#ivy protocol

It starts as a joke. As a bet. As a challenge.

Can Jason find something Tim hasn't trained in? He's a perfectionist and a control freak; when he isn't patroling, he's working on his cases, and when he isn't doing that, he's practicing drills.

So that's all it is, really. A stupid bet. The stakes aren't even that high: loser has to buy dinner.

But Jason grins like someone just promised him the world, and he asks whether Tim's ever trained in the Ivy Protocol.

Tim, who has memorized every contingency in the Batcomputer and made up forty-seven new ones besides, has never heard of the Ivy Protocol.

The Ivy Protocol, Jason tells him, is for when you get dosed with pollen and can't retreat. Can you keep fighting? Can you keep your cool, in the face of whatever distraction comes your way?

Tim stares. Jason stares back.

Tim is almost certain that Jason is making this up on the spot, but he's also certain he likes the slant of Jason's smile and the hungry light in his eyes. His mouth is suddenly dry, and he's suddenly sure that he'll be very distracted indeed, but he admits that he has not, in fact, trained for the Ivy Protocol.

Jason's smirk grows a little more pleased when he offers to help.

So that's why Tim has been dosed with a sample of Ivy's newest strain.

That's why Tim is sitting in his safehouse, staring at the computer as his brain slowly bluescreens, hyper aware of Jason leaning up behind him, making idle suggestive commentary in his ear.

That's why Tim is running maintenance on his grapple lines and inventorying his equipment while Jason trails teasing fingers up and down his thigh.

That's why Tim is going five rounds with Jason on the mats, and when Jason pins him the final time, he can't help but grind up into the hold, pressing his clothed erection up against the meat of Jason's thigh.

When Jason presses his hips back down to hold him still, Tim tries in vain to chase after the pressure.

Jason only laughs, voice low and teasing, and tells him he plainly needs more practice. He's getting more distracted by the minute.

Somehow, Dick knows what the Ivy Protocol is.

A week in, Tim was willing to bet a sum in the low five digits that Jason had made it up. There was a certain kind of glee behind the sparkle in Jason's eyes, a certain kind of sadistic delight every time he re-dosed Tim to watch him struggle through the next training session.

He's asked how many times he has to do this, before it counts as done. Jason just keeps telling him that it lasts until he's not distracted anymore.

So Tim's half-sure it's a fake. Something made up to watch him squirm, becuase he is squirming, almost all the time now. While he's dosed, it's unbearable; when he's not dosed, Jason's still insisting he can't stick a hand down his pants to take the edge off. He's got to just take it, let it build. It's all part of the process.

So it's day after day of the want burning until it simmers under his skin like lava. It's day after day of having to white-knuckle it through pollen that makes him desperate to get a hand on his cock.

It's day after day of having to do regular, mundane activities while Jason teases him out of his mind.

And that's what they're doing when Dick comes down the stairs into the Batcave. Tim is trying his absolute hardest to interpret the results of a chemical analysis printout, and Jason has a hand between his thighs, just idly petting. Then Dick comes down the stairs, and Tim yelps and startles up only for Jason to catch him around the waist and sit him right back down.

"Ivy Protocol," he drawls, with that same malicious joy Tim's come to dread, and that's not the worst part.

The worst part is that Dick's eyes light up like it's Christmas morning. "Ivy Protocol?" he echoes, and the grin that spreads across his lips is brighter than the sun. "I can help!"

And before Tim can get a word in edgewise, he's bounding down the stairs, eager as a puppy, and reaching out with broad, warm hands that Tim has fantasized about since he knew what fantasies are.