#deepwithintheabyss

Tim will be the first to admit that when it comes to a one-on-one, no-holds-barred kind of fight, he’s the weakest bat. He relies heavily on strategy; on out-thinking and out-maneuvering his opponents. There are some people who’d say that makes him less of an alpha.

“Huh. Thought it’d be harder than this to take you down, Pretender,” Jason had drawled, hot breath in his ear, the Tower stinking of angry alpha. “Not much of an alpha, are you?”

Sixteen and insecure about nearly everything, not least his designation, Tim hadn’t taken that well. He’d fought and thrashed, trying to give as good as he got, and while Jason certainly hadn't walked out unscathed, he’d been the clear winner of that fight.

And most of the following, too.

Tim rarely sought him out to fight—but something about the sight of him just seemed to boil Jason’s blood. Even if they didn’t scrap physically, they’d end up trading barb after barb, long after everyone else had lost patience with them.

Something not necessarily improved by Tim setting up shop right on the edge of Jason’s territory—but then, Tim had never shied away from a challenge.

Jason, for all of his posturing, didn’t scare him.

Even if he was the epitome of everything society said an alpha should be: tall and broad, with a confident swagger in his step and a growl that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

Point being—

Tim doesn’t stand much of a chance in a one-on-one against Jason; not without heavily rigging the odds in his favor first. (And even then the odds were precarious. Jason wasn't just brawn, he was brains too.) Yet. Somehow. He has Jason pinned on the rooftop beneath him.

The other alpha isn't even fighting him.

He’s breathing heavy; harsh pants distorted by the modulator in his face mask. Tim can feel his chest on each inhale.

One second Dick is swinging across Gotham's rooftops with the wind beneath his cape and the entire city stretched out in front of him. The next there's a pain unlike anything he's ever felt shooting through his arm and his grip on his grapple reflexively releases, sending him plummeting to the streets below. The pain makes his vision fade rapidly, and as he descends he can't help but think, near hysterically, that he's going out just like his parents did.

Moments before consciousness leaves him he collides with something with less impact than he should. He has half a thought that Bruce somehow saved him, and half a thought that he's died and this is the cold embrace of death. Then he doesn't have any thoughts at all.

—

He wakes up slowly but takes in his surroundings at a much faster pace. He was definitely wrong about Bruce having saved him, and if this is heaven it's a pretty sad showing. He's laying on a lumpy couch in a small apartment, from where he's laying he can see an old looking TV, a stack of cups and bowls on the coffee table, and various articles of clothing strewn across the floor. He thinks he sees a Superman comic hanging off the TV stand. It's a mess, is what he's saying.

He can hear what he thinks to be kitchen sounds over his shoulder, but doesn't risk alerting the apparent cook that he's awoken. Just as he's thinking this, the sound of a knife repeatedly hitting a cutting board stops and footsteps begin to come closer and closer. He isn't sure he heard the knife get put down, he tenses at the thought and shuts his eyes in as close a performance of sleep as he can manage.

If Dick manages to get himself kidnapped and killed he's not just going to be upset on his own behalf, he's not sure Bruce would be able to take it after what happened to his last two partners.

A frustratingly neutral voice snaps him out of his thoughts "You don't have to pretend, I know you're awake." Dick takes the voice's advice, taking the opportunity to get more information since his ruse is clearly up.

When he blinks his eyes open he finds himself face to face with the most beautiful man he's ever seen. His pointy bird-like face and startling too-wide blue eyes are the first thing Dick notices, he also seems to be sporting an awkward little smile. Everything about his appearance is startling, but still undeniably beautiful in an unusual sort of way.

Dick physically shakes himself out of his daze and refocuses on the things that actually matter. He looks more closely at the man in front of him, taking in short ponytail and the scar cutting across his cheekbone. Suddenly he realizes "you're dead!" he can't help but announce it out loud he's so startled.

see—he’s been. thinking. for a while. about lingerie. it’s a creeping sort of thought that he thinks might have been there a lot longer than he realized, but never put into words until a few weeks before, when steph had cupped his pecs and said, “look at your tits, babe. i bet you could fit into one of my bras—“ before getting her mouth on him.

anyway. he lasts like. an hour tops before going back over to the package. it won’t hurt anything to try them on, right? he’ll wash them after. steph would need to wash them before wearing them anyway. so it’s fine.

he’s seen, and helped, steph put them on enough times that he has a vague idea of how to do it. it’s a little trickier, doing it to himself, but he manages. the fit isn’t quite right, especially in the panties. the thigh holes pinch, slightly, and it’s a little tight around his junk, but it’s not like—super uncomfortable. jason has worn worse. and it’s worth it, for the way it feels against his skin. even with the illicit feeling in his chest, like he’s doing something wrong. (or maybe in part because of that feeling, maybe he likes that he feels like he’s doing something he’s not supposed to.)

it takes him a bit to work up the courage to look in a mirror. he just. wears them for a bit. long enough that he loses track of time.

and then—idk maybe he got the idea to do laundry from thinking about washing the lingerie, so… he’s bringing the clothes into the bedroom to fold, and he passes by himself in the mirror, and just—stops to look. admire himself. think, wow. he’s hot. he doesn’t just feel hot. he looks hot. which tim and steph have said plenty of times but—it’s different, seeing it himself. he’s only ever felt that way a few times since coming back.

seeing the emphasis of his thighs, his waist, the swell of his chest. the contrast of feminine lace against a masculine body.

and that’s how tim n steph find him <3

they see the open package first. tim knows immediately what it is, figures jason had taken them to wash them or lay them out for steph. steph sees it too, but doesn’t think anything of it.

and then they go in the bedroom and see jason in there <3