#t fics

The thing is, entering the Cave from the stairs hidden behind the grandfather clock gives you a near full visual of the place, which means that Damian essentially had a front row ticket to the shouting match happening by the huge computer.

"I don't give a shit if you don't approve of my methods—" Jason shouted.

"You are not to work this case anym—" Bruce interrupted.

"Oh, fuck off, like you have the right to—"

"I will walk you to the station myself—"

Jason moved to get up in Bruce's face, but the volume of his voice remained the same nevertheless. "And I'll shoot you in the head, how about that?"

At this, Tim made his presence known, having apparently been content to let this dick measuring contest run its course until the death threats came in play.

"That's enough!" He roared, hands splayed between the other two to clearly signal that yes, that means both of you. "B, you're right. We shouldn't have asked Selina for help with this case. She was a flight risk. We knew that going in. We knew the risk of her stealing gems we asked her to retrieve, and we, I, deemed it a necessary evil."

"Hey," Jason called out and nodded towards Bruce. "Don't look at Tim like that. He did what had to be done."

"He involved a criminal in something she never should've been part of."

At this, Jason squared his shoulders once more. "Yeah, a criminal who is only the bad guy when she isn't bending to your will."

Tim turned his head to Jason, and something in his eyes made Jason drop his defensive stance slightly. Tim's voice was sharp and broke no argument when he said, "Jason. Sit down and shut up, now."

And that's when the show actually happened, Damian thought, because Jason actually did.

˗ˋ 𖢻 ˊ˗

Tim barely has the chance to close the door before he is being pushed up against it.

"Whoa," he laughs, "okay." Jason has his lips attached to Tim's neck as he gracefully picks him up with one arm, distributing Tim's weight between his arm and the door. Jason kisses, nibbles, and licks the man in his arms neck like a man starved, luring out sweet gasps of pleasure from him.

Tim breathes his name more than saying it, and it does nothing but amplify this sudden burst of desire in Jason.

"Please," he says, voice muffled by the skin it's ravishing. Tim has no doubt he'll have to do a makeup routine in the morning as a result.

Tim hums in response, taking pleasure in having Jason spell out what he wants, even though he knows exactly what he's asking for.

"Need you so bad," The older man is switching between kissing and nosing—and biting, and sucking—along Tim's jawline. "Please, Tim."

"Yeah?"

Jason makes a noise of affirmation and presses his hips further onto Tim. Tim, in turn, buries his fingers in soft hair and tugs twice—their sign for look at me—and meets Jason's eyes. "What's got you so worked up, doll?"

Jason visibly melts at the pet name and tries to escape back into Tim's neck, but is held steady by the hand in his hair. "You were so hot tonight," he says, visibly uncomfortable but knowing there's no use trying to shy away. "Putting B in his place like that, I mean, fuck, Tim, never seen anything like it."

Tim hums and tugs at Jason's hair, harder this time. "And do you think you deserve to have me after threatening to shoot him in the head, sweetness?"

Jason's breath hitches and flushes a lovely shade pink. Tim thinks he looks like a puppy caught chewing on a shoe. "Sorry," he whispers.

Tim scratches his scalp soothingly, never one to take pleasure in Jason actually feeling bad. "You did well, though, sitting down and shutting that pretty mouth of yours when I told you to."

He perks up at this, a timid smile on his face. "Yeah?" Tim responds in tandem, but without the questioning uptick in his tone.

"Now," Tim lets go of Jason's hair and pats his shoulder. "Put me down, we do have some jewels to look at."

Jason carefully puts him down on his feet, and kisses him tenderly. When Tim pulls away, he whispers, "good boy," and marvels at the whine coming from Jason's throat. He doesn't dignify it with a reply, though, but instead walks towards the living room where a padded envelope with stolen gems should be lying in wait.

And sure enough, a thick brown envelope is laying on his coffee table. He snorts when he sees the little drawing of a paw in the corner of it. His mirth summons Jason to him, who huffs a laugh.

"Real subtle, I sure do wonder who left these illicit gems here for us."

Tim laughs at that, and grabs the envelope only to toss it onto the couch before grabbing a thin fleece blanket and draping it over the table. He sits down beside the paper case and opens the flap to pour its contents out on the fleece. Jason joins him on the couch, holding out a pair of cotton gloves he procured from somewhere in Tim's mess. They each put on a pair, and Jason naturally picks up a ruby to hold between his fingers.

"Should bedazzle my helmet with these," he muses.

"Yeah, sure, only costs about a million per carat," Tim counters.

"A man can dream."

Tim picks up what's supposed to be a nephrite jade, and gets up from the couch to place it on his steel enforced desk. Rummaging around in the drawers of the desk—he should really organise them someday—he fishes out a hammer and slams it down onto the stone. Jason jumps and instinctively covers his face with his arms.

"What the fuck?"

Tim looks around at the scattered pieces of what used to be a beautiful green gem. "This is fake."

"It better have been, or you just smashed thousands of dollars to pieces," Jason grumbles.

Tim rolls his eyes and picks up a piece, making his way towards the couch and leaning over the back of it. He holds the chunk in front of Jason's face. "Look at the inside of it; it's a grey, kind of off-white colour," he turns is head and is met by teal eyes. "This is clay."

The older man looks at him in mild bewilderment. "How the hell did you know that?"

"Nephrite Jade isn't supposed to crack like that, it's a pretty tough gem," he explains. "It's odd that they would use clay though, usually fake gems are made out of glass or quartz."

Jason blinks at him. "Again, how the hell do you know that?"

Tim shrugs. "I had a lot of free time as a kid," he pauses. "a kid to two archaeologists."

"So," Jason starts with a smirk, once again examining the 'ruby' between his pointer and thumb. "That means I can bedazzle my helmet with these."

Tim rounds the couch and puts his hand on Jason's shoulder, expertly directing him down, so his back is leaning on the armrest, one leg still on the floor while the other comes up to rest against the back cushion.

He leans over Jason, his left hand is next to the other's head while the other one is bent to hold onto the back of the couch. He leers down at him. "Mm, no, I don't think so."

"No?" Jason says, still high strung from his earlier arousal.

"Nah," Tim responds and leans down to brush his lips against Jason's. "Pretty boy like you should have the real deal."

Jason breath hitches, but he smiles. "Do you think they would withstand the explosion if I had to trigger the helmet bomb?"

Tim sighs and acts put-upon. "No, you're right," he moves to sit on the couch, grabbing the neckline of Jason's shirt to tug him with him. "Maybe I should get you a ruby studded collar instead," He lays his hand around Jason's neck, emulating a collar. Jason watches him with dilated pupils.

"I'll even put a tag on it," he murmurs, slowly tightening his grip around Jason's throat. "If lost, return to owner." Jason arches his neck, and Tim adjusts his grip to thumb over his boyfriend's lower lip. The man whimpers pathetically under him.

"But you'd never get lost, would you?" Tim's eyes bore into Jason's, who nods timidly. It never gets old, he thinks, to see this tank of a man, a man who has taken so many lives, ruined entire empires, surrender so completely to Tim. It's exhilarating. Beautiful. "My good boy wouldn't even need a leash, you'd come running the second I call, wouldn't you, pet?" Jason nods, and obediently parts his lips when Tim carefully nudges his thumb between them.

"So perfect for me, my obedient little pup."

˗ˋ 𖢻 ˊ˗

The next time Damian witnesses the strange dynamic between Jason and Tim is on patrol. Well, they are on patrol. Damian is following them. He's sitting on the ledge of a café roof watching the two take down a group of men in the middle of a kidnapping. They're good, loathe he is to admit it, Tim having taken care of three lackeys on his one while Jason seemed to interrogate the leader of the gang. Damian's angled so he can see Tim's face, but Jason is standing with his back partially turned to Tim.

He's not connected to their comms—couldn't find the right frequency they're on—but he's been taught to read lips, and he's good at it too if he says so himself, so actually hearing them isn't vital to his research. It would've helped, though. Especially since he can't actually see Jason's mouth. Whatever. All research is good research, he decides.

Jason seems to be done with his questioning, if the gun he's pulling out of its holster is anything to go by. Damian sees him flick the safety off and aim at the perp's head. The blood on the man kneeling in front of Jason's face glistens under the unforgiving light of the street light (the latest Keep Gotham Safe initiative had been to install bright, white lights in various street lights), and Damian has approximately six seconds to debate with himself whether or not he should tell his father about this assassination before he sees Tim intervene. Good to know he hasn't given up his morals for those of Red Hood, Damian thinks.

"Jason, down." he reads off of Tim's lips. Jason lowers the gun but turns to Tim to make a gesture Damian would guess translates to: Oh, come on! But Tim only shakes his head and makes a gesture himself. Damian doesn't have to guess what it means, not only because he can read the words Tim says as he's doing it, but also because him pointing at Jason silently and then to the ground beside himself while saying 'here, now.' can only mean so many things.

And Jason goes without arguments. Damian almost shudders at the display.

He definitely does shudder when he sees Tim mouth 'good boy' and stroke his thumb across Jason's neck, though.

He doesn't want to think it, didn't ever want to have these images in his head, but all plausible deniability goes out the window when Tim asks Jason if he wants a treat. Damian doesn't stay long enough to watch whatever the fuck that means.