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“So, uh… I’ve been thinkin’.”
It’s a slow, lazy morning—afternoon, technically, but they only just got up. They’re lying in bed, still naked. Jason on his back, one arm behind his head, the other wrapped loosely around Tim. Tim lies on his side, head pillowed on his shoulder; one hand toying with the wiry curls on Jason’s chest.
It stills, now; coming to rest loosely against his skin. “Hm?” Tim hums interestedly.
Jason swallows. “About, uh— Your crush. On me. Robin me, I mean.” The words stumble out of his mouth, graceless and inelegant. He shouldn’t be so nervous; Tim has had him saying a lot filthier than this. But… Jason’s not good at this. Not when his inhibitions are still intact, not when it’s someone, or something, he cares about.
Tim presses a kiss to his shoulder. “What about it?” He stays relaxed, at ease in Jason’s arms. It’s a stark difference from the way he had reacted when it had first been brought up. They’d only been official—and public—for a short time. Bruce hadn’t even caught on yet. (Jason still isn’t sure if he has or not, honestly.) Steph had, though, and there’d been a teasing glint in her eye when Tim had taken Jason’s hand under the table.
It wasn’t Tim she’d spoken to, though.
“So, Jason,” she’d said sweetly—which was all the warning they’d needed, really. “Has Tim told you about the big, fat crush he had on you as a kid yet?”
Tim had turned red to his ears—redder than Jason had ever seen up to that point—clearly embarrassed. “Steph,” he’d hissed. He hadn’t let go of Jason’s hand, but he’d squirmed in his seat.
Jason had wanted nothing more than to kiss the breath from him, but he’d held back, letting the matter drop. Well. After some light teasing, anyway.
But the comment had never left his mind.
See, the thing is… Jason doesn’t think most people realize how many Robins there have actually been.
In fact, he knows they don’t.
There’s a lot of speculation—at least among those who actually care about vigilantes and superheroes—with assumptions ranging anywhere from three to ten. (Or more, but that’s not a conspiracy Jason looks that deeply into.) But, even among other heroes, he’s not sure how many of them realize that Tim is the third Robin, and not the second.
He doesn’t blame them, really. He didn’t patrol nearly as often as the others, limited to weekends and school breaks. He pretty much never patrolled solo, or worked any cases on his own—and none of the cases he did work, alone or not, were very high profile. He was only tangentially involved with the Teen Titans… and on top of all of that, he did everything he could to try and emulate Dick.
Which, in hindsight, he was really too small to pull that off. But, it lines up perfectly with Tim—who was already taller than him even at just twelve years old. He was so tiny when he died. It would be easy to conflate his time with Tim’s, assuming they were one and the same.
Jason had been forgotten; his only legacy a case in the Batcave and his name used as a cautionary tale for new sidekicks—if it was brought up at all.
Knowing that, somehow, Tim had wanted him back then—had known enough about him, had seen him… It was exhilarating. He’d wanted, desperately, to know more, but he’d swallowed his curiosity for fear of making Tim uncomfortable. Just knowing it was true, or could be true, had been enough to warm him.
But then it had been brought up again. Damian, this time, after some ribbing about his new crush: “Not everyone is fortunate enough to date our boyhood heroes, Drake.”
Tim had just rolled his eyes, barely fazed by the comments. They’ve been together months now—long enough, it seemed, for Tim’s embarrassment to have faded.
Jason’s interest had been renewed. He hadn’t brought it up immediately, letting a few days pass as he both gathered his nerves and waited for the right moment.
That moment is now.
“I…” He holds Tim a little tighter. “Why me, I guess? Dick seems like the more obvious choice.” Especially with the way Tim practically idolizes him, even now.
Tim hums again, thoughtful this time. “I had a crush on Dick too,” he says slowly. “But— Well. You know I used to follow you guys around sometimes, right?” He resumes tracing patterns on Jason’s chest.
Yes. Jason knows about Tim’s childhood hobby of stalking vigilantes. It still makes his stomach go tight to think about it sometimes. He’s seen pictures of Tim at that age—few and far between though they may be. Second largest Robin or not, he was so terribly small, and… well. Jason is all too aware of the kind of dangers that lurk in Gotham’s streets.
“Yeah,” he says.
“Mm. Well, when I started, it was only a few months before Dick was fired. I missed the whole Two Face debacle, but, I mean. It wasn’t hard to notice that Robin had disappeared. Then Nightwing started running with the Titans, and, well. It was pretty easy to put two-and-two together from there.”
Jason huffs a laugh. For Tim, maybe.
“Then I saw in the papers that Bruce had adopted you. I wasn’t sure if you knew about Batman, or if he was planning to make you his next partner or not, but… I thought it was a possibility. So I wasn’t surprised when you finally showed up with him.” Tim pauses, his fingers stilling again. “I… wasn’t happy about it though.” He confesses it slowly, and Jason can clearly picture the way Tim has to be biting his lip. “I was expecting not to like you.”
Jason covers Tim’s hand with his own. It hurts a little, he won’t lie about that, but it’s easier knowing where this is going. “What changed your mind?”
Tim hums. “Oh, a lot of things. Not even ten minutes into my first time seeing you, you had Batman smiling.” His voice is warm, and Jason can just see the way he’s smiling. It makes him smile too, helplessly. “It was so different from what I saw when Dick was Robin. They fought all the time, then, about everything. But with you… Everything was so much lighter.” Jason would swear Tim’s smile grows. “I was still determined not to like you, of course, but…” He shrugs. “You had me won over by the end of the night.”
A soft, fuzzy feeling wraps around Jason like a blanket. He can’t help but hold Tim a little tighter. Tim turns his head, pressing a kiss to Jason’s chest.
“The thing that really got me, in the end,” he says, just loud enough for Jason to hear, “was when you rescued this kid. You were so… gentle. Kind. And—I don’t know. I was a goner after that.”
Jason presses his face to the top of Tim’s head, letting the scent of his shampoo fill his nose. “I was a charmer,” he says, and for once, there’s no lingering bitterness in his voice; no resentment for the boy-that-used-to-be.
Tim hums his agreement. “Still are.” He tips his head back just enough to flash Jason a grin—one he returns. Then Tim settles again. “Watching you became something of an obsession. I already—I’d had years to learn about Dick, but you were new, and. It was different, watching you. Dick was larger-than-life, but you were— You weren’t that much older than me, really, and still learning, and growing, too. You felt like mine.”
Jason doesn’t shiver, exactly, but there’s a frisson of something under his skin.
Like he can tell the direction Jason’s thoughts are going, Tim adds, “You starred in a lot of my earliest fantasies, you know.”
Jason’s grin widens. “Yeah? Like what?” His brain conjures a few of his own. Tim, spotting him jerking off on patrol—God knows some nights it was tempting; only the threat that Batman could turn up again at any time kept his hands to himself—and settling into watch. Touching himself, too, matching the pattern of Jason’s hand, trying his best to stay quiet…
Or, fuck. With all his hero worship, Tim probably never would have thought about blackmailing him, but… Jason bites his lip. It’s a hot thought. Tim showing up on the roof, promising not to tell Batman if Jason just lets him watch. Or lets him do some touching of his own.
Or maybe— Maybe Tim would have wanted to play hero. Maybe he pictured swooping into Robin’s rescue, for once. Sweeping Jason off of his feet. Letting Jason repay the favor by getting him off.
He swallows, mouth suddenly feeling tacky.
Tim hums. “There were a few,” he says, “but one of my favorites usually started with you rescuing me. From a mugger, maybe, or from falling. You’d whisk me off somewhere safe—a nearby rooftop, maybe, or an alley. Somewhere you could make sure I was okay, and then you’d lecture me about recklessness.” Tim’s mouth quirks. “Not that I’m listening.”
Shocking.
“I am grateful, though. Not just for the save, but— everything. And as soon as I spot an opening, I have to ask, ‘How do you do it? How do you protect Gotham, and watch out for Batman, and still live a normal life? It must be so hard.’”
It’s easy for Jason to picture.
Being fifteen again, when Robin was losing its magic. When he looked around Gotham, seeing not the people they’d saved—but the one’s they hadn’t. The ones they failed. He’s fighting with Bruce more and more, questioning everything. Even school doesn’t offer an escape. And Dick—well. Dick is great, but busy. Distant. And always fighting with Bruce.
He’s lonely. He doesn’t think he’d realized how much, back then.
And then—
There’s Tim, looking at him with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, faintly awestruck and painfully earnest. In Jason’s mind, he’s not 12, 13 as he would have been, but 14. 15, even. Younger than him, but not young.
“It is. I know it is, now, but even then I suspected. You brush it off, though. After all, you’re Robin. This is what you do. And I say, ‘Yeah—but. You deserve to get something back. To be taken care of.’”
Fantasy-Tim’s cheeks grow red, while real-Tim’s pink.
“’Let me make you feel good.’ And I drop to my knees.”
Jason’s breath catches. He’s flushed. His skin prickles; his cock stirs. Teenage-him probably would have panicked and fled, or tried to stop him; face tomato-red. Fantasy-teen Jason stays, biting his lip, back pressed against the wall, thighs parting.
He wants. He’s nervous. But he needs this. Needs someone’s soft touch. Concern. Affection. Fifteen-year-old Jason needed so badly for someone to care.
“I know now it’s a one-piece, but in the fantasy…” Tim pauses, then smiles and says, “In the fantasy, the panties come down easy.”
Jason shivers. His nipples feel tight—his whole body feels tight, like he’s too big for his skin. Teenage-him, scaly green panties around his knees; cock flushed and red, drooling at the sight of Tim pretty & pink-cheeked in front of him.
The way his pulse would have raced; his breath quickened.
“I doubt I would have been very good at it. Even teen me could admit that,” Tim says. “But I would have made up for it with eagerness. There’d have been a moment, a pause where I tried to figure out how to start.”
Fuck. He can see the look of concentration on fantasy-Tim’s face; that little furrow between his brows, the determination in his eyes. The way his gaze would have flicked up toward Jason, then steeled.
His hand around the base of Jason’s cock—the way real-Tim’s hand is wrapping around it now. He curls his fingers into the sheets, feeling almost bad for the way fantasy-Jason has to scramble at brick.
Both Tim’s lap at the head. Real-Tim isn’t afraid to get messy; normally clever tongue clumsy. Jason loses himself in the feeling. There’s something really fucking erotic about the way Tim is touching him—tentative, unsure, like it’s his first time, like he has no idea what he’s doing. Jason didn’t think he had a virginity kink, but fuck. It’s doing something for him.
When Tim finally takes him into his mouth, Jason has to bite his fist, whole body trembling with the effort it takes not to fuck him. Fuck. Teen-Jason would have shot off then and there, if he even made it that far.
The blowjob doesn’t turn practiced. Tim doesn’t use all the tricks he knows now. It’s messy. Clumsy. Tim gags, sputters. But he doesn’t stop. Each time he pulls off he goes back even more eager than before.
Jason is panting. Fantasy-Tim and Real-Tim are laid over each other. Real-Tim knows exactly what he’s doing; Jason can see the smug look in his eye. Fantasy-Tim, though—Fantasy-Tim is utterly devoted to his task; flushed and embarrassed but determined to give Teen-Jason the blowjob of his life.
Both images are ridiculously, stupidly hot, and Jason can feel himself getting close.
Tim knows him well enough that he’s got to know, too, but—he keeps going, doesn’t ready himself. Jason groans, deep and throaty, throat working until he can choke out, “Close—Tim—”
And Tim laughs, but finally, pulls off, until only an inch or two is still in his mouth. He presses his fingers just behind Jason’s sac in a move fantasy-Tim definitely would not have known but which makes Jason shout.
He doesn’t swallow all of it—lets it dribble down his chin, coat his face, get in his hair. Neither of them are the biggest fans of mess, but—
Fuck.
Maybe Jason’s changing his mind, because that was so goddamn hot.
He’s spent, but that doesn’t keep him from grabbing at Tim, catching a fistful of shit before he pulls him into a wet, sloppy kiss. It’s not much of a kiss, the way he’s panting, but they make it work; Tim’s fingers tangling in his hair, sliding up his shirt to toy with the hair on his chest.
“Good?” Tim asks, batting his eyes coyly.
Jason growls. “Shut up. Lemme—I want—” His fingers are clumsy, but he pops the button on Tim’s jeans after a few tries; worming his hand inside. “Hope even your teen fantasy-version of me was a fucking gentleman.”
Tim laughs, breathier than usual. “Don’t worry,” he says. “If teen-me didn’t come from the blowjob alone—” Jason whines at the thought, “—then Robin definitely paid him back. I always did, uhn, really like your gloves.”
Jason gets his hand on Tim’s dick. He’s wet, so there’s no resistance at all when he starts stroking. Tim moves with him, panting in his ear.
Fuck. Teen-Jason would be even more spent than he is, but there’s no way he wouldn’t have wanted to return the favor. Not that Jason is sure he could have handled it. Real-Tim is responsive, groaning and gasping into Jason’s ear, but fantasy-Tim? No way he had the poise, the control, of his older self.
Teen-Jason would have gotten hard again so quickly his head would spin.
Hell, current-Jason is making a good effort. But even with the lingering traces of the Pit, an orgasm like that has him down for the count, at least for another half hour or so.
Tim’s hips stutter; still. He spills into Jason’s hand as Jason strokes him through it. When his cock stops twitching, Jason stills too, withdrawing his hand to clean it with his tongue, salt blooming on his tongue. Tim watches him, dark-eyed; face fully flushed, now.
He knows if either of them could get it up again they’d be going another round.
As it is, Jason says, “So, uh. Think we could put together an old Robin suit?”