Work Text:
Lonnie is standing outside a gaudy iron gate. The yellow umbrella he's clutching in both hands trembles slightly, and not even the pitter-patter of rain hitting nylon could brighten his mood. Standing outside a mansion asking to be let in was humiliating enough, but asking to be let in to see the millionaire nepo-baby living in said manor? Mortifying.
The gate's communicator crackles to life. "Welcome to Wayne Manor, please state your business."
Lonnie grumbles and swallows his pride. "Is Tim home? I'd like to see him."
"And may I ask who I'm speaking to?"
Gritting his teeth, Lonnie answers. "I'm a… friend of his. Lonnie Machin."
"One moment, please."
Usually, Lonnie wouldn't fault a working man for simply doing his job, but this was excessive. It's pouring rain and colder than the arctic outside, would it be so terrible to let him wait in the foyer? If you insist on even having something called a foyer you might as well use it. He's holding his umbrella with two hands, for crying out loud!
The gate slowly grants access, and without waiting for it to open fully, Lonnie hobbles towards the aforementioned foyer where he can see the butler waiting by the opened door. This is so fucking stupid, he thinks, what is the reason for having this long of a driveway leading up to their house? His right leg has been acting up all day, and this bougie shit definitely isn't helping. Tim doesn't even live here anymore, he shouldn't have to deal with the ridiculousness of rich people.
"Welcome, Sir. I apologise for letting you stand in the rain, it is—" the older man is interrupted by Tim sprinting down the stairs.
"Lonnie!" The glee on his face—which, isn't that cute? Just seeing Lonnie brings glee to his former foe's face—dies when he takes stock of Lonnie's demeanour. Ever the detective, this one. He comes to a stop and tilts his head slightly, a small frown on his face. "Bad day?"
Lonnie purses his lips and nods. "You could say that."
Tim grabs the umbrella he's still clutching and puts it in an umbrella stand beside the door. Next he goes to carefully unbutton and unzip the raincoat Lonnie'd put on in a hurry. He wasn't wearing enough layers, and the coat was only thinly lined with fleece. The gentle care Tim is showing him never fails to amaze him. How is it that he went from antagonising this brilliant man in front of him, to watching him kneel on the floor to untie Lonnie's laces?
Tim had brought him back from his catatonic state. He had made sure that Lonnie could live, truly live, again, and what had he done to deserve that?
Tim kisses his forehead when he resurfaces from the floor and grabs his hand. "Come on," he steers them towards the stairs he just came sprinting down from, and leads Lonnie to what he assumes to be his bedroom.
The walk takes longer than it should, given that Lonnie isn't even 23, yet he's walking like he's lived three lifetimes already. It's embarrassing, but he's already here, and Tim doesn't even mention their slow pace. Annoying bastard.
He gets led to the unnecessarily big bed. He huffs out a laugh. "Didn't even hesitate before getting me in your bed, huh? I'll have you know my mind is equally, if not more, impressive as my body," he's grinning as he says it, sitting down on the bed and leaning back on his elbows.
An abashed look spreads over Tim's face. Lonnie receives a smack on his shoulder for his efforts to lighten the mood. "Shut up," Tim mumbles. "I can have you sit on the floor, if the bed offends you."
He chuckles and rises from his position slightly to tug at Tim's hand. "I'm messing with you, birdie boy," he drags his boyfriend towards him and tilts his head up, silently asking for a kiss.
Tim's lips is soft against his own when he leans down to fulfil Lonnie's request, and even though Lonnie doesn't have the energy for more than a quick kiss, he appreciates it nonetheless.
"I really appreciate you sitting down on the bedspread and not my clean sheets," Tim says. "But would you mind taking your clothes off so we can get in bed properly?"
At Lonnie's devilish smirk, he rolls his eyes and continues. "Oh, shush, I know you don't actually have the energy for it anyway," he cards his fingers through long, ginger curls. "You can borrow some clothes if you want?"
Lonnie lightly shakes his head and stands up to peel off his pants. "Nah, it's fine. I'd rather eat dirt than wear your Loro Piana jammies."
Tim hums conspiratorially and sheds his clothes as well, climbing into bed and pulling the covers over his half naked body. "For an anticapitalist, you sure know your brands."
"Know thy enemy, babe," he grins. Tim just levels him with an incredulous look and lifts the duvet slightly. Lonnie takes the hint and joins his embarrassingly rich boyfriend in bed.
He has a headache, he always does when it rains, and his hands are overworked from nothing, the aching spreading through his limbs like vines.
The second he lays down, Tim's fingers find their way back to his hair. He knows Tim finds it as relaxing as he does, to both see and feel Lonnie's soft hair slip through his fingers like a waterfall. A soft kiss lands on his hairline, and he nuzzles his nose deeper into where it's resting in the crook of Tim's neck.
"Wanna talk about it?" Tim murmurs.
Lonnie hums, neither a yes nor no. The final straw for him today had been so stupid, so pathetic, but it had resulted in him having a kitchen splattered in blueberry jam, because he was adamant on having it on his oatmeal instead of one of the other jams whose jars he actually could open because they weren't screw-on lids. In the end, he had gotten the jar open. By hurling it at the cupboards. He hadn't even bothered to clean it up—or to stop crying—before throwing on his raincoat and marching towards the loving embrace of his boyfriend.
The pair lays quiet for a while after that, the only sound coming from the sporadic kisses placed on top of ginger curls.
"She said it's never going away," Lonnie whispers into Tim's collarbone. "The arthritis," he clarifies, as if Tim doesn't know what he's talking about.
"I'm sorry, Lon," Tim mumbles into his scalp. "I'm still working on some prototypes of appliances and stuff for you. I'll speed up the process, promise." Lonnie shakes his head as well as he can with how he's engulfed by Tim. It's not that he doesn't appreciate Tim's efforts, in fact, he loves him for it, but it's the fact that he has to at all that bothers him to no ends. He doesn't want his brilliant, stubborn, kindhearted boyfriend to prioritise making gadgets for him, just because he can't open a jar of jam or hold an umbrella with one hand.
"I resent you for it sometimes," he confesses lowly, his voice cracking. Tim's fingers carry on carding through his hair, as if Lonnie hadn't just shown him this ugly, selfish part of his heart. "If you never got me my body back…" He trails off. Tim swallows under him, and tears are penetrating Lonnie's nostrils. He gets pulled in closer, as if he deserves it.
"It's okay," Tim whispers. "You can resent me, if you need to. I'll still be here, holding you through it." And Lonnie weeps. Ugly, gross, and loud wailing and sniffling leaves his trembling body. Tim does just as he said; he holds him through it.
He gets his own snot and tears in his mouth, and it's so disgusting that he sobs even harder. It's embarrassing, unravelling like this, but the warm safety of Tim's bed and the fall and rise of his chest under Lonnie's hand makes him not even care. Here's this man, this gorgeous, loving man, letting him get snot and tears all over him without even mentioning it. How could Lonnie be ashamed in an environment like that?
He calms eventually, the crying turning into soft sniffling after a while. He raises his head slightly to try to wipe the worst of it off his resting place on Tim's chest, and grimaces when he realises it's futile.
He sniffles. "Why are you even here?" Hiccup. "You don't even live here anymore."
Tim huffs a small laugh and scratches the back of Lonnie's scalp. "Something about Bruce wanting to make sure I don't ignore my benching," he snorts. "As if it would've stopped me, had I really wanted to leave."
"Well, I think you should've thought of me before forcing me to run to your million dollar mansion," Lonnie grumbles. He's mostly joking. Mostly. "I shouldn't have to be surrounded by rich people shit to see my boyfriend."
"Sweetheart, you usually come see me in my penthouse."
"That's different," he argues meekly.
Tim's chest vibrates under Lonnie when he chuckles. "How?"
"A, you don't have a butler, B, you don't have a ridiculously long driveway leading up to it, and C—" he snuggles closer and tries to hide his face in Tim's neck even more than it already is. "I like the view."
Tim laughs and carefully pries Lonnie's face out from its hideout. With a soft grip on his chin, he raises Lonnie's face to look at him. "I'm so sorry for exposing you to our butler, will you ever forgive me?" And Lonnie was never actually upset to begin with, but if he had been, the smile on Tim's face would've made him forget all about it.
He sighs dramatically. "Depends, you'll have to make it up to me."
"And how should I do that?" Tim leans forward to capture Lonnie's lips in a soft kiss. It's slow and tender, and it makes Lonnie forget about the aches for a little bit. It's not a very long ordeal, and when they separate, Tim settles Lonnie's head on his shoulder again.
Lonnie sighs contently. "I don't know yet, but I'll keep you posted."
The smile on Tim's face only grows bigger, brighter. "See that you do, you weirdo."