#batwrites

“Okay. Our target will be entering the theater with his date sometime between 5:28 and 5:42. Research indicates that he likes to be in the theater long enough to see all the previews, and his date likes to have time to acquire snacks. I’ve seen the movie three times already, so even though the tickets say the movie starts at 6, it’s actually going to start at 6:14, and lights will go down for previews at 5:55. We’re going to enter the theater at 5:54 — question?”

“What if I want popcorn?” Jason asks, lowering his hand back down into his lap. 

Tim scoffs and rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the map of the theater. “I’m not answering that—”

“—We’re going to sit through a two hour movie that you’ve already seen three times, I want snacks.”

Tim’s lips press into a thin line as he glares at Jason. 

Jason raises an eyebrow at him, and the standoff continues as Tim assesses his opponent.

The air between them is so tense, it’s sort of surprising that a tumbleweed doesn’t blow right through the nest. 

Tim breaks first, with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. “Fine, after a cost-benefit analysis in which the cost is adding time to buy snacks and the benefit is you not intentionally sabotaging our mission, I have determined it is in my best interest to add time for us to buy snacks.”

“The cost is also the actual snacks, you know,” Jason adds. 

Tim very graciously decides not to throw his laser pointer at him. 

“Focus up, Jason, this is a mission.” 

Jason scoffs and kicks his feet up onto the coffee table, looking incredibly bored, but he nods at Tim and redirects his attention to the map of the theater.

“We will be entering the theater at 5:54. You’re going to laugh at something I say right as the lights are going down, so that I can shush you and draw the target’s attention. Then we’re going to find our seats, which are here—” Tim points the laser at a pair of seats two rows in front of the seat with a target drawn neatly on it, “—so that he sees us, but doesn’t have time to corner us. After we sit, you’ll put your arm around me — what is it now, Jason?” Tim sighs at Jason’s raised hand. 

“Why don’t we just tell them we’re dating?” 

Jason thinks he sees Tim’s eye twitch. 

“Are you insane?” 

“Are you? Look at this fucking plan, Tim.” Jason waves a hand at the map of the theater. “You saw the Barbie movie three times for this, and you’re going to see it a fourth.” 

“This is Dick’s eleventh time seeing it.”

“He’s Dick.” 

“Yeah, but it’s worth it! And I actually think you’ll really like it too, it has excellent commentary on—”

“—Not the point, baby,” Jason interrupts, shaking his head. 

Tim scoffs, getting that tilt to his mouth that only comes out when he’s really irritated. 

“So what, you wanted to sit them all down and tell them?”

“Ugh, no!” Jason huffs. “I figured we could just, like. I don’t know. Kiss after a briefing or something.” 

Oh, Tim’s eye is definitely twitching. 

“In the Batcave. Where we can be locked in?” 

“Oh, fine, yeah. I see that, alright. After a mission, before the briefing, then?” 

“So you want to be interrogated publicly.” 

“We can run!” Jason scoffs.

“From Dick, Damian, Stephanie, Cass, Duke, Babs, and Bruce?” 

“Well, Duke might not be there, we might have a chance if—”

“—Cass.” 

In the following silence, Tim crosses his arms over his chest and raises an eyebrow at Jason. 

“Fine. Fine!” Jason sighs, “Not that. One at a time, then?” 

“You want to have the same conversation six times?” 

“Why does everyone think I hate talking about feelings?” 

“Because you do hate talking about feelings,” Tim says, looking slightly amused. 

“I value my privacy, there’s a difference. Plus, in this family, you give an inch and they take a mile.”

“Fine. Let me walk you through what happens if we don’t do my plan.”

Oh, here we go, Jason thinks as he spots that one look in Tim’s eye that he gets whenever he’s setting a trap.

“Where do you suggest we start?” 

“Oh god, Bruce last.” 

“Fine, give me the order you would want to do it in.” 

Jason tilts his head to the side for a second, before settling on: “Duke, Cass, Dick, Steph, Damian, Bruce.” 

Tim opens his mouth, a glimmer in his eyes, and Jason adds, “Actually, switch Steph and Dick.” 

If anything, that malicious look in his eyes only gets worse. 

“Okay, fine. Starting with Duke is smart. Since he has the whole ghost vision thing, he probably already knows. He’ll have some questions, and he’ll probably tease us a little, but it shouldn’t be totally unbearable, right?” 

Jason winces.

“Next, Cass. She definitely already knows, but she’s been waiting for us to tell her because either she’s being kind, or because she’s also waiting for the opportunity to tease us. But again, we can take getting teased by Cass.

“Now, switching Steph and Dick. Either way, we’ve already fallen into a trap, because Steph will be offended if we tell Dick first, and Dick will be offended if we tell Steph first, and either way, both of them will be offended that we told Duke and Cass before them. Steph already knows we were sleeping together—”

“—What?”

“Oh, yeah, I told her ages ago,” Tim says, swiping a hand through the air like he can just wave away Jason’s surprise. “So us dating probably won’t be news, strictly speaking. But she’s going to squeal and hug us and be excited and so happy for us—” he drops his voice back down from the higher pitched tone he’s been using to mock his best friend, “—until she finds out that we’ve been hiding it from her for three months, and then this is going to be an actual, physical fight.”

“No, it won’t,” Jason scoffs, kicking at the coffee table. 

“Jason,” Tim says, crossing his arms over his chest. “She hit me in the face with a brick the day we met. She is going to punch you, and it is going to hurt.”

It wouldn’t hurt that much, Jason thinks. But he knows better than to try and stop Tim now that he’s really going, so he keeps his mouth shut and lets his head fall to rest on the back of the couch.

“Now, Dick. He’s going to be so emotional. He’s going to be so happy for us he could cry, and he might, and he’s also going to be indignant that we didn’t tell him first. And once he gets past that, he is going to have a thousand questions, some of which are going to be invasive and personal and deeply uncomfortable. And he’s not going to understand that they are invasive and personal and deeply uncomfortable! It’s going to be an interrogation, Jason. One where he asks us about our sex life.”

Jason refuses to wince at that. He does sigh, if only to voice his displeasure with everything about this situation. 

Well. Everything except getting to date Tim.

That’s been pretty great.

“And if we ever escape Dick, then we’ll have Damian. He does care about us and he will find a way to shovel talk both of us, but he probably won’t care that we waited so long to tell him. He is definitely going to be mad that he was the last to know, though. Actually, no one is going to be happy about not being the first to know. But revisiting shovel talks, Bruce.”

“Hey, I’m actually dying to see the look on his face when he finds out,” Jason says, a malicious grin pulling across his face. “That vein in his forehead is going to pop out, it’ll be funny.” 

“Oh?” Tim raises an eyebrow, stepping towards the coffee table. His palms press to the table as he leans down to look Jason in the eyes. 

The whole thing would probably be as intimidating as he was going for to someone who hadn’t seen imprint of bedsheets pressed into the side of his face this morning as he tripped on the sheets getting out of bed. 

But he’s a professional, so he carries on like Jason hasn’t noticed the intimidation isn’t working. 

“It’ll be funny? It’ll be funny when Bruce handles it by telling us we need to break up because he doesn’t have any time to process what it means for us and not what it means for the mission?” 

“He’s not going to do that, Tim.” 

Tim narrows his eyes at Jason.

“Are you sure?” 

Suddenly, Jason’s throat feels a little dry. 

“Okay, fine,” he concedes. “B doesn’t always respond well to emotional situations under pressure. But he won’t demand we break up—”

“—No?” Tim interrupts. “Then what, we’ll get a lecture on how we’re endangering ourselves and each other and everyone else with our feelings?”

“We won’t—”

“Even if we don’t, you think Dick’s interrogation was going to be bad? That’ll be the warm-up for Bruce. He’ll take each of us into his office alone and ask a million questions, and if, if he approves, it’ll still be exhausting and uncomfortable and—”

“Okay, okay!” Jason stops him, putting his hands up in surrender. The motion makes that one look ripple through Tim’s eyes that he gets whenever he wins, the one that’s always a little bit of a turn on when it’s not Jason who’s lost. “You made your point. We’re not going to tell them all individually.” 

“And you still want to tell them all together? You want to handle all of those reactions at once?” 

“Not really,” Jason sighs. 

“Okay. In that case, hear my plan out: We let Dick see us on a date. He starts to suspect that it’s a date, and he follows us. We get dinner after the movie and let him follow us, and then you take me home, and we let him see us kissing through the window. He won’t interrupt because then he would have to admit he was spying on us, and he won’t want to walk in on us, but that’s key, because it gives him time to process it. And because he’s a horrible gossip, he’s going to tell everyone for us. And he’s also going to tell everyone to keep it quiet and not say anything to us, because he doesn’t want us to know it came from him. And that is going to give everyone else time to process it. And eventually Dick is going to get sick of trying to subtly ask us questions and he’s just going to blurt out a question about whether or not we’re actually dating, and we’ll say yes, and then he’ll be so smug about having ‘figured it out’ that he won’t ask half of the questions he would have if we’d sprung it on him, and by then he’ll have figured out that he doesn’t actually want to know the answers to those questions.” 

“One flaw in your plan.” 

“No, there isn’t,” Tim scoffs.

“Everyone’s going to be mad we hid it for this long anyways.” 

“But we did hide it for this long, so it’s a little too late to avoid that. And if anyone gets mad, we just tell them that we were worried that they weren’t going to accept us and that’s why we didn’t tell them, and then they’ll stop being mad because it won’t look good for them.”

“That’s kind of manipulative, Tim.” 

Tim shrugs at him. “And? Look, are you in or not?” 

“So, your plan is to let Dick see us on a date at the Barbie movie and then let him follow us home so he can see us kiss?” 

“Yes. Weren’t you listening?” 

Jason sighs and rubs his thumb and forefinger against his eyes. “This is the stupidest plan you’ve ever had—”

“—Hey!—” 

“—but yes, I’m in.” 

“That’s more like it. But for the record, it’s not stupid. It’s incredibly well thought out.” The little red dot of the laser pointer circles around the map of the theater, as if Tim’s proving his point. 

“That’s what makes this so stupid, baby. This is way too much work. You saw that movie three times for this.” 

“You’re going to want to see it again, too, Jason. I promise.” 

“Wait, wait, one last question, though.” 

Tim sighs, “Yes?” 

“We are actually going to fuck after Dick sees us kiss, right?” 

Jason ducks just in time to dodge the laser pointer soaring over his head as he cackles at Tim. 

“You’re lucky I love you,” Tim scoffs, rolling his eyes. 

The last of Jason’s laughter dies down as he fishes the laser pointer out from behind the couch and tosses it back to Tim.

“Every day, baby. Aw, don’t pout, come on. You can walk me through your plan again, if you want.”

“Fine. Now pay attention, and hold all your questions until the end, please.” 

They make it about as far in to the plan as they did last time when Jason raises his hand again. 

“Yes, Jason, what now?” Tim asks. 

Jason smirks, mischievous and playful. 

Tim’s bag drops to the floor with a thunk. If he could be, he would probably be worried about whether or not he just broke the screen of his laptop, but he doesn’t have it in him. He’s had a long fucking day.

His pile of shoes are lined up by the wall, neat and tidy, and it’s not a surprise. It’s a signature move of Jason’s. But the tornado that his living room had been — well, it looks like another tornado spun through in reverse and put everything back where it belongs. It smells incredible, too — sweet and salty and cheesy and oh — grilled cheese and tomato soup.

There are blankets and pillows piled high on the couch and the TV has his favorite episode of the Next Generation pulled up — the one where Q loses his powers and tries to join Starfleet — and the lights are dimmer than he remembers, some of the harsh white bulbs swapped out for warmer yellow ones. He’s surprised how much more comfortable it makes his space. 

All of this is surprising, actually. But the most surprising thing is that in front of a steaming pot on his stove and a plate with two grilled cheeses on it, Jason is standing there, looking like Alfred just caught him sneaking into the manor. 

“Shit,” Jason says, but it doesn’t seem like he quite meant to say it. 

Tim raises an eyebrow and Jason’s cheeks flush. That panicked look doesn’t go away.

“You’re home early,” Jason says, like that clears anything up.

Tim opens his mouth to answer, because his body seems to know he should do that. His brain hasn’t quite caught up, though, so he just sort of stands there with his mouth open while Jason’s blush spreads down his neck.

By the time he manages to get his brain to start working again, Jason has stopped blinking at him and started moving. The only reason he doesn’t make it out the door is because Tim grabs his arm when he tries to walk past him. 

“You… did all this for me?”

Jason’s eyes latch onto the door like maybe if he focuses hard enough, he’ll find himself on the other side of it. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Jason says, and it sounds like he’s been repeating that one to himself for a while.

“You swapped out my lightbulbs.” 

“They were white LED bulbs. It was oppressive.” 

“I know, I complained about it a few weeks ago.” 

A muscle in the side of Jason’s jaw pulses. He still won’t look at Tim. 

Shit. Shit. 

“We need to talk,” Tim declares, because he knows what happens after this if they don’t . 

Jason disappears for a little while, with a hastily written and thinly veiled excuse for pulling away. He answers Tim’s messages, but he can’t take calls, and then eventually Tim stops messaging, because he wants to give him space if he needs it. And then one day, Tim’s swinging over a street or sneaking through a building or catching his breath after a fight, and he spots a glint of red. And even though he knows he should know better, even though it isn’t the first or fifth or fifteenth time this has happened, even though his gut clenches with something angry — his heart beats a little faster in his chest. 

And a few days later, he inevitably flicks on the lights in his apartment and sees that his shoes are lined up by the wall. Or he pulls into one of his garages and finds Jason’s bike parked in his spot. Or he turns a corner and nearly slams into Jason’s chest, has to wrestle his anger with one fist and his excitement with the other, while Jason snickers and he tries to get his heart to stop pounding.

And then Jason makes it up to him. 

Then things are good for a while. Easy. Everything is backup in the field and tech projects — Jason’s always got something that could use a little work, something with low enough stakes that it doesn’t keep him awake but high enough importance that it isn’t a waste of time — and showering the grime off together and wringing an orgasm out of each other, and then eventually it’s waking up next to each other and home cooked meals and waiting to watch the new episode of whatever they’re watching and all the things that would make Jason run if Tim called it what it was: domestic. 

But he doesn’t have to call it that, because inevitably they run into something too domestic for Jason’s comfort anyways, and suddenly Tim’s throwing out spoiled vegetables and piling paperwork all over the counters and chucking his shoes into a pile at the door again.

And that’s what’s about to happen, unless Tim forces some words past the knot in his throat.

“We don’t need to talk,” Jason says.

“Can we?” 

“Why? There’s nothing to talk about. It’s not a big deal.”

“I’m not asking to talk because it’s a big deal, Jason.” 

“Then why do we need to talk?” 

Tim grits his teeth. He knows what Jason’s doing. Trying to wind him up, piss him off. Get him to snap at him so they can have a fight and call it, and then Tim won’t even try to get in touch with him while he fucks off to wherever he really goes when he’s decided he doesn’t want to play house anymore, and then he’ll come back in a few weeks, once there are lines for him to cross again. 

“Because we never talk about it. We never talk about anything!” 

“It’s—” 

Tim interrupts him, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. “If you say it’s not a big deal one more time, I’m going to make it a big deal. So if you don’t want that, bite back your snarky asshole attitude for one goddamn second, please.” 

He hears a little frustrated-resigned huff and opens his eyes, looking around the apartment. This is… it’s a love letter, isn’t it? Jason is all acts of service, Tim knows that, and he doesn’t say anything because if Jason knew he’d noticed, he would have stopped. 

Tim’s eyes lock on the steam floating off the pot on the stove, and he makes himself say something he’s thought about saying a million times, but never really considered admitting. 

God, he hopes he’s right.

“I fucking hate it when you leave,” he mutters.

The muscles of Jason’s bicep tense under his fingers, and he sees Jason freeze from the corner of his eye. His heart starts pounding harder with every word tumbling out of his mouth. 

“I just… I like pissing you off with my inability to cook and I like getting annoyed when you flaunt your height over me and I really like fucking you, and I really, really like spending time with you.”

He spots Jason’s throat working from the corner of his eye, feels his own face heating up.

“It’s just frustrating! Because then you turn back up and we start fucking around again and it takes forever for things to go back to normal, and then they finally do for just long enough that I think maybe I don’t have to worry about you disappearing again, until one day you do something that gives you cold feet, and you run off again. And I just… I really don’t want that day to be today.”

Tim finally forces his eyes off the tomato soup and onto Jason’s, his gut clenching tight with uncertainty.

He was expecting to see panic, considering Jason’s been looking panicked since he walked in, but he wasn’t expecting to see fear, and shit, maybe he did miscalculate somewhere. 

“I’m just tired of you playing with my feelings,” he mumbles, already bracing himself to hear what he didn’t want to hear. His eyes skate back to the pot — at least he’ll have some solid comfort food for the night of wallowing he’s about to have.

“I—” Jason starts, his voice cracking on the word. He has to swallow before trying again. “I’m not playing with your feelings.” 

At the look on Tim’s face, Jason keeps talking. “Nonono, I didn’t mean — fuck. I’m listening. I just didn’t know you had feelings. Not like — not at all ! Just. You know. Like that. For — me?” he says like a question, his eyes seeking confirmation in Tim’s. 

Tim flushes.

“Look, if you want to do the fucking around thing and that’s it, then fine. We can do that. But if you’re going to do stuff like this, I can’t… I really need you to be clear with me about what you want. Please.” 

There are only so many seconds of silence he can bear staring at the pot of soup, so he lets his eyes skip back to Jason’s, finding them wide and scared and so goddamn green. His throat keeps working, like he’s trying to get some words out, and god, Tim was stupid for trying to get Jason to talk to him. If he’s ready to talk about something, he’s fine with communicating, but if you beat him to the punch? 

The pounding of his heart marks the passing time as they stare at each other, as the fear pools in Jason’s eyes, as the vice of his jaw clicks tighter shut, and finally, Tim can’t take it anymore. 

“Look, I’ll make this easy for you. Thank you for doing all this for me, it’s… it’s really kind. I’m going to pour myself some of that soup and turn on that episode of Star Trek, and if you want to join me, I would really like that, but I am going to read into it that this is not just fucking. And if you’re not comfortable with that, if you want to go, you can go ahead, and we can keep fucking around if you want, but stuff like this has to stop. We’re either fucking, or we’re more, and I can’t keep guessing. It’s not fair. So I’m going to let go of your arm, and you… do whatever you want,” Tim sighs, not quite sure that he managed not to sound bitter about the last few words. 

What’s the point of even saying them? Jason always does whatever he wants. 

Tim lets go of his arm, watches Jason’s pupils dilate as he feels the cool air against his fingers. Then he steps around him and pushes up his sleeves as he heads to the stove. 

A cacophony of thoughts whirs in his head too loud for him to pick any one of them out as he ladles his Campbell's into the bowl Jason pulled out. He can barely hear the sound of Jason’s tight, shallow breathing, and even though he hasn’t looked, he knows Jason hasn’t moved. 

Wait , he thinks as he picks up the plate and brings his food to the living room. Wait , he thinks as he kicks up his feet onto the coffee table and tracks down the remote. Wait and see , he thinks as he clicks play and picks up a grilled cheese. 

The sounds of the Enterprise filter in through the speakers, and Tim makes it a little quieter. He picks up his sandwich and is about to dip it into the soup when he hears it — the creak of the linoleum floor of his kitchen. 

His breath catches as he listens, hearing sharpening until as he waits to find out if he’s about to hear the front door or not. 

That’s not what he hears. What he hears is Jason’s footsteps getting closer, and the sound of his breathing, shallow and quick. He comes around the couch and hesitates, his gaze palpable on Tim. 

Tim keeps waiting, refusing to let himself react one way or the other. Jason could still turn around and leave, after all. So Tim holds the sandwich and stares at the screen and waits, and waits, and waits, until the show has made it to the goddamn intro and he can’t take it anymore. 

He drops the sandwich back on the plate and grabs the remote, pauses, and turns to Jason. 

“Look, I’m not asking for—” and then he stops, because the look on Jason’s face isn’t what he was expecting. He doesn’t look panicked anymore. He doesn’t look frightened, or awkward. 

No, the look on his face is a mixture of determination and longing and — there’s something else he can’t place.

“Tim,” Jason says, and his voice is thick and gruff and low, heavy with something that Tim’s never heard in it before.

“Yeah?” His collar is too tight and his feet are hot and he’s gripping the remote too tightly and Jason is staring at him, intensity rippling out of his gaze.

“Do you want me to stay?”

Tim’s gut seizes, all the nerves he’s been trying to ignore suddenly reaching up and grasping tight around his stomach. Of course, he thinks. Of course, of course, of course, you absolute moron. Who wouldn’t?

His mouth opens to say yes, and it snares on something in his throat. It’s funny, how even though he just demanded the same thing of Jason, even though he can see how much Jason cares for him in all the things he does, he can’t get the words out.

The last thing in Jason’s expression falls into place; it’s suspicion. And suddenly it clicks — Jason’s been putting love in everything he does. It’s in the shoes and it’s in the sandwich and it’s in the fucking sheets. 

And Tim doesn’t know how to do that. He doesn’t know how to write his feelings into the moments of a day. He doesn’t know how to scatter the evidence, the proof, for Jason to find. He doesn’t know how to cook it into a sandwich, how to wipe the counters with it, how to make the bed with it. 

He swallows and holds Jason’s gaze. 

“Yes. I want you to stay.”

There’s a brief moment where even though Tim knows he’s right to admit it — he couldn’t give you an exact calculation but he knows he wouldn’t take the risk if it wasn’t well over 90% in his favor — his gut still clenches again, his brain screaming that he fucked up and Jason’s going to leave after all and it’ll be all his fault that he lost the one thing in his life that made things easier — 

And then Jason’s stepping forward. He drops down onto the couch, right next to Tim, gravity displacing the cushion and making him bounce slightly. Jason reaches to pluck the remote from his hands, but he grimaces once he’s holding it. 

“Ugh, you got it all greasy.” He stands again, reaches across the table for a paper towel, and wipes it off. Then he presses play and drops it back on the couch next to him as Picard’s speech floats between them. His arm falls behind Tim’s shoulders and he stares at the screen, watching the intro scene that they’ve seen over a hundred times like it’s brand new. 

“Stop staring at me,” Jason says without looking away from the screen. 

“Sorry,” Tim says, his eyes shifting to the screen. “Are you… staying?” 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jason asks, lifting his hand up in a little ‘see?’ gesture, before he drops it back on Tim’s shoulder. 

Relief floods through him, the tension in his muscles relaxing as he melts into the couch, into Jason’s hold.

“It’s not a big deal,” Jason says, and Tim knows that out of the two of them, he isn’t the one that Jason’s trying to convince.

“Okay,” Tim agrees, forcing himself not to grin like an idiot. But he feels pleased, content, relaxed in a way he hasn’t in months, since before the first time Jason left. 

He leans into Jason’s shoulder and tucks himself into the space there, letting Jason wrap around him. 

“Did you buy wonder bread for this?” Tim asks, right before he picks up a sandwich half and swipes it through the soup, takes a bite. It’s crispy and buttery and warm and it tastes like comfort. His eyes water, and he tells himself nostalgia has nothing to do with it. The food’s just hot.

“And Kraft slices.”

A short, sharp laugh squeezes past the lump in Tim’s throat, easing it a little. “Wow, you do like me.” 

“Shut up,” Jason says, blush creeping down his neck, and now Tim can’t help grinning like an idiot. “ You like me .”

“Of course I do. Look at all this,” Tim says, waving around the apartment at all the things Jason did. “You swapped out my lightbulbs. You bought me that cheese you hate because you know I like it. You do that thing with your tongue. You’re boyfriend material.” 

Now Jason’s blushing all the way up to his ears, and Tim grins wide.

“It’s not cheese, it’s cheese product , ” Jason says, and Tim lets it go. They can worry about the labels another night. Jason probably still needs some time to think before he’s ready to talk about it, and that’s fine — Tim will wait.

“You’re not even a little curious about the tongue thing that I’m referring to?” 

“No. Maybe. No, we’re still on the cheese product,” Jason says, but he’s smirking, because he does, in fact, know exactly what thing Tim’s referring to. 

“It’s delicious.”

Jason blinks at him, and Tim’s skin feels too tight. The material of the couch is suddenly itchy on the back of his arms, but the heat on his face distracts him from it. Mostly.

“…Okay.” 

There’s a stutter in Tim’s breathing, the slightest hitch between in and out, right after Jason answers. It’s unnoticeable.

If you aren’t a bat.

Jason raises an eyebrow, because of course he fucking noticed.

Tim can’t just sit there while Jason looks at him like that, so he moves. 

He shifts forward on the couch, scooting an inch or two closer and waving his hands in what he hopes is a gesture indicating ‘turn around so I can rub your shoulders’ and not ‘I have no idea what to do with my hands right now this is so awkward why did I offer this oh my god’. 

He’s probably fine. The gesture for that would have had more flapping. 

Probably. 

It still takes Jason a second to get in gear. He shrugs, tilting his head to the side in a way that says something like ‘eh, why not’, which isn’t exactly what Tim had been hoping for when offering to touch a guy he’s had a crush on since he knew what crushes were, but he’s letting Tim do it, so it’s better than rejecting—

Jason slides his shirt off in a smooth motion, reaching over the back of his head to grab the neck of it and tug it off. 

It’s like one of those fucking thirst trap reels on Instagram.

Tim was just watching him move over on the couch while his thoughts went on a little spiral, and then Jason reached for the back of his shirt, and bam.

The lights drop, the music starts, the speed slows down, and Tim can see every ripple in the muscles of Jason’s forearm, every inch of skin revealing as he lifts the shirt, every angle of the dips in his spine, every scar, every scab, every damn freckle — for god’s sake, he can even see about a half an inch of elastic above the top of his pants. 

It’s red. 

Of course it’s red. 

Tim takes a deep breath, trying to disguise it by shifting closer to Jason, who’s sitting with his back to Tim, his arms threaded through the shirt in his lap. 

He can do this. He can do this. 

It’s just a massage. 

“Come on, Timbo. Let’s see what those scrawny fingers got.” 

Tim lets out an exasperated scoff, and Jason’s shoulders shake two or three times as he chuckles. 

He considers digging an elbow into Jason’s spine, just to be an asshole, but he has a better plan. 

He’s going to wow him. It’s going to be the best damn massage in his life. 

Scrawny fingers, Tim grumbles in his head as he places his hand down on Jason’s left shoulder. 

Immediately, Jason flinches and lets out a noise of surprise, and Tim flinches back because he’s surprised.

Great start.

“Jesus fuck, your fingers are like ice!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” Tim mutters, even though he isn’t, not really. Still, he rubs his hands together quickly, just a few times to get some of the cold out of them. 

He puts his hands back on Jason’s shoulders, and Jason stiffens, but he doesn’t flinch away this time. 

Okay. Good. 

Tim starts applying pressure, rubbing up and down the muscles, and after a few moments, it’s easier to shift into a more clinical headspace, even with the warmth of his skin seeping through Tim’s fingers. 

“Where is it bothering you?” he asks. 

“Oh, uh. By my spine. And…” Jason pauses for a moment while Tim’s palm digs into the meat of his shoulder, and when he resumes speaking, his voice is a little higher. “…my neck.” 

Tim nods, letting his palm dig in again. He wishes he had lotion or something. Jason’s skin drags against his every time he moves his hand, and it’s uncomfortable. Also, Jason’s skin is warm, flushing pink under the area he’s been rubbing, and… a little bit up his neck, too actually. The tips of his ears are pink, Tim realizes as he works his way up to the crook of Jason’s neck. 

He digs his thumb into the muscle right by the top of Jason’s shoulder, and he’s just starting to lose himself in it when he hears a breathy noise, almost like… 

No. No, Tim’s making shit up. Jason did not audibly moan. Tim is putting things where he wants them to be, because that’s what he wants.

On the next roll of his palm, Jason says, “Ngh, Christ, Tim.”

With Tim’s hand frozen on his shoulder, he can feel the way Jason tenses, has a front row seat to the burst of color across his neck.

Thank god they’re in Jason’s apartment. In Jason’s living room. With Jason’s cameras recording. He doesn’t have to memorize the way that sounded coming out of Jason’s mouth.

No, he can go hack into his files and save it as a clip and then back it up on three separate servers, and then also a hard drive, and maybe also on a USB in a lockbox buried in the woods somewhere, because he doesn’t think he can live another moment of his life without having access to the way his name sounded coming out of Jason’s mouth. 

“Sorry,” Jason mutters, and he sounds… meek? It’s weird, but Tim doesn’t think he’s ever heard Jason sound shy. 

“No worries,” Tim says, feeling like he’s regained some ground. 

“You can… make noise,” Tim adds. 

Immediately, he feels like he’s lost that ground. 

Jason clears his throat a little. “No, it’s — it’s fine, I’m good. You can, uh. Keep going.” 

A grin tugs across his mouth as he resumes his massage, listening to the way Jason’s breathing is getting heavier.