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Tim knew something was wrong the second they got back from patrol. Mostly because no one bothered to hide it. Damian jumped out of the car, swearing in Arabic sending Tim these little glares filled with caustic concern. Dick stood off to the side, wringing his hands and glancing between Bruce and Tim and chewing on his bottom lip. Bruce had completely retreated into the Bat, his face a stony, black hole of emotion as the shadows settled around him like a second cape. Jason...
Tim blinked.
“Where's Jason?”
The entire world flinched. Tim's heart turned to ice.
No one wanted to be the first to speak.
“Where's Jason?” Tim asked again, a slight bit of hysteria slipping into his voice.
Dick and Damian shared an uncomfortable look.
“I'm not telling him,” Damian said, crossing his arms and refusing to look at anyone.
“Neither am I!” Dick raised his hands and took a step back. Tim flinched at his raised voice, and Dick shot him an apologetic look.
“It wasn't my fault,” Damian snapped. “I don't see why I should be the one to explain this...this...” He threw up his hands, then crossed his arms again and glared off to his left.
“It's not my fault either!” Dick said.
“-tt-!”
Dick looked hurt. “Dami!” He hunched in on himself. “Do...do you really think it's my fault?”
“Well it wasn't mine. Or Father's. And it isn't as if we can blame Todd since we aren't supposed to speak ill of the...the...” He made a nose like a strangled kitten and threw his hands in the air again before collapsing crosslegged onto the ground and settling in for a sulk. “I'm not saying it.”
“What happened to Jason!?”
Tim's voice cut through whatever Dick had been about to say. With one last inscrutable look at Damian, Dick turned back to Tim.
“Timmy...”
He trailed off. Closed his mouth. Opened it. Closed it again.
Just when Tim was about to scream, Bruce stepped forward.
“Tim,” he said.
“Bruce. Where's Jason?”
“I...”
Dick held his breath. Damian pulled his cape tightly around him. Bruce's face twitched like it was trying to remember how to emote.
“Here,” he said finally. His right hand emerged from his cape.
In his hand was a paper cup. It was dark gray (“gunmetal gray, babybird”) and about the size and shape as any normal cup you'd get in any coffee shop in the world. It was filled exactly 7/8ths of the way up with what appeared to be a latte. As Tim looked closer, he could see that someone had drawn latte art—impressively detailed latte art of a man with an oversized helmet strangling...Nightwing?
“Bruce...?”
“This is Jason,” Bruce said. “He's...” His face did that twitching thing again. “He's coffee.”
Tim started down at the cup of coffee—Jason, the coffee was Jason—in his hands. Bruce had wasted little time in shoving Jason into Tim's hands and leaving once the opportunity presented itself. Tim was still in a state of shock and almost dropped him. A small bit of Jason almost sloshed over the side, sending Dick into hysterics and nearly giving Tim a heart attack.
“How did this happen?”
No one said anything, but the Nightwing-murder latte art started to swirl around before resolving into an image of...a castle? Tim squinted. No, not just a castle, that was—
“Hogwarts?” Tim asked.
Jason bubbled slightly.
“Magic? Magic did this to...you?”
This was all very weird. Tim was basically talking to coffee, and while this wasn't, exactly, the first time he'd held conversations with caffeinated beverages, this was the first time one of them answered back.
And it answered back by swirling the latte art into a white, foamy thumbs up.
“How—” Tim shook his head. That wasn't important. “Who did this?”
The latte art swirled into a ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ emoji.
Tim would have pinched the bridge of his nose if he wasn't so scared of dropping Jason.
“But it's Dick's fault?” he asked. He was guessing based on the original latte art.
Another thumbs up.
Tim glared at Dick, who raised his hands again and took a few steps back.
“It wasn't my fault!”
“Dick,” Tim snarled. “Why. Is my boyfriend. A latte?”
Dick swallowed heavily. “There...there was a wizard.”
“A wizard?”
Dick nodded. “Yeah, but we thought he was just a lost cosplayer at first. You know, GothamCon is going on and—”
“Who was he cosplaying?” Tim asked before he could stop himself. In his hand, Jason bubbled slowly.
“Uh, Harry Potter, I think.”
“-tt-! That was not Harry Potter.”
“He had the hair and the glasses Dami,” Dick said with the fake-patient air of someone who had been having the same argument for hours.
“But he didn't have the scar!” Damian clenched his fist. “You can't be Harry Potter without the scar!”
Jason's bubbling increased, and when Tim looked down his art was in the shape of a lightning bolt. Tim nodded. “Jason's right. No scar, no Harry.”
“Okay! Fine. He wasn't Harry. He was...I dunno, a really bad Ron maybe—”
“But the hair!” Damian screeched.
“Was his hair red?” Tim asked Jason while Dick was sputtering.
Jason's art formed a small Red Hood helmet, then it disappeared and formed an identical helmet that was slightly tilted to the side. He flashed the two images rapidly, making the small foamy Hood shake its head back and forth like a two framed gif from the 90s.
“Okay then, he wasn't Ron.” Tim frowned. “Can you form words with that stuff?”
The foamy head kept shaking.
“Huh. That's kind of lame.”
(◣ _ ◢)凸, Jason latted.
“Does it really matter who he was cosplaying as?” Dick asked.
“No,” Tim said, cutting off what looked to be an angry response from Damian. In the back of his head, Tim made a note to ask when Damian got so passionate about Harry Potter cosplay. “Just tell me what happened to Jason.”
Damian, apparently, wasn't to be contained. “Greyson and Todd provoked the wizard,” he said, crossing his arms.
Tim sighed. He should have known Jason was at least partly responsible. “Really?”
Jason bubbled angrily and turned his foam into a gun.
“Yeah yeah, you'll kill us all.” Tim rolled his eyes. “How did they provoke him?” he asked, now speaking exclusively to Damian, since he was apparently the most trustworthy remember of the family right now.
Today is weird.
“They started arguing about Hogwarts houses.”
“Seriously?”
Damian nodded.
“With the wizard who was cosplaying at an indeterminate Harry Potter character?”
“And each other.”
“Seriously?”
“He was wearing a Ravenclaw scarf!” ejaculated Dick. “All I said was he should have had a Gryffindor scarf if he was supposed to be Harry. Then he got really mad and asked why I didn't have one if I liked Gryffindor so much—”
“Then Grayson said that he doesn't wear his scarf on patrol. Which is ridiculous, because we all know Grayson is a mewling Hufflepuff—”
“I'm a Gryffindor!”
“Hufflepuff!”
“Actually,” Tim cut in, “I've always thought Dick was a Gryfflepuff”
“You can't have hybrid houses!” they both shouted at the same time as Jason bubbled in indignation.
“Okay, okay.” Tim held his hands up, sloshing Jason slightly. “Sorry,” he apologized to his coffee boyfriend. “But how did Jason get in on this?”
“He laughed and—”
“He called me a Gryffindor,” Damian snarled.
“Oh for...” Tim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damian,” he said heavily.
“What?” Damian sneered. “We all know I'm a Slytherin.”
“Damian,” Tim repeated, raising an incredulous eyebrow. “You're more of a Hufflepuff than Dick is.”
“What?”
“Hardworking, dedicated, loyal, does that sound like anyone we know?”
“Yes,” Damian snarled, “Jon.”
“Okay, yes. But, putting aside your adorable and disturbing crush on a ten year old boy—”
“I do not—”
“—it also describes you to a T.”
“I'm a Slyther—”
“The only Slytherin thing about you is how much you like snakes.” Tim couldn't believe he was actually the one who was finally having this talk with Damian despite all the times he swore he wasn't touching this much needed conversation with a ten foot pole. “And your ambition, maybe. But you have pretty much no cunning and subtlety is something I think you might have heard about in passing once but never bothered to ask for clarification. Maybe there's some arguments to be made for Gryffindor, but you need to face it Damian, you're no Slytherin.”
“No cunning? No subtlty? I've lead assassins—”
“And you were so bad at it you had to run away to Gotham and guilt Dick into making you Robin.”
“I came here to supplant you as Father's Heir!”
“And you sucked at it. You told me to my face that you wanted to replace me then left your kill list out for anyone with half decent eyesight to find. How is any of that cunning or subtle?”
Damian bared his teeth and lunged at Tim. Dick plucked him out of the air like he was a grocery bag blowing in the wind and gently placed him on the ground away from Tim. Damian stared up at him with all the hurt betrayal of a scolded dog.
“Bad Dami,” Dick said.
Damian's entire face turned red and he snarled at...well, the whole world, Tim assumed. Luckily he was so overflowing with rage he couldn't do anything but stand there and have a small seizure, so Tim finally got the conversation back on track.
“So what did Jason do?”
Jason's foam formed a halo. Tim snorted.
“Don't try the innocent act with me Jay. I know you.”
Tim had no idea coffee could look wounded.
“And even if I didn't,” he went on, “you're the only one who got turned into anything, so you must have done something. Dick?”
“He punched the wizard in the face.”
More secure in his hold on his boyfriend now, Tim gave in and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why did Jason punch the wizard?”
“It...might have been because he was defending me,” Dick said, scratching he back of his head. “I, uh. I might have said a few things and made the wizard mad. I think Jason was trying to help me.”
Tim was pretty sure even the giant robot dinosaur was giving Dick a skeptical look.
“Or he might have been mad that the wizard laughed when Jason claimed to be a Slytherin.”
That sounds more like Jason.
Tim shot Jason such a look of bitter disappointment. He would like to say this was the most disappointed he'd ever been in coffee, but that would be a lie.
“I guess we should be proud that he didn't shoot him?” Tim said.
“He was out of ammo,” Dick said helpfully.
“Ah.”
Jason bubbled loudly. When Tim looked at him, his latte art was in the shape of a Slytherin badge. The snake was wearing a tiny little Red Hood.
“Oh Jason,” Tim said, pity lacing his every word. “You're the most Hufflepuff of them all.”
So yeah, Jason was coffee and no one had any idea where to find the wizard who turned him, but life went on. Cases needed solving, crime needed stopping, and there was at least another hour of sleep for Tim to avoid. He set Jason down next to the computer and reviewed surveillance footage with him. Or, rather, Tim reviewed surveillance footage while Jason formed increasingly lewd latte art.
It was more distracting than Tim would ever admit.
Eventually, though, it was time for even Tim to get some sleep. So he took Jason up, placed him on his nightstand, and collapsed face first into his pillow. The day had been more stressful than usual, however, and when Tim awoke after a full four hours of sleep he was totally wrecked. His mouth was dry and cottony, his eyes were caked with sleep crud, his throat was doing its best impression of the Sahara desert and his limbs felt like calcified death. Pretty much the only part of Tim that was working properly was his nose. And it smelled something delicious.
Mmm. Coffee...
He reached for it blindly, his coffee sense unerringly leading him to the warm cup of liquid bean ambrosia and bringing it to his lips.
What follows are the thoughts of Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne as he gulped down the latte he found on his nightstand.
Thought 1: This is the most delicious thing I've ever put in my mouth.
Thought 2: It's so warm.
Thought 3: Someone must have left it for me recently.
Thought 4: lol I'm so tired.
Thought 5: This stuff is perking me up though.
Thought 6: I feel like I'm forgetting something important...
Thought 7: Meh.
Thought 8: If Damian spoils the new Avengers movie for me I'm going to kill him.
Thought 9: Oh, right. Kon already did that.
Thought 10: Kon is a dick.
Thought 11: Heh, I'm so tired it feels like this coffee is getting hotter as I drink it.
Thought 12: I should pour it in Kon's lap.
Thought 13: The prick.
Thought 14: Wait...this coffee is getting hotter...
Thought 15: Ow! Dammit that's really hot!
Thought 16: Mah tun ith bunt!
Thought 17: Why did I think that like I would say it with a burned tongue?
Thought 18: I need Jason to kiss it better.
Thought 19: Wait...
Thought 20, which, in addition to being a thought, was also a verbal exclamation:
“Shit!”
Tim looked down in horror at the half-drunken cup of Jason in his hands.
Oh my god. I drank my boyfriend.
“Jason!”
Tim almost collapsed in relief when the little foam that was left started to swirl sluggishly.
Oh thank god I didn't kill him.
“Jason, can you hear me?”
The foam swirled faster.
“Okay.” Tim took a breath. “Okay. Okay that's.... Okay.” He paused, then tentatively asked, “Did I hurt you?”
The foam swirled counterclockwise.
“Okay.” Tim said again, nodding this time. “Um. What does that mean?”
If it was possible for a half-drank cup of coffee to look exasperated, Jason managed it.
“Right. Um. Clockwise for yes, counterclockwise for no? I hope...”
Jason swirled clockwise. Tim let out a breath.
“Jason...I am so sorry. I didn't mean to drink you I swear to Batman I didn't. I was just so tired and you smelled so divine and I wasn't thinking and you tasted so good and...”
Jason swirled quickly counterclockwise.
“No?” Tim frowned. “What does that mean? What's no?”
Jason bubbled sluggishly.
“Oh! I...guess you don't care why I drank you.” Tim felt like an idiot. “You probably only care about how we're gonna get you out of me...”
Tim and the coffee stared at each other.
“Um.” Tim bit his lip. “Should I try peeing in your cup?”
Jason swirled aggressively counterclockwise.
“Okay okay.” He held up the hand that wasn't holding Jason in a placating manner. “It was just a suggestion. Maybe we could...”
They bandied ideas back and forth for the rest of the morning. Or, well, Tim came up with ideas and Jason shot them all down. And, really, as frustrated as he was getting he wouldn't say it out loud because Jason was the one going through the trauma right now, but would it have killed him to at least try something? Getting peed in or thrown up on probably wasn't appealing even as half a cup of coffee, but this was Tim's boyfriend they were talking about here. Being a cup of coffee was bad enough, but now he couldn't even form latte art. Tim had drank the ability to form latte art out of his boyfriend.
Sue him if he was feeling a little guilty about it.
Luckily, digesting Jason seemed to solve the problem, because the next morning he was full and steaming and his latte foam was as thick and creamy as ever.
Tim's boyfriend used his new-oldfound superpower to guilt Tim into taking him on along patrol.
“I have no idea how I let you talk me into this,” Tim said as he ducked a punch from a gang member dressed as an old timey ice cream man. Jason was securely strapped to his thigh inside a hastily thrown together armored thermos. The lid was a dome of transparent bulletproof Batmobile glass and inside was a small camera that recorded his latte art and transmitted a small, real time image to the corner of Red Robin's cowl display. Also, Jason had complained until Tim carved a little Red Hood bat symbol on the outside of the thermos. So there was that, too.
(Tim strapped Jason in with the bat symbol facing towards his thigh. There was a limit to how many bats he was willing to wear visibly on his suit.
(Zero. That number is zero. He is Red Robin not Red Bat thank you very much.)
Tim punched the ice cream guy right on the jaw, dropping him like a stack of Neapolitan. Jason sent him an image of a tiny stick figure attacking a tiny caped stick figure from behind with a flying side kick, and Tim ducked just in time for the next gang member to go flying over his head.
“Thank you,” Tim said to his boyfriend. He took his bo staff off his belt, snapped it out to full length, and smacked flying kick ice cream man in the back of the head.
Jason sent him an image of a buff guy wearing a Red Hood helmet. The helmet was smirking.
“I hate that you're useful,” Tim said as he continued to fight the ice cream gang. “You're never going to let this go, and I'm going to be patrolling with armored coffee attached to my thigh for the rest of my life. Oh God. No. That's. No. Jason. No. You better turn back into Flesh Jason before I die because I'm not dealing with this for the rest of my life. Jason. Jason are you listening to me?”
Eventually he beat up enough ice cream men that the leader of the gang decided to make himself known. He was dressed as an ice cream man too, except he had a giant metal pack strapped to his back, attached by a rubber hose to something that looked suspiciously like one of Freeze's cold guns.
“So, you're the one who decided to interrupt my little ice cream social, are you?” the guy said. “Hmmm, I was hoping for a Bat Sundae, but I suppose a Robin Fondue will have to do!”
He let out a crazy, warbling laugh, then started firing his gun at Tim.
It shot vanilla ice cream that instantly froze anything it touched, because of course it did.
“Fondue isn't even an ice cream!” Tim yelled as he dodged the creamy blasts. “You're already ruining your gimmick!”
“Silence!”
Tim tried to throw a few flash grenades, but ice cream guy was a disturbingly good shot with his ice cream gun, and managed to freeze them all before they got anywhere near him.
How? How does he even practice that without someone noticing? And these outfits look vintage, too. Did he rob an ice cream museum? How did he get so many people to dress up with him? I can barely get enough people to dress as the original Enterprise crew and go to Comic Con with me and he can fill out a whole ice cream gang? How is this at all fair?
“Any ideas, Jay?” Tim muttered as he continued to dodge.
Jason sent him an image of the buff Red Hood shrugging.
“Great. Thanks for the help.”
“It seems like you're the cream of the crop!” ice cream man said after ten solid minutes of Tim dodging every single one of his shots.
“That's not an ice cream expression eith—ow!” Tim got tagged with the edge of an vanilla blast.
“Ha! Maybe not so crème de la crème after all!”
“Stop doing tha—woah!”
Tim barely avoided another blast.
He's distracting me. He's actually distracting me with his terrible adherence to theme. What the freaking hell?
“Sir,” Alfred's voice came over the comm. “I have some information about the man you're fighting. Is now a good time?”
“Yes. Please.” Tim would take any help he could get. Especially since he was having enough trouble that it wouldn't be long before Oracle called in some backup for him. With the way his life was going at the moment, it would be Damian. Tim would never be allowed to forget the time Damian had to save him from an ice cream villain.
“His name is Benjamin Jerry—”
“Of course it is.”
“—and he was recently fired from his job at Wayne Chemical's advanced research laboratory for inhumane ice cream related experiments.”
No. Seriously. How was this Tim's life?
“Do I even want to know what he was working on?”
“Perhaps not, but in any case there is no one left who does know, besides Mr Jerry. After he was fired he apparently murdered the manager who discovered his experiments, followed by his entire research team, before destroying his laboratory. Though, if I had to hazard a guess, I would assume his research has something to do with that unique gun he seems to be so adept with.”
“Probably. Do you know if he has any weaknesses?”
“The invention of yogurt?”
Tim bit back a laugh. “Okay, hang on, I'm going to try something.”
Three different voices protested immediately over his comm, and Jason sent him an image of something that was either a stop sign or the UFC octagon.
Tim ignored them all.
“Hey, Ice Cream Man!”
“My name is Freezer Burn!” the man shrieks, redoubling his efforts to hit Tim with ice cream.
Tim cringed, a bit, internally. He hated how the terrible name was more on point that almost all of his stupid banter, but not as much as he hated that he was probably going to have to stop making fun of Bart every time he needed to help The Flash take down someone named Weather Wizard or Captain Cold.
“This entire day is going in my cringe compilation,” Tim muttered. He refused to engage in distracting banter with a guy named Freezer Burn—unlike Dick he had standards—so he skipped it and instead took two fistfuls of smoke bombs and chucked them full force at Gotham's latest supervillian. Just like he expected, Freezer Burn managed to shoot them all before they went off, but while he was busy shooting Tim's bombs he wasn't actually shooting at Tim.
He'd barely finished ice(cream)ing the last bomb when Tim's boot connected with his face, sending him to the floor like a cheap bag of gas station ice cubes.
Jason sent him an image of Cloud doing his victory pose from Final Fantasy 7. Tim grinned.
“Alfred,” he said into his comm, “Freezer Burn is out cold.”
(Okay so maybe he's not totally above bad jokes. Deal with it.)
“As you say, sir.”
“Timmy,” Dick's voice came through the comm, “I'm so proud of you.”
“It was just one guy with a—”
“No! For the pun. You're keeping the legacy of Robin alive.”
“I'm not Robin anymore.”
“That's why I'm so happy.” Dick let out an obviously exaggerated happy sigh. “My influence lives on even after the mantle was passed.”
“You mean after you stole it from me when I needed it the most and gave it to the murder baby that had just threatened to kill me?”
Jason sent an image of a penis wearing the old Discowing suit stepping in a pile of something that looked like dog poo.
Dick laughed self-consciously. “Heh, um—”
“Even as a child I was ten times the Robin you were, Drake.”
“You're still a child,” Tim shot back. “And how open is this channel?”
“Pretty open,” Steph said.
“And I'm still better than you!”
“We heard everything.” Cass.
“Sorry,” Oracle said, sounding anything but, “you were the only one in trouble so I left it open in case you needed any help with your supervillain.”
“I wasn't in trouble—”
Jason sent him an image of a giant arrow pointing to the right, one of their prearranged signals for “go this way now!”.
Tim dodged.
It was too late.
An ice cream blast from the now-conscious Freezer Burn clipped him in the leg, enough to send him spinning through the air, but not enough to freeze him solid. Tim landed hard on the ground and rolled into a bushel of trashcans. He pushed himself to his feet, his leg numb and barely holding his weight and he needed to move before he got shot for real and—
Tim noticed three things simultaneously. The first was that Freezer Burn wasn't firing at him anymore. The second was that the leg that got hit was the one that had Jason attached to it.
The third was that Jason was no longer strapped to his thigh.
Tim's head snapped up, terror flooding every atom of his body as he searched frantically for his frothy, caffeinated boyfriend. He didn't have to search long.
Hovering in the air about halfway between Tim and Freezer Burn was a lump of frozen ice cream. As he watched, this gravity defying confection began to vibrate, the block of ice(cream) quickly melting into non-parenthesized ice cream and disappearing into what appeared to be a tiny crack in the top of the supposedly bulletproof glass lid. Soon it was gone, completely sucked into Jason's armored coffee cup. Jason hovered in mid air, Tim and Freezer Burn both staring slack jawed at him. Then the top of the cup burst open, and a creamy, coffee...y blur flew out and attached itself to Freezer Burn's gun. Freezer Burn had just enough time to scream before the gun exploded.
The lenses of Tim's cowl automatically dimmed the bright explosion to protect his eyes, but only for a few seconds. Which was apparently long enough, because when they went back to normal opacity standing in front of him over the still body of Freezer Burn was a...sort of man sized lump of cream.
It didn't take long for the cream to start shaping itself. Arms, legs, a head, a torso; undefined at first, then slowly gaining detail as if some invisible sculptor was carving a statue out of strangely solid ice cream. Except, when it was done, instead of Michelangelo's David it was Tim's Jason; human sized (but with suspiciously larger muscles) and probably whiter than Jason had ever been. His hair was pure white, his eyes were white orbs with the barest outline of irises, his clothes were pure white (and oddly melting together in places, like clothes clipping through a character model in a video game), his skin was, of course, pure white too.
Tumblr would hate this...
Tim shook his head. “Jason...?” he asked tentatively.
Ice cream Jason nodded, his eyes wide.
“Holy shit,” Tim breathed. He walked forward and reached out to touch him, but hesitated at the last moment. “Can...can you talk?”
“Maybe?” Jason laughed. “Holy fuck I can talk! I don't even have vocal chords...right?”
Tim stared at him. At Jason.
At Jason.
Tim flung himself at Jason and held him tightly. He closed his eyes and sunk into Jason's creamy goodness, making a mess of his uniform and not giving one single crap because Jason was solid and here and not coffee and Tim had missed his boyfriend. He'd been trying so hard not to think about what might happen if they never figured out how to de-coffee Jason, and now that he was (somewhat) back Tim was nearly in tears at how close he'd come to losing him. This part of him, anyway. Tim would have loved coffee Jason until the day he died, the same as he would love any Jason, but over the past year and a half Tim had come to depend on Jason's solid, corporeal presence in his life. Jason was a very real pillar of support for Tim, sometimes the only thing holding him up after a bad patrol or a week with too much stress and not enough sleep. And now he had him back.
Sort of.
“Jason,” Tim said into his boyfriend's shoulder. He accidentally tasted him. He was delicious. “Why are you ice cream?”
“No idea babybird,” Jason said, holding Tim closer. “Gotta say, it's a lot better than being coffee.”
“Yeah.” More of Jason got in his mouth, and Tim reluctantly pulled away. He winced at how messy he was, and tried to wipe as much of Jason off as he could. “God, I'm covered in you.”
Jason leered.
“Oh my God,” Tim said with a wet, shaky laugh. His heart ached. He'd even missed that stupid look. “How can you be perverted right now?”
“Hey, being a fucking latte doesn't exactly leave a lot of time for...” He trailed off, eyes going wide again.
“Jay...?”
Instead of responding, Jason pulled the waistband of his “jeans” away from his “body” with a soft sucking sound and looked down.
“Holy shit.”
“What?”
“Babybird...”
“What?”
He looked at Tim, a grin slowly spreading across creamy lips. “I'm anatomically correct.”
“Wh—what?”
“Everything's where it should be.”
“You mean...?”
“Holy fucking shit!”
“What now?”
“I can make it bigger.” Jason looked like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh we are so trying this thing out.”
“Wait.” Tim took a step back. “Wait.”
“Babybird?”
“No.”
“Timmy...”
“No.”
“You haven't even seen how big I can make this thing.”
“No, Jason. No. Absolutely not. You are ice cream. This is not. No. No. This is not happening. Not ever. Do you hear me Jason? This is not happening.”
It happened.
Multiple times.
Three weeks later
Jason was reclining against the headboard of their bed. Tim's head was in his lap and he slowly ran his fingers through Tim's hair as Tim lazily lapped at the cream that made up his thigh.
“I really need to stop doing this,” Tim said as he took another lick. “You're gonna make me fat.”
Jason chuckled. “First off, you'd look adorable with a little pudge on you. Second, you can't actually digest me, remember? It all just...poofs back overnight. So you aren't even getting any calories. Or nutrition. If anything, you're gonna starve yourself if you don't eat anything but me.”
“But you're so tastyyyyy,” Tim whined. Over the past few weeks he'd gotten used to Jason's new body. And while it wasn't quite as nice as Jason's old, inedible flesh body, he couldn't deny that there were some benefits, even beyond his delicious, creamy “flesh”. The new Jason was highly customizable. Bigger was only the tip of the ice(cream)berg.
Tim grinned just thinking about it.
“Damn right I am,” Jason agreed.
“Do you miss it?” Tim asked a few minuted later. His belly was filled with Jason, and while it would in fact disappear while they slept on their surprisingly comfortable rubber sheets that night, right now Tim was full and content and happy to curl up in Jason's lap and enjoy his boyfriend's creamy minstrations.
“Miss what? My body?”
“Yeah.”
“Eh.” Jason shrugged. “Would it be weird if I said no?”
“Hmmm. Not really. Can I ask why?”
Jason sighed. “I dunno. I mean, I can't smoke in this body, but all the chemicals and shit that got me addicted to nicotine in the first place aren't here so I don't miss it as much as I thought I would. It's pretty fucking cool how malleable I am now. Like I never knew how much fun it was to make my arm an axe, you know? I kin Clayface so fucking hard now.”
“Never say that again.”
Jason laughed and kissed Tim's forehead. “I'm super flexible now, too. And my stamina is ridiculous.”
“You don't have to tell me,” Tim murmured. He'd reached levels of soreness these past weeks that he didn't even think existed.
Not that he was complaining.
“And...” Jason continued softly, “this body's never been in the Pit. It's kinda nice being able to talk to Bruce without wanting to break his fucking face. Especially when it does that weird thing.”
“That's just because he's happy you're okay.”
“I think 'okay' is pretty relative, here.”
“So is 'happy', but Bruce treats most emotions the same way he treats board meetings. They're something he has to deal with that he doesn't quite understand, so he'll just suffer through them until he can run away or force me to deal with them for him. So it doesn't really matter.”
“Yeah,” Jason snorted. “What about you? Do you miss the old me?”
“Hmmm. Would it be weird if I said no?”
Jason laughed. “Not at all, babybird.” He trailed his fingers slowly down Tim's naked body to his hip. “I knew you'd come around on the extra large cone.”
Tim grimaced. “Please stop calling it that.”
“You love it.”
“I really don't.”
“Come on, don't even try to pretend. My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.”
Tim sat up and glared. “It better not.”
“No?”
“No.” Tim crawled up Jason's body so they were eye to eye. “I better be the only boy drinking your milkshake.”
Jason's face softened. “You know you are.”
Tim smiled. “I love you.”
“I love you too, babybird.”
They shared a chaste, delicious kiss. One that very quickly became less chaste, but no less delicious.
“Now,” Tim said, swinging his leg over Jason's hip and straddling him. “Let's see if we can break our record.”
“Length? Thickness? Or how many times you can cum before you pass out?”
Tim smirked. “How about all three?”
About a week later, Zatanna showed up at the manor, dragging a sulking Klarion the Witch Boy in by the ear. It took about three seconds for everyone to come to the right conclusion. Explanations were given, glares were exchanged, and Klarion was mostly just embarrassed that he'd been caught going to Gotham Comic-Con. In the end, he offered to turn Jason back, not seeming at all surprised that he'd gone from a cup of coffee to an ice cream person. He was also the only one not surprised when Jason and Tim both turned him down.
“Why would anybody want to be human?” he asked, seeming genuinely confused as to why so many people were protesting Jason's decision.
In the end, Zatanna (and Bruce, though Klarion would never admit it), intimidated him into giving Jason an amulet that would change him back into his old human body while he wore it. Everyone was more or less pleased, and Klarion was finally allowed to leave. Later on, when Jason put the amulet on for the first time, he found himself transformed into a thirteen year old version of himself, scaly panties and Robin uniform and all.
Old human body indeed.