#timdoc

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"My gun?" Tim clarified, tilting his head as Allen got out of the shower of his apartment building. Allen averted his eyes. "I mean, I have a gun. If that's what you're asking."

"It is, thanks." Allen muttered. "How often do you use it?"

Tim stared at him, as Allen messed with the tips of his hair with a towel. 

"I mean. Not at all, really." Tim laughed. "I only bought it after I started going to the shooting range. I thought I might need it someday. Why are you asking?"

This kind of communication never got easier, Allen thought to himself. On one hand, he wanted to ask this so that he could finally explore something that was hard to explore. On the other hand... It was embarrassing to even talk about it. There was no easier way to bring this up other than just... bringing it up.

"It's... nothing, I suppose." Allen chewed on the inside of his cheek as he sat down on the edge of the mattress, drying the rest of his hair. "I just remember when we went to the shooting range, and I saw you hold a gun for the first time... and the face you made--it gave me chills."

Well, it did more than give him chills. But he wasn't going to say that part out loud.

Allen turned to Tim, who leaned back against the headboard of the bed, nodding slowly. 

"Alright." Tim smiled, that easy-going smile that made Allen kind of pissed off. "Are you saying...?"

Fuck. If he was going to ask like that, Allen didn't want to give him the satisfaction.

"No." Allen quickly interjected. "I'm not saying anything. I was just curious."

As he put the towel down, straddling Tim's lap, the other man only shrugged.

"Whatever you say, sweetheart." Tim grinned, resting one hand on Allen's hip like it belonged there and the other gently touching the still-wet tips of Allen's hair. God, this man pissed him off sometimes with his act. Allen just leaned in and kissed him, tongue slipping in and hands pressing his shoulders back against the headboard.