenever I feel your scent I just…” Tim stops mid-sentence to bite
Jason’s bottom lip, sliding it between his teeth. “I can’t count how many times
I’ve touched myself when I smell your cologne and cigarettes. You can’t…” He
follows the hard lines of Jason’s jaw with his mouth until he reaches his ear.
“You can’t fathom how it turns me on, how I’ve got addicted to it. How many
times I’ve dreamed about this.” One of Tim’s hands slides from the curls to
runs across the expanse of his chest until those soft fingers are curling
against his hardened cock. “About you in my bed.”
 
Jason moans, lowering his head to nuzzle against the fluttering pulse of a
carotid, back to the red mark his teeth imprinted over white skin and down to
the center of Tim’s chest. He moves slowly, capturing a pinkish nipple with his
mouth, making Tim yelp. “Sensitive?” Is the first thing he is able to say, his
voice sounding hoarse and foreign to his ears. Tim nods, curling his fingers
over the black strands, but pushing Jason back to his chest. He moans openly
when Jason bites down on one hardened nub and sucks it gently before rolling
his tongue around it. And Tim keeps on moaning, pulling at his hair when he
places several kisses across his chest to reach the other nub and give it the
same treatment.
 
This close, he can feel the maddened thump of Tim’s heart under his lips as his
hands rolls down, feeling the silky skin of his abdomen until he’s able to
reach the bones of his hips under his thumbs. There’s also the faint sound of
his breathing increasing, pouring into his ears while his little nails scrape
against Jason’s nape. Jason lets go of the nipple with a kiss that preludes
others, following the soft path of his stomach until Jason sits on his haunches
to observe the boy underneath him illuminated by the faint halogen light of the
streetlamp.
 
He lifts up on of the legs, tracing kisses slowly from Tim’s ankle, reveling on
the soft hairs whispering against his mouth and the deceptively strong muscles
that tense all the way from his calves to a milky thigh where he presses his
teeth. There are other marks there—and by the way he sees it, whoever did that
to Tim wanted to make sure that he would bear marks from his or her canines and
bicuspids for weeks. The jealousy flames up in his belly again, prompting Jason
to sink his teeth even further, leaving purple bruises on its wake. Tim, for
his part, reaches out with sharp nails to carve angry lines against his nape,
his moans escalating freely at each new bruise.
 
Only when Jason feels satisfied is when he stops, knowing that a primal part of
him is what prompts his smile—the smile that makes Tim shiver and part even
more his legs, hooking an ankle over Jason’s shoulders and running his fingers
over the new set of bruises inside his pale thigh. “Yes…” He says when Jason
pushes his fingers into the bruised muscle with enough force to leave a set of
his prints there. Still holding to the supple flesh of Tim’s thighs, Jason bows
down to place kisses over the boy’s abdomen, from hip to hip, then down to
nuzzle on the well-groomed curls around his weeping cock. He slowly kisses the
twitching shaft, all the way until he can wrap his lips around the cockhead and
give a gentle suck that leaves Tim moaning loudly.
 
He reaches out with one hand, mouth still  busy with sucking Tim maddening
slowly—Jason hopes to convey what he needs, and after a few seconds, he feels
Tim shift in his hands, his cock slipping from his mouth as he twists his body
to reach into the depths of his nightstand and come back with a half-full
bottle of lube. Jason likes to think that it is because of his earlier words,
because of him and not because anyone else might have taken away Tim’s
virginity. Nevertheless he grabs the bottle, coating two of his fingers with
the transparent liquid before going back to trace the vein on Tim’s cock until
he’s able to place the head in his mouth, tonguing the slit gently until the
boy moans again.
 
He slowly places his finger against Tim’s hole, rubbing it softly before
pressing the digit up to the first knuckle. Jason feels Tim struggling to
relax, his thigh gone tense in his hand as he moves his finger and mouth,
carefully, as if this was Tim’s first ride. In doesn’t take much time before
he’s pressing against his hand, asking for another one. Jason complies,
scissoring them and looking for Tim’s prostate in between sucks. He knows when
he’s found it when heavy drops of precum flood his mouth as he presses into the
sensitive spot and Tim practically lifts his hips from the bed, making his cock
slide all the way down Jason’s throat.
 
“Please Jason,” He moans as his labored breaths leave bitten lips and his
pupils are so big that the icy blue of his eyes are nothing but thin crystal
circles around the blackness. “Please, please.” Tim repeats reverently, his
hips practically fucking themselves on Jason’s fingers. “Fuck me.” Finally he
asks and Jason feels his cock throbbing just by the prospect of actually doing
that. He does take a deep breath, listening to Tim whine while he pulls his
fingers out and squeezes more lube into his palm to coat his cock—the fact that
Tim is watching, licking his lips at the sight and raising his hips is more
than enough to make him do a quick job and press the head of his cock against
Tim’s hole.
 
Jason presses in slowly, feeling the muscle give out until he’s flush against
Tim’s ass and they’re both sharing their breaths over parted mouths.
 
He moves leisurely when Tim moans his approval, pushing and pulling with all
the care in the world as if Tim was made of glass. That makes the boy moan, one
of his hands moving from Jason’s hair to grasp his bicep. “Jason…Faster
please.” And Jason can do nothing but to comply with his request, taking his
cock out until only the head remains and snapping his hips against Tim’s,
drinking his moans as if they were the sweetest ambrosia.
 
Tim keeps on sinking his fingers into his arms, raising his hips once more to
meet the thrusts and moans sweetly, so sweetly only for Jason. He lets out a
litany of moans, mingled with Jason’s name. He keeps on pulling and pushing,
feeling Tim melt under him until the angle his just right and his eyes are shot
open, presenting to Jason and only Jason the blue of his eyes. “There!” Tim
says between moans, his nails breaking the skin of Jason’s arm, and his
otherwise free hand reaching out to pump his cock.
 
The only thing Jason focuses is to fuck into Tim’s prostate until he’s
squirming in bed, moaning into his mouth so loudly he bets that even across
Gotham people can hear it—and selfishly he wants them to hear, to know that
Tim, in that moment, is his. It doesn’t take long for Tim to come, his name
practically dripping from the younger boy’s mouth as his cocks shoots white
lines all the way up his chest.
 
Is only then that Jason abandons all the pretenses and chases his own orgasm,
the knowledge that he’s in bed, with Tim, throwing him over the edge with a
muted moan. He breathes harshly, trying to even out the rhythm while Tim looks
for his mouth, kissing him softly as his body still shakes from the aftershocks
of his own orgasm. When Jason starts to pull out, Tim sinks his finger over the
already bruised skin, shaking his head in a negative. “Can you… Stay there…Just
for a minute?”
 
Jason sighs, wrapping his arms around Tim and bringing him up to sit on his lap
as they trade more soft kisses, tasting like cherry coke and cum. “I always
imagined you’d be louder Jason.” Tim says with a smile, his hands running over
the matted and sweat mop of hair on Jason’s head.
 
“Sorry, I’m not much vocal. But you…” Jason says with a smile, sinking his
teeth over one unmarked side of Tim’s neck, leaving another set of bruises
there.
 
“Stay.” Tim asks all of a sudden, his arms locked around Jason’s neck—and since
the rational side of Jason’s brain is still shut down, he complies, laying Tim
on his side and pulling out his now softened cock.
 
He has to swallow when Tim reaches out between his legs, catching a few drops
of the cum slowly trickling down from his ass to swallow it. “Next time you’ll
let me blow you.”Next time, weighs heavily in his head—next time means a
possible relationship, even if they’ll become just fuck buddies. Next time, to
the slowly awakening side of his brain, sounds like a death sentence. He
doesn’t want to think about next time, or anything that isn’t how warm Tim is.
Or how perfectly he fits with his head on his chest. Or the soft smile and the
stars in his eyes when he looks up.
 
Jason waits until Tim’s breath is even and his curvy lashes are fanning against
the pink cheekbones to cover them both and sleep. For the first time in months
he feels like he’s able to rest—maybe he can blame it on the realization of his
wet dream, but it’s most likely due Tim’s warm body curled into his bones.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
He wakes up to an alarm blaring and Tim’s starry eyes looking up at him—there
is still no trace of guilt when he leans down to kiss his lips, only a sense of
completion while Tim stretches and invite him to the bathroom.
 
“We need to take small steps to save the environment,” He says in his sleepy
voice, dragging Jason along to the shower. “Sharing a shower seems like a good
idea.”
 
Except it isn’t, there isn’t much to save when Tim kneels and blows him, or
when he gets lost rimming him until Tim is pounding the tiles. They end up
late, running to grab the coffee from an expresso machine and cutting through
Gotham’s heavy traffic—they know that Tim lost the first period when the
Brentwood entrance is thankfully empty. “Thank you, Jason.” Tim leans in to
kiss him, and he lets himself get enveloped in the sweet smell of his cologne.
“I’ll call you when I get out okay?” He kisses Jason again, just because he’s
already late and addicted to the taste of coffee in his mouth. “I…” Tim looks
like he’s swallowing down the last of his cowardice. “I love you.”
 
Jason’s whole world comes to a staggering halt and he has to look deeply into
those starred eyes. “I love youtoo, now go before you miss an entire day.” Tim
kisses him once more and leaves, looking too light on his feet when he waves
from the entrance. To Jason there’s nothing left but drive, the last words
ringing in his head. He steps on the gas pedal, leaving Brentwood, Gotham U,
the whole city behind until he reaches Mountain Drive. Rationally, he knows
that there will be no one home to see his walk of shame—Dick must be busy at
Wally’s, Damian is in school, Bruce must be working and Alfred is already in
the city, stocking up for the weekend.
 
The only one who lazily welcomes him is Titus, the Great Dane bumping his head
fondly on Jason’s knees when he walks in, and diligently follows him upstairs
to his room. There’s no one but the gentle dog to see him shucking his clothes
into the hamper.
 
There’s no one there to see the system of his brain rebooting at the first sign
of Tim’s marks. He inspects with a mix of disgust and pleasure the crescent
he’s left on his bicep, the nail marks over his back and neck. He doesn’t think
twice before stepping into the shower, cranking the heat to the maximum and
scrubbing his skin raw—as if it could remove the ghost of Tim’s hands from his
body. He doesn’t fight the sudden urge to throw up when he leaves the shower—he
even welcomes the bile burning on its way up, replacing the taste of cherry
coke and coffee with stomach acids.
 
Jason dresses himself and his pajamas and takes a day off to wallow in
desperation and sickness. He wants to claw his skin off, burn his throat every
time he heaves in another wave of nausea. He wants to ask Alfred to stop
worrying after he comes up with a plate of chicken soup that ends up in the
toilet five minutes later.
 
He wants the world to know what kind of a sick bastard he is, he wants the
world to hate him. He deserves it.
 
Jason is aware of how long he’s been moping when Bruce comes in, loosening his
tie and taking a space beside him. He wants to tell Bruce everything, he wants
his father figure to put him down like a dog, not to hold him as if he were a
child in need of comfort. “Jason…” He starts, but Jason interrupts him with a
heart-breaking sob, sinking his face into Bruce’s shoulder.
 
“Jason.” He tries once again, this time more firmly, one hand coming up to cup
the back of his head. “Can you tell me what happened?” Jason states a negative
with his head, the thought of what he did to Tim invading his head once more.
“What do you want Jason? How can we make it better?” We, Jason notices, because
for once in his lifetime, Bruce seems to realize that alone they can’t
accomplish a thing.
 
“Away.” He says simply, fighting the urge to throw up when Bruce rearranges
them on bed, cradling him as if he was small again, crying over his mother’s
death.
 
“We can talk to Talia, she would love to have you around.” Jason nods, for the
lack of will to say or do anything other than to immerse himself on the feeling
of acceptance that Bruce brings with him—even though in that moment he feels
like he deserves nothing but scorn.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
It takes Jason less than a week to recompose himself, a week where he swears to
anyone willing to listen that it’s just a stomach flu, that he’s not dropping
from Gotham U, that everything is fine. When actually he’s counting the days
for his plane to leave. Talia is safe, Tibet is safe, is a world away from his
problems.
 
He knocks on the Drake’s door without an ounce of confidence, only regrets
piling up when he greets Mrs. Mac and takes a glimpse of the counter where he
and Tim shared their first kiss. Mrs. Drake is home, albeit running around to
slip on her shoe like midnight will come and turn her carriage into a pumpkin.
“Jay!” She says softly, hugging him briefly before gesturing for him to help
her with the necklace. “Bruce told me all about it! You’re so lucky! Please
promise you’ll bring something nice when you come back!”
 
Jason nearly smiles—Janet Drake, for all her troubles as an absent mother
pursuing the best of the best for her child, is one radiant person. He knows
that she would kill for a taste of what he’ll having. “Promise, Mrs. Drake,
although I don’t know when I’m coming back.”
 
“Shush, Jay! Take your time! I’ll be glade if you—JACK, just send me a letter,
a picture anything! Ah, if only we didn’t have this little monster called Drake
Industries…” She sighs, leaving Jason’s hold to pull her husband by the sleeve.
“Tim is upstairs, please don’t mind the mess in his room. I swear to gods we’ve
tried everything.” Jason excuses himself, nodding a greeting to a tired Mr.
Drake before gathering all of the courage he doesn’t possess to trace the steps
back to the second floor. He knocks on the door, waiting for the teenager to
emerge. Tim’s hair is tousled, as if he just got out of bed, one earbud hanging
on his shoulder. The smile he gives Jason is enough to light up the whole
Gotham and he feels sick down to his stomach.
 
When the door closes behind them, Tim wraps his arms around Jason’s neck, and
to the older male, it feels like weights pulling him underwater. The press of
his lips go unanswered and it breaks Jason’s heart to see the stars leaving
Tim’s eyes when he cranes his neck to one side. “What’s wrong, Jason? I don’t
mind a little stomach flu.” He tries to joke, but Jason just places his hands
on the bony hips, half of him still hopes that his bruises are still there.
 
“I’m leaving in eight hours to Tibet.” Tim mouth opens in a small O, his hands
sinking deeper into Jason’s hair.  “I don’t know if I’m coming back, Tim.”
 
“Tell me this isn’t about us, Jason. Please Jason, tell me that you got some
crazy internship. Tell me that Damian’s grandfather snapped and he needs
someone to take care of him.”
 
“This is about us. This is about an adult having sex with a minor. This is
about me not being able to control my urges around you.” He expects everything,
selfishly, he expects Tim to shout and hit him, to fight, call him out for the
coward that he is. He doesn’t expect the heavy weight of Tim’s head against his
chest, or the slow rising of his back as he breathes slowly—resigned to Jason’s
words.
 
“It was consensual.” Is what leave Tim’s lips first, followed by another intake
of breath. “I don’t have much that is mine, Jason. Everything I own was bought
by my parent’s money. The only thing that’s mine is my GPA, it’s little and
stupid, but I risked it when I started the Spanish classes. I knew I’d suck and
I knew you’d help me. I knew it was the only way to get closer to you.” Tim is
tracing slow patterns on his hair, curling his finger around one of Jason’s
black curls. “I know I love you and I know you love me too.”
 
Tim is biting his lips when he looks up and Jason doesn’t fight the urge to
cradle his face in one of his hands. “Yeah, I’m just doing…”
 
“What’s best for us, yeah.You’re an adult, I’m a minor, I understand the
situation. If someone finds out, I’ll be let out with a slap on the hand and
you’ll be led in handcuffs to jail. Although I’d like you to stay and wait
until—”
 
“I won’t be able to control myself.” Jason cuts in, pressing their lips in a
chaste kiss, or what it seems, the ultimate proof that he’ll never have self-
control as long as he’s near that boy. “I know myself enough to know that I’m
weak and impatient.”
 
 Tim smiles at that, tugging them into the messy bed and laying down, his
starry eyes mudded with tears that insisted on escaping. “It’s both a good and
a bad thing to hear. I’m flattered that you love me so much that you’re doing
that and I hate you for doing that. But if you feel like the distance is going
to stop it, well.” Tim shrugs his shoulder, a resigned smile in his face. “Then
so be it, Jason. I’ll look for you whenever the law allows it.”
 
Jason wants to say no, he wants to tell Tim that he shouldn’t stop his life on
his account, he shouldn’t deprive himself from any other love interests just
because of him, but the words are lost in his mouth. Truth to be told, he’s
selfish, he wants Tim looking for him whenever he can—but he knows the distance
and the time will slowly erase him from Tim’s mind, rewrite their crushes as
some past mistake. “But for now, can you stay a while? Thirty minutes, it’s all
I’ll ask for.”
 
He swallows down the sirens in his head, their eyes closing for a few seconds
as Jason bumps their foreheads. “Yeah, I think I can manage it.”
End Notes
     Meet me at @beta-lactamase if you want to kick my ass.
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