#cheetahleopard

Tim doesn't wear his silver chain that night. Jason had expressed concerns when he found out how often Tim was wearing it (i.e., all the time), and for how long he'd been doing that (i.e. since he was old enough to go to school). Tim had wanted to brush Jason off, but he'd traced the slow-to-heal line near-branded into Tim's neck with an almost aching tenderness. So he's trying it out.

The only problem is, he hasn't rawdogged a full moon basically ever. So he could blame what happens on that. But he knows that wouldn't be strictly true.

It's not like he doesn't know about his own knot. Horny is one of the approximately three emotions he feels during the peak of the full moon, so he's-- familiar. With it. The knot.

He knows how it feels when it's about to blow, knows how long it takes to go down. He's never-- with anyone before, he and Steph never really got that far, and with Jason--

His memories of that first time are hazed in blood and pain and want, but he remembers it more than Jason thinks he does. He knows Jason didn't clock that particular aspect of his, uh. Anatomy.

It clearly freaked Jason out that Tim had trouble remembering, to the point that he's nixed all sexual activities since. No matter how much Tim has tried to convince him otherwise, he can't quite believe that Tim wanted everything that happened. And then some.

By the time they get here, naturally, Tim is a little pent up. A month of start and stops had him practically whining in Jason's lap, wishing Jason would let him touch, would let them taste each other, would let either of them bite. Jason hasn't fed from Tim since that night, and it's everything Tim wants, and been denied.

So when Jason flips them around, pushing Tim's legs open and sinking down to his knees between them, all remaining blood rushes to Tim's dick, leaving none behind for his brain to possibly remember to warn Jason that he's packing something extra that Jason might want to be careful about putting in his mouth. Maybe.

He freezes when he realizes where Jason has taken him.

It’s his den. Or, more accurately: Jason-and-Tim’s den. The scent of the two of them together is even stronger here.

“I don’t…” Jay swallows, unable to stop himself from looking. His eyes linger on the nest. It looks… inviting, with its high walls and piles of pillows and blankets. “I can’t…”

“You can,” Jason counters gently. His scent swells comfortingly. “If you want to. If you don’t— We have a spare den made up. But… you are welcome in here, Jay.”

Jay bites his lip, looking up at Jason. “Tim won’t mind?”

Jason gives him a small, reassuring smile. “No. He won’t mind at all.” He takes Jay’s hand, tangling their fingers together. Jay lets himself be guided through the threshold and into the den proper. He ends up setting his bag on the dresser. Then, Jason stops, letting go of Jay’s hand to push his jacket over his shoulders. Jay lets him, turning so Jason can slide it down his arms. Jason folds it in half, draping it over his bag.

Then he steps in, closer, his fingers toying with the hem of Jay’s shirt.

“Can I take this off?” he whispers.

Jay bites his lip, but nods, trusting that Jason won’t lead them astray. Jason takes Jay’s shirt off, and after checking again, his jeans, too—leaving Jay in just his boxers, his skin pebbling at the slight chill in the air. Then Jason undresses too, peeling off his shirt and leggings, until he too is wearing nothing but his underwear.

Then he climbs into the nest. He doesn’t lay down, though, not yet. He sits on his knees instead, and holds out his arm for Jay to take. And what else can Jay do except take it? Jason squeezes his hand, his grip solid and reassuring, and then he pulls him into the nest.

“Lie back,” Jason instructs him, his voice low, rumbling. Jay listens, settling back among the pillows. The nest is just as inviting as it looked; enveloping him in its plushness. Jason smooths his hand over Jay’s abdomen, gently arranging him until Jay is splayed out beneath him.

It’s…

It’s enough to bring back memories, and Jay’s face starts to heat again. They shouldn’t be doing this, he thinks. But he doesn’t move—doesn’t even twitch.

“I want to scent you.”

Jay swallows. “Okay.” Now that it’s been made an option, he wants that too—so much.

Jason smiles at him, settling between his thighs. He tips his head back, and raises his hands to rub the scent glands in his wrists against the ones in his neck. The stimulation makes his scent thicken, until Jay swears he can open his mouth and taste it.

When Jason pulls his wrists away, he shifts a little closer, forcing Jay to spread his legs a little wider. Jay’s breath hitches. His heart picks up the pace, sweat beading on his skin. The scent in the air—the sight of an attractive, familiar omega in front of him… His body can’t help responding. His skin tightens. His nipples pucker. His cock twitches, starting to fill out in his boxers. It takes effort to suppress the shame that wants to build. The last thing he wants is to call attention to it… or ruin the moment.

Jason sweeps his wrists over Jay’s cheeks, and then down his neck. Jay tips his head back to give Jason better access, his eyes fluttering. It’s been a long time since someone has scented him… and even then, Jay can’t remember anyone scenting him like this. Jason scents him slowly, thoroughly. He smooths his wrists over Jay’s shoulders, down his arms. Then he moves to his chest, his sides. He scents his thighs, too… and when he’s done, he starts from the top all over again.

It’s…

Jay doesn’t have words for how it feels. He’s never felt so… so wanted. A rumble builds in his chest. Jason purrs back, leaning down to rub their noses together.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

wingfic p 2

The sequel to trust and feathers -- tentatively titled more trust, more feathers -- in which Jason reciprocates the preening sesh Tim gave him ;)

This one is actually almost done; I just need to write the actual preening and then close it off. I've been hopping around projects lately, but sometime soon I should sit down and get this one done. Like the first one, it's Jason's POV. I did consider writing it from Tim's... but part of the allure of the fic for me is Jason getting to experience Tim's trust for him---having his hands on Tim's wings, after having threatened to break them in the past.

A little snippet of the beginning (with Tim's texts translated in brackets):

A little over a week passes before Jason hears from Tim.

He’s been doing pretty well for himself. He tracked down the perpetrator behind a string of B&E’s, busted a couple dealers cutting their supply with sawdust, and also stopped a number of petty crimes-in-progress.

It’s kept him busy. Almost busy enough that he can go straight to sleep instead of lying in bed, feeling the phantom touch of long, elegant fingers buried in his feathers, sending pleasant tingles all through his body.

Almost being the operative word.

There's nothing to distract him right now, despite the book propped up on his knees. Not until his phone buzzes, anyway. He opens it reflexively, half-expecting some stupid meme from Dick—his latest attempt at reaching out, as if Jason has kept up with current pop culture speak. (Not that he thinks Dick's memes are current. He imagines Dick is only slightly better informed than he is).

Jason mostly leaves him on read.

It's not that he hates Dick. Sure, he resented him for a while; the way Dick made an effort to be there for the younger birds in a way he never did with Jason, the way he keeps his fighting with Bruce away from him, the way he shows up for them. But he's over that. It was a different time, then. Dick was younger, more volatile.

Dick has a guilt complex to rival Bruce's though, and Jason is sure he's managed to make something about Jason his fault. Jason doesn't know what, and doesn't want to know, either. Too exhausting to deal with.

So he keeps him at arm's length instead. Some people might call that cruelty. Jason calls it survival.

It's not a meme from Dick. His relief is entirely canceled out by the way his stomach flips at the sight of Tim's name instead.

He swallows, and then thumbs the message open.

TIM: u bsy 2nte? [[You busy tonight?]]

It’s just 3 words. Jason’s not even sure they should qualify as words. They shouldn’t have the power to make him blush.

And yet, somehow, despite that, Jason feels a tell-tale warmth in his cheeks. Knows, if he were to check, that his skin would be pink. His wings have probably puffed up too. He can feel them raising, slightly, flaring outwards in subtle display.

Not that there’s anyone here to display to.

He forces them back down again, tucking them perhaps a little tighter than would be normal. 

Jason taps the little message bar and types,

JASON: No.

TIM: ❄️ mnd if i stp by? wngs r knda rgh [[Cool. Mind if I stop by? Wings are kinda rough.]]

Tim’s seeming allergy to vowels should not be charming, and yet, somehow—

Jason finds himself charmed.

God, he’s so stupid.

JASON: Would it kill you to text like a normal person?

TIM: y 👍🏼 [[Yes.]]

Despite himself, Jason laughs.

JASON: Be here by 7. I’ll order pizza. Want your usual?

TIM: 👍🏼 

u dnt hve 2 do tht [[You don't have to do that.]]

JASON: I know. I’m going to anyway.

Tim doesn’t reply with an actual text—just marks Jason’s message with a heart. There’s a squirming, fluttering feeling in Jason’s abdomen. It’s not… entirely unpleasant.

It is unwelcome.

He tamps down on it as best he can and calls his favorite pizza joint—a local place, only a few streets over from where Jason lives. He arranges a delivery for seven, and then flutters around his apartment.

Unlike Tim, Jason doesn’t have a proper preening chair to offer. He never saw the point in buying one. It would just sit there, unused; a reminder that, once again, Jason is on his own in the world.

Jason isn’t that much of a masochist. That’s more Bruce’s thing.

meeting at a wedding

Hehehe, this one is in response to a prompt! The original prompt is: two miserable people meeting at a wedding AU---with the wedding in question being BatCat's.

This one is probably the roughest right now dfghjkl You get two snippets of this one because I can't pick between them:

“Talia.” Jason raised his glass of champagne in greeting.

“Jason.” Her gaze flickers to him long enough to nod before falling on the happy couple before them, sharing their first dance in front of their gathered guests. Jason doesn’t think he’d imagining the melancholy in her eyes as she sips her own glass of champagne.

Jason’s no alcohol connoisseur, but even he can taste how expensive it is; the dry sweetness bubbling and fizzing on his tongue as he holds it in his mouth before swallowing. It’s something to focus on; the not-quite pain of it.

“You, uh. Holding up okay?” It feels almost taboo to broach the subject, but he can’t… not.

“Bruce and I were over long ago,” she says. A non-answer if he ever heard one. Her gaze cuts to his again. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

Most anyone else, that’d be a harmless enough phrase. From Talia, knowing what she knows… It digs, a little.

He shrugs. “Figured I’d never hear the end of it if I wasn’t.” A lie. He’s not sure anyone would have noticed—or cared—if he wasn’t there.

Maybe that’s why he’s really here. To not have to find out.

Talia hums. “It is… good to see you. You look well.”

An unexpected olive branch.

“Yeah. Yeah, you too. But then, uh. You always do.” He shifts, slightly; both that and his stutter a moment of a weakness he regrets instantly. Talia notices, of course she does, but she says nothing.

Her eyes drift back to Bruce and Selina.

Jason feels a little burst of anger. Why did Bruce even invite her, anyway? It was callous, throwing his new relationship in her face like this. Or–not new, not really, he’d been dancing around Selina since Jason was Robin. Still.

If he swallows the anger down, he can admit it probably has to do with Damian. The kid was ring-bearer, and damn pleased about it, too. It would have been cruel to cut Talia out of seeing that, too.

“Jason.”

He looks at Talia, and there’s a glint in her eyes he recognizes. It’s one he’s only ever seen once, years ago, but his body responds to it like it happened yesterday; heat pooling under his skin.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” she suggests lowly, leaning into his space, fingers slipping under his lapel.