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Jason’s been avoiding the cameras for nearly three hours. He has to be. Tim has tabs on him for everything and he knows he doesn’t have plans tonight. Which means he’s avoiding the cameras that Tim—fucking Tim—placed very carefully, so fucking carefully, on Jason’s usual patrol routes, in his safe houses, in his goddamn apartment (although those ones had been removed immediately the next day and while Tim was a bit paranoid about Jason discovering him at first, he overheard him talking to Dick about how he found cameras Bruce planted in his place, so he knows he got off in the clear). But Jason shouldn’t be avoiding these ones, not the ones on his patrol routes and safe houses. There should be absolutely no fucking way he even knows about them— it’s been over a year since he planted them, so how?
He had been so careful. He let Jason removing the ones from his apartment pass and didn’t try replacing them; it didn't surprise him when he found those ones. Tim wouldn’t put it past him, in fact, he expected him to find them and dispose of them. He’s smart, even if everyone acts like he’s just another dumb meathead, but he had been so careful.
He might cry.
Jason’s avoiding him. He’s never going to see him again— it’ll be weeks before they’ll ever work with each other again; Jason doesn’t work with the bats all that often, contrary to what the people of Gotham seem to think, and Tim got so used to seeing Jason almost every night in the comfort of his own home, and now it’s all gone. He’s never going to see him again unless they have a chance meeting during their night work. And if Jason’s avoiding the cameras, if he knows that Tim is the one that planted them, then he’ll start avoiding Tim in person, and isn’t that just the cherry on top?
Tim is not going to cry. It doesn’t matter that his heart is shattering into a million pieces. It doesn’t matter. He is not going to cry. He’ll go out tomorrow night, follow Jason around, take note of his new routine, and do the same the next night to see if he sticks with it. If Jason’s found a new route, Tim will bug it as he did to his last one. He’ll survive. He will be fine. He doesn’t need to cry.
Except he feels like his life is over.
He knows he’s being dramatic, but Jason fucks with his emotions in a way nobody else can. Jason is his everything— he can’t lose him. Not again. He already lost him once when he died, back when they were young, and when he found out that by some miracle, Jason came back to life, Tim never wanted to lose again. Never wanted to feel that pain again.
He needs to calm down. It’s fine. Seriously. Jason isn’t dead, he’s just avoiding him. That’s nowhere near as bad as him dying, although it feels like it is, and fuck, if Tim keeps thinking about this, he is definitely going to cry.
“Calm the fuck down,” he whispers to himself, his voice nearly shaking. “He’s fine. He’s alive. I’ll fix this. It’ll be back to normal in a week.”
Once he calms down enough, no longer on the verge of tears, he starts flicking through the surveillance again. He shouldn’t— he should put his attention on other work, but he needs to check. He needs to make sure he’s correct and that Jason, the love of his fucking life, didn’t abandon him. Not like this.
And he didn’t.
Tim almost misses it. He’s barely there, barely inside the frame, but Tim knows that shape and he knows that’s Jason, standing off to the side, his helmet tilted down. Tim can’t tell what he’s doing, but relief washes over him and he sags in his chair.
He didn’t abandon him.
It’s live footage, not a recording, although Tim rewatches those whenever he has the chance, and Jason is moving closer into the frame. Tim clutches his desk with a slightly sweaty hand—jesus, what the fuck?— and he’s typing away at his phone, texting someone.
Tim knows Jason’s not texting him—why would he—but the thought of it is nice. He moves closer to the monitor, his hand slipping from the desk so he can rest his elbow on it and place his hand on his face, and he watches.
Well. Now that Jason’s here, he can do what he originally intended.
He yanks his pants down and pulls his cock out— it had softened earlier when he first started panicking over not being able to find him— and starts stroking himself, slowly working himself back up. He hardens in his fist, gradually filling out, and sighs softly. He watches as Jason puts his phone away and starts walking off, heading somewhere, and Tim follows him through the surveillance feed, never losing sight of him.
It’s the only way he can get off now; watching and thinking about Jason. If he wasn’t so smitten with him, he would be pissed that his libido has been ruined like this. Back when he used to go out and search for someone with Jason’s face, his eyes, his hair, his build, it’d take him forever to get it up because they weren’t the real Jason, and nobody can ever be him. They were always the most unsatisfactory fucks and he’d go home feeling like shit, empty and pathetic, and he’d only feel better once he rewatched footage or saw Jason out on patrol, depending on the time.
Tim watches with awe as he witnesses Jason back a man up against a wall, barely on camera as they blend into the shadows of an alleyway, and Jason’s gloved hand is wrapping around the man’s throat, squeezing. Tim wonders why—wonders what the man did, what Jason wants from him, and he quickens up his pace, his fist quickly working his cock.
He runs his thumb over the slit, collects precum, and spreads it down, working it over his throbbing cock, moaning softly when Jason bangs the man’s head against the brick wall. He imagines those gloved hands wrapping around his throat, squeezing tight enough to leave bruises in the shape of his fingers, and he nearly comes from that thought alone. God— the things Jason could do to him.
“Jason,” he pants, a little breathless. He needs to come— his cock is achingly hard in his hand, leaking steadily all over him, and he needs to come— needs Jason so bad. Needs him to fuck him, needs him to bend him over and use him, fuck his hole until he’s a mess, begging and sobbing for more— and Jason would give him so much, he knows that, Jason would take such good care of him. He’d fuck him hard, his pace ruthless, shove his cock so deep inside him that Tim would be feeling him for days, his body aching from the abuse after, and Tim would still beg for more— so much more.
Jason drops the man. He falls to his knees, his hand reaching up towards his bruising throat, and for a brief second, Tim swears Jason turns his head and looks directly at the camera.
Jason disappears up the fire escape then, disappearing completely from the camera view, and Tim doesn’t even care. He doesn’t mind. Jason didn’t abandon him, so he’ll be back, and Tim will go back to watching the live footage of him. But he’s not on camera anymore, so Tim switches to his archive and brings up a recording of Jason beating up a group of men. The way his muscles strain under his clothes—kevlar and leather—is so good, impossibly so, and Tim can’t even feel disgusted with himself when Jason’s arm wraps around a man’s throat and a bead of precum spills out of his cock.
He moans quietly, the noise barely audible over the sounds of him beating his cock. He can feel his orgasm finally starting to build up, and it’s so good, almost there, he’s right on the edge. Then Jason presses his boot to another man’s throat, holds his body onto the ground just with that alone while he has a gun trained on his head, and Tim thinks about Jason doing that to him— and he’s spilling all over his fist with a choked off moan, coming and making a mess all over himself.
He leans forward, lets the recording continue to play, and sets his forehead against his desk, breathing heavily against the wood. He strokes himself until it’s too much—his thighs trembling slightly and his cock weakly twitching and he drops his hand. He closes his eyes, relaxing into the position he’s in.
He’ll clean up the drying come from his stomach and fist in a minute. He just needs a second. A very long one.
He’s so out of it, reeling in the bliss of his orgasm, that he doesn’t hear the sound of his window opening and someone stepping inside.
But then there’s a familiar voice in his ear, too close, too real and clear for it to be from the many recording Tim has, and he nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears, “Tim.”
“Jason!” He shouts, startled, and slams his laptop shut before he can even think about just closing out of surveillance footage. He shoves himself back inside his pants and turns to face Jason, his face burning up, and stares up at him. He’s standing just a few feet from him, his arms crossed over his chest, and he’s not wearing his helmet. He’s not wearing his helmet.
With a glance to the side, he can see that Jason set it on top of the bed with his gloves as well, but the fact that Jason’s standing here in his room, helmet and mask and gloves ditched off to the side, Tim might pass out and die. From amazement or sheer embarrassment and horror from being caught— well, he hasn’t figured that out yet.
“Oh, Timmy,” Jason coos mockingly once he has his full attention, “You really think you can hide what you’re doing from me?”
“I wasn’t doing anything, Jason,” he replies too calmly for someone in this situation. When Jason doesn’t say anything right away, just continues staring at him with a look of amusement, he adds, “What do you want?”
A small smirk spreads across his face and he takes a step forward, light on his feet. “I know you watch me, Timmy.”
“I don’t—”
“Come on, don’t act like I didn’t just catch you with your cock out, covered in your own fucking come from jerking off to one of your creepy recordings of me,” he chuckles, “Don’t play dumb. If I wanted dumb, I’d go hang out with Dick.”
“Look, I can explain—”
“Oh? You can explain?”
“If you just listen to me—”
“Like how you listen to me, you little creep?” Jason chuckles again, his smirk somehow turning sharper when Tim splutters to a stop.
Jason walks closer until he’s looming over Tim, looking down at him with a satisfied smirk. He reaches down, his hands grabbing onto the arms on the chair so violently that Tim can’t even suppress the flinch. Jason gets right in his face, so close that his breath hits him, and if Tim wasn’t absolutely terrified of what he might do to him and frozen in place, he’d lean in closer.
“God, aren’t you just adorable?” Jason whispers. “You really thought I never knew about the cameras? I’ve always known they were there, Timmy, that’s why I’ve put on so many shows for you.”
“What?” He shrinks back, his heart lodged in his throat. He knows— he’s always known? Does that mean he knew that the ones that were planted in his apartment were his and he lied to Dick, or did he believe they were Bruce’s at first? He has so many questions, yet he can’t bring himself to ask, his tongue heavy in his mouth.
“Yeah,” he breathes out, sounding weirdly enamored. “Timmy, if those cameras weren’t up? All those guys that I beat the shit out of, they wouldn’t be getting beatings, they’d be getting bullets to the knees. But you get off to me throwing my weight around, showing off how much stronger and more powerful I am compared to them, and how could I keep that away from you when you clearly enjoy it so much?”
Jason reaches down and shoves his hand inside Tim’s pants, wrapping it around his soft cock, startling a gasp out of him. Tim can't move, can barely even react as he's being confronted.
“You're fucking disgusting,” Jason suddenly spits out, forcing out another flinch from Tim, shame swirling in his gut, “Imagine if Dick knew about this. Imagine if Bruce knew. Do you think he’d be disgusted with you, or would he encourage it? Help you plant more bugs, maybe even help you get some in my apartment that'll be impossible for me to find. You’d love that, wouldn’t you, you little freak?”
“Jason— I—” he chokes out, “Jason, I don’t— it’s not like that. I swear.”
“Don’t lie to me,” he snarls, “You do not fucking lie to me!”
“Okay! I’m sorry!” He gasps, his hand flailing out and grabbing Jason’s wrist when the grip on his cock tightens. It twitches in his hand and he flushes with embarrassment as his body betrays him.
“Tell me.”
He sucks in a shaky breath, “Tell you what?”
“Tell me that you watch me, that you stalk me, and you touch yourself while doing it.”
Tim swallows, searching Jason’s face. He doesn’t look mad, not like Tim thought he would be if he was ever caught. He’d fantasize about the thought of Jason catching him, of ruining him and making a mess of him after discovering what Tim does in his free time, but in that post clarity phase with come drying all over his hand and stomach, Tim knew that Jason wouldn’t actually react like that. He’d get angry, violent, and most likely beat Tim half to death out of pure disgust from having his privacy violated.
But he’s not.
No— it’s like one of Tim’s fantasies, just more violent than usual.
“Well?”
“I touch myself,” he says, “I touch myself when I watch—stalk you.”
“Good boy.”
Tim bites his lip to suppress a whimper, his chest warming up from the praise that leaves Jason’s mouth. He nods, suddenly at a loss for words.
Jason pulls his hand out of Tim’s pants, a shiver spreading throughout his body at the loss. With almost no effort, Jason roughly yanks him out of the chair and kicks it away, and shoves Tim into the edge of the desk before Tim can even shout at him to be careful. He forces himself into Tim’s personal space, crowding him against the desk, keeping him in place with his heavy weight against his back.
“Jason—”
Jason clutches his waist, his fingers digging into his skin, forcing a whimper out of his throat as the pain spreads through his body.
“Oh, god,” he whimpers as his fingers dig in deeper.
Jason lets go, but Tim doesn’t have time to complain or whine or even say anything because he’s instantly being shoved down, bent over the desk. He scrambles for the edge, clutching onto it as Jason shoves his torso down, pressing his come-covered stomach against the wood, his laptop painfully digging into his chest underneath him. In the midst of it all, he realizes that should probably move that before it breaks.
He tries to lift himself up, even just a little to slip the laptop out, but Jason pushes him down harder, making him cry out in pain when the edge of the desk digs into his skin.
“My laptop— it’ll break—”
“Oh no,” he mocks, feigning worry in his tone, “Your poor laptop. How will you be able to watch me if it breaks?”
“Please—”
Jason reaches under and pulls the laptop out from beneath him, tossing it onto the bed without a second thought. Tim glances back and sighs in relief when it lands on his bed without making any weird noises, but he’ll have to check it later when he gets the chance, just in case something did happen to it that he might've missed.
“There. Better now?”
He starts nodding and the only reason why he stops is because Jason shoves his head down, holding it in place with his cheek pressed against the hard desk.
“You’re so fucking pathetic,” he laughs, “You won’t even fight back? You’ll just let me do anything to you, won’t you, you sick pervert?”
“I’m not— I’m not a fucking pervert, you asshole.” He spits out, glaring at him from the corner of his eye. Jason looks so delighted and like he’s enjoying himself, and Tim can’t stop himself from deflating a bit. He’s making him feel like that, he realizes. Holy shit.
“You’re not? You sure?” Jason sticks his hand under Tim’s stomach, hand splayed across the muscle, and Tim freezes when he feels Jason slowly caressing him, spreading his come around with his fingers. “I think you are. Only perverts make messes all over themselves while stalking people.”
Tim whines and attempts to push Jason off of him, but he doesn’t budge. “I’m not stalking—”
“Who else do you watch? Dick? Did you plant bugs around his apartment, too? Yeah, I bet you did.” Well, that answers the question swirling around in his head.
“No, I didn’t—! I wouldn’t do that to him!” He tries again, but Jason is forcing his weight onto him, holding him down, practically crushing his own hand with Tim’s stomach yet he doesn’t show any signs of being in pain or even moving his trapped hand.
“No? Of course not. Who, then? Random strangers? Girls that are walking the street?” He chuckles. “Oh, you’re one of those pervs that follow chicks around with a hand down his pants, aren't ya? Or is it boys?”
“That’s sick!” He shouts, his voice too loud. “I wouldn’t—I would never do that! I can’t believe you're accusing me of something like that, you—”
He’s cut off by Jason clamping his free hand over his mouth, pressing in hard and forcing him to stay quiet. Tim makes a muffled noise against his palm, looking up at him with panicked eyes.
“Okay, okay, you don’t follow people around like that, jesus, calm the fuck down,” he sighs. “You only watch me. That’s good. That’s real sweet, actually. I’m your favorite, huh?”
Yes.
“What? Not gonna say anything?”
He can’t with his hand over his mouth like this and he doesn’t look like he’ll be moving it anytime soon. He pokes Jason’s warm palm with his tongue, pressing it flat against salty and scarred skin. Jason growls in the back of his throat and rips his hand away, and the one underneath him disappears along with it.
“You’re my favorite,” he gasps out like he’s dying, no longer able to control his mouth as the secrets he’s held close to his chest for so long finally spill out. “You’re mine. My favorite. My Robin. It’s always been you, Jay, always been you. There’s nobody else like you, Jason, I can’t help it. You’re so—fuck—you captivate me, you’re all I ever think about anymore! No matter how hard I try, I can’t get your stupid fucking face out of my head!”
Jason’s uncharacteristically quiet above him, breathing heavily in Tim’s ear along with the sound of his own beating heart, banging against his chest with so much force he’s scared it’s going to rip itself out.
Then his pants are being ripped down with his underwear, startling him, leaving him completely naked while bent over his desk, revealing his body entirely to Jason.
Jason kicks his feet apart with his heavy boots, forces his thighs to spread, and he feels those large hands spreading him open, and he ducks his head into his arm, whining at the feeling of being exposed.
“Aw, is the pervert shy?” A finger presses against his hole.
“Jason!” He shouts, jerking his body away from the finger. The desk slams against the wall and he cringes at how loud it is, making a pitiful noise in the back of his throat. “Jesus, can you stop calling me that?”
“Why?” he asks. “It’s the truth, baby. We both know that.”
“Just—stop. Don’t—”
“Where’s your lube?”
Oh, god. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any more humiliating, he has to ask that, and he’s going to see things that shouldn’t be seen by anybody but Tim, and he’s going to ask questions.
He swallows. “In the bottom drawer.”
He turns his head and peaks out over his arm, watching as Jason reaches down and pulls the drawer open. He sees him go still, hears him exhale heavily out through his nose, and feels shame burn deep in his gut when a sick smile starts spreading across his face.
“I should’ve known,” he clicks his tongue, “just your hand could never be enough for you. Not a greedy, sick pervert like you. No, you gotta stuffed full when you watch me, don’t you, baby? How often do you fuck yourself with these toys while watchin’ me?”
“Jason,” he moans pitifully, “I’m not answering that.”
Jason shakes his head, chuckling barely loud enough for him to hear. He reaches inside the drawer and then the lube is being thrown onto the desk next to his head, landing with a heavy thud. He hears Jason kick the drawer shut.
“Come on, I wanna know,” he complains, “that’s an impressive toy collection, seriously! I think I deserve to know!”
He buries his face back into his arm, flushing all over.
“Timmy, Timbo,” he coos, “baby, baby bird, my cute little perv, my creepy little freak—”
“Stop with the names—”
“Be a good boy and tell me how much you fuck yourself. I know you want to.” He runs his hands down Tim’s side, his touch soft and gentle in a way Tim’s never felt before, drawing a shiver out of him. “Is it every day?”
He shakes his head. Jason seems to have a way with getting Tim to talk, to get him to expose and lay out all his secrets because he’s talking, the words flying out. “No. Almost. It's almost every night. Sometimes I don’t get the chance and I don’t know, I just— I just don’t feel like it sometimes. Sometimes I just wanna watch.”
“Aren’t you just a good boy? Thank you, baby bird.”
Cold, wet fingers press against his hole and he jerks forward again, clutching back onto the edge of the desk. Jason holds him in place by the small of his back, holding him down, and circles his hole. Tim didn’t even hear him open the lube, didn’t even realize that he picked it back up and slicked his fingers up, he’s so fucking out of it.
Two fingers breach him and he whimpers loudly at being stretched open with thick fingers. Jason’s fingers are so much bigger than his own, thicker and rough. He doesn’t expect him to be gentle, but it still makes him yelp when he shoves his fingers in deep and starts brutally fucking him open, stretching him wide, making him take his fingers without much of a choice. He whines at the rough pace, unable to do anything but take it.
“Lemme hear you,” Jason tangles his fingers in his hair and yanks his head up, drawing out more whines. “You sound so fuckin’ pathetic.”
It’s not long before he’s pushing in a third finger. Tim’s not ready— he’s barely given him enough time with two, and his fingers are so thick, but he untangles his fingers from his hair and holds him down again. He has no choice but to take it, he’s stuck in place, he can’t move, and he cries out when it makes its way inside.
“Pathetic bitch,” he growls, jabbing his fingers forward, pressing right up against his prostate. He cries out again, tears welling in his eyes, and he continues fucking his fingers up into him.
His cock is hard again, red and leaking, precum spilling all over his desk, and every jab and thrust against his prostate causes more to leak out, making an even bigger mess all over the place. He can't help but feel a little humiliated at that—he hates how wet he gets, it makes him feel like a girl, he’s been taunted over it so much and in a way, he’s glad Jason can’t see right. But the thought of Jason taunting him turns him on even more, and he’s throbbing.
“Jason, Jason, please—” he moans, “‘m gonna come, please, please, Jay, lemme come.”
The fingers go still inside of him and then he’s pulling them out without a word. He whines from the loss and attempts to shove his hips back, but he's still held down.
“Jay, please, jesus fuck, please! Need you, need you so fucking bad. Please, please,” he begs, “I need you inside me! Jason!”
“Goddamn,” he mumbles, then he feels his cock pressing against his hole, “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tiny.”
Tim tries to turn his head—he needs to see what his cock looks like, he needs to know how big he is to say something like that, he’s been imagining what his cock looks like forever—but Jason grabs his head and slams it down onto the desk. Tim cries out in pain, his forehead throbbing, but Jason doesn’t even bother letting go of him. He holds his head down once again while he brushes the tip of his cock against his entrance, teasing him.
“Fuck me,” he pleads, “please, please, need you in me, need you to fuck me. Jay, please—”
He nearly sobs when Jason presses the tip inside, the head sliding in, his hole opening up eagerly around him. He moans when he hears Jason groan above him and pushes his hips back now that he’s free to move his body again—except for his head—desperate for his cock inside of him.
He’s so thick. He’s slowly but steadily sinking in, taking his precious time unlike earlier.
“So good,” he babbles, “you’re so thick, fuck. I always knew you’d be big, always knew you’d be so fuckin’ hung, jesus christ, more— more— I need more—”
“Fuckin’ whore,” he groans, “that what you say to everyone who puts their dick near you?”
He shakes his head, whimpering. “No, no, just you—nobody else fucks me—just you. Nobody else can even begin to compare to you, holy shit.”
“Not sure if I believe you,” he digs his nails into his skin, “but shit, you’re tight and you take my cock so well, so I might just forgive you.”
“Yes, please,” he nods, “please forgive me—please. Only want you. I was made to take your cock, fuck, please, it belongs inside me!”
“Who knew a cock could turn you into such a dumb slut?” He’s laughing again, but he’s pressed entirely inside him now, his hips pressed up against him, and Tim can’t breathe—oh my god, it’s heaven.
He rubs his forehead against the desk, whining as he's stretched impossibly wide, filled to the fucking brim. He’s never felt so full in his life and he doesn’t want it to end—it’s so good, he can’t live without Jason’s cock, not anymore.
“Does whining like a bitch mean you like it?”
“Love it,” he breathes out, “‘s good, I’m so full, Jay. It’s so good.”
Jason pulls out halfway and before Tim even gets the chance to start again, to start begging, he’s snapping his hips forward, filling him back up. He cries out, then his cries turn into moans that keep spilling past his lips as Jason starts fucking him, yanking his body down to meet his brutal thrusts.
He uses Tim’s body for his own release, not even sparing any attention to Tim’s own leaking cock. It’s everything he’s ever wanted—getting used and fucked by Jason, getting turned into nothing but a hole for his own release—and it’s so much better than he ever imagined.
Jason leans forward, his cock burying itself deeper inside of him, and he’s fucking crying, tears slipping down his face and spilling onto the desk. He reaches back, tries to find Jason, tries to find something to hold onto.
“You think I’m gonna let a dumb slut like you hold my hand?” He sneers. “Fuckin’ hilarious that you think you out of all people deserve that.”
“Jay—” he sobs, his hand finding his arm and clutching onto the material of his jacket. He expects him to shove him off, but he doesn’t, and he can’t even begin to express how thankful he is for that.
Fingers are shoved deep inside his mouth, almost making him choke, and he splutters around them, drool spilling past his lips. Jason doesn’t remove them, so he eagerly starts sucking on them, his eyes falling shut.
“I’ll have to let you choke on my cock sometime,” Jason grunts, “bet you’d look real pretty with it down your throat, baby.”
He moans around the fingers, nodding. He sucks them in deeper, his head going fuzzy from being full from both sides.
Jason changes the angle of his hips, and every thrust has his cock slamming into his prostate, sending waves after waves of pleasure throughout his body, his moans rapidly increasing. He tightens his grip on Jason’s arm, his fingers digging into that familiar leather as he feels himself losing the little control he had left.
“Shit,” he curses, his thrusts turning sloppy, harsher. His nails dig into Tim’s hips painfully, bringing him back into the world, and he pulls himself off of his fingers, a trail of spit keeping him connected to them.
He finally wraps a hand around Tim’s neglected cock, quickly jerking him off with very little finesse. Tim writhes against him and he’s gone, nearly whiting out from how hard and intense he’s coming, his body shaking as Jason fucks him through it. He sobs, come spilling all over his desk and stomach, making the mess on his stomach even worse. He feels like he can’t breathe—gasping every time Jason’s hips jerk forward as he desperately tries to fill his lungs with air.
Jason presses himself forward, his cock twitching and pulsating inside him. He moans right into Tim’s ear as his orgasm rocks through him, spilling deep inside him.
“Yes, yes,” he cries, “Fill me, please, want your come, need it so bad, wanna be stuffed full of your come—”
“Nasty pervert,” he snarls, thrusting forward, fucking his come deeper inside him, “This is what you wanted, yeah? To be used and filled with my come?”
“God, yes—” he pushes back against him in a pathetic attempt at taking his cock in deeper, “I love it when you use me, you don’t even know.”
“I think I do,” he scrapes his teeth against his shoulder and then pulls away, starting to ease his softening cock out of him now.
Tim can’t help but whine at the feeling, feeling impossibly empty without him, and Jason shushes him, those gentle touches back and caressing him.
The soft touches fuck with him so bad because in the next moment, Jason’s not gentle at all when he lifts his body up and disposes of him onto the computer chair, laughing right in his face when Tim whines at the sudden movement. He feels the come slowly leaking out of him now, definitely ruining his chair, and he whines again, bringing a trembling hand over his mouth.
“Aw, what’s wrong?” Jason asks, crouching down so he has to look up at Tim. “You’re that sad I’m not fuckin’ you anymore?”
He nods, unable to help himself.
“I think you’ll survive, don’t worry,” he pats his knee. “This ain’t gonna be a one-time thing, trust me.”
“It’s not?” If he sounds relieved yet desperate, Jason doesn’t say anything about it.
“Yeah, I told you I was gonna make you choke on my cock, didn’t I?” He stands up, grabbing Tim’s jaw and forcing him to look up at him now. “Jesus, you’re a mess.”
He wipes the tears away with the back of his hand, flushing red under Jason’s watchful eye. He mumbles, “yeah.”
“Look,” Jason starts, changing the topic. “I can’t stay any longer, but you’ll see me again soon, even sooner if you keep being a cute little perv and decide to keep stalking me. But— I will be back.”
Tim smiles softly, feeling warm and fuzzy and he wishes Jason could stay the night, maybe even hold him, but that’s enough for now. Just knowing that he’ll be back is enough.
“It doesn’t bother you, right? Me watching you?”
The look of utter disbelief Jason gives him makes him shrink back at himself, suddenly embarrassed all over again.
“Did you not pay attention to anything that just happened?” He asks, bemused, “It’s fuckin’ hot. Knowing that you’re that obsessed with me to fuckin’ track me and watch my every move? Holy shit. Makes me feel things I didn’t even know I was capable of feeling.”
He sinks back into the chair now that his body relaxes, the smile instantly returning to his face. “That's good.”
“So good,” Jason agrees, running his fingers through Tim's hair. He's definitely going to have traces of jizz and lube in there, yet he doesn't care. “I gotta go now, okay?”
“Okay,” he sighs, “See you around?”
“‘Course,” he retracts his hand and walks towards the bed, picking up his helmet. He stops when he’s in the middle of raising it to his head, then he’s digging into his pocket. He throws something at Tim, startling him, and he fumbles with it after he catches it. “Keep it. Add it to your shrine. I know you got one.”
Tim ducks his head, a little embarrassed, and stares down at the domino mask clutched in his hand. He smiles at it, runs his thumb over it, and lifts his head back up to watch Jason as he finally puts his helmet back on, slips his gloves back on, and leaves through the window without another word.
He pushes himself out of the chair and onto trembling legs, collapsing directly onto his bed the second he reaches it. He’s sticky with come and sweat—so much fucking come—but he can’t bring himself to clean it up. Not right now. Not when feels like this, blissed out from the most intense orgasm he’s ever had in his life and aching between his legs. He doesn’t even bother crawling under the covers, instead, he curls in on himself, the mask still gripped tightly in his hand.
Jason wasn’t wrong, per se. It’s just that he personally calls it a collection, not a shrine. And how does he even knows about it—?
He’s too tired. He can’t think about it right now or he’ll be up for hours, and his eyelids are heavy. He needs to sleep.