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Tim’s bare feet didn’t make a sound on the dirty carpet of Jason’s safe house. He used the term ‘house’ lightly, as it wasn’t much more than an abandoned warehouse loft, nestled two floors above rusting industrial machines and collapsed wrought iron stairs. It had most likely been an office for a manager, a place where one could look out across large windows and see the entire open floor below.
Now, it just looked lonely and forgotten, an unpolished graveyard of broken steel limbs, twisted and vaulted like the unraveled spines of slaughtered beasts. Jason said he didn’t mind it. That he liked broken things.
In the warm light, Tim could see Jason bent over a dismantled handgun, meticulously cleaning each part with a dirty rag. He was seated at a flimsy plastic table that looked liked he’d lifted it from B-I-N-G-O Tuesdays at a nearby retirement home.
Knowing Jason, he’d probably had. And no doubt sweet-talked his way into a standing invitation to come back any time, for a game or dinner with Gladys and Cheryl.
“I read something interesting in this morning’s paper,” Jason said, but didn’t lift his head from the piece of dark metal in his hands.
“Oh?” Tim asked lightly, leaning against the door jam and crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Must have been good if it caught your eye.”
Jason slowly lifted his gaze from the gun. “Jury’s still out on that one.”
Tim hummed, his eyes fixed on the way the muscles in Jason’s forearms and shoulders shifted as he continued his cleaning.
“Aren’t you a little curious?” Jason asked. Whatever he had been doing earlier had left his hands stained a dirty grey. Tim guessed he’d spent some time on the warehouse floor with his bike.
“Alright,” Tim conceded, walking to take a seat across from Jason in an equally flimsy folding chair. “Tell me, what did you read?”
Jason’s eyes lifted again as he threw the cleaned part back on the table. He took his sweet time drinking in Tim’s tangled hair and gently flushed face, down to the soft lines of his lips.
“Vicki Vale seemed to have a lot to say,” he said, finally, after lingering on the milky skin of Tim’s neck. He knew what had caught Jason’s eye -- the purple and blue love bites he’d left the night before in full bloom.
Tim raised an eyebrow. “And you believed her?”
“It was more convincing than usual,” Jason admitted with a slow, lazy quirk of his lips.
“You’re mad to give in to her hype,” Tim said. It was his turn to stare, to admire Jason’s powerful shoulders beneath the thin material of his undershirt.
“Tim.”
“What?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
Jason shifted in his seat, his pose changing into something more predatory. He looked less like a bird and more like a tiger, and Tim wondered why anyone had ever assumed otherwise. “You know the story I’m talking about.”
“Jason,” Tim said with a breathless laugh. “I speak to the media all the time for Wayne Enterprises. How am I to recall every pointless piece of business statistics—”
“Oh I don’t know about that,” Jason interrupted softly, his eyes warm underneath dark lashes. “You’re charming when you want to be. And I know you never say anything without purpose.”
“Guilty,” Tim said with a sly smile.
“You know I’m talking about the interview you gave last night.” Jason tapped his fingers on the table, and Tim knew he was growing impatient.
“I didn’t know you were such a big fan,” Tim brushed a hand through his messy hair. “Did you cut it out and frame it, too?”
“You seemed to have left quite the impression on Vicki,” Jason murmured, not rising to the bait. “Do you remember what you said to her?”
Tim drew closer to the small table, so that he was leaning into Jason’s space. “I said I didn’t.”
“So you said,” Jason pressed, but that same gentle mischief from earlier was curved into the lines of his mouth.
Tim took a moment to study their reflection in the dirty brown window that looked down on the warehouse floor. Beyond their blurred image, old machines glittered in the morning light and everything didn’t look quite so grim — there seemed to be a haughty, eerie beauty to the twisted metalwork below.
“Here,” Jason said, reaching behind him and spreading out a wrinkled newspaper page that was spotted in some places with black fingerprints.
“You did cut it out,” Tim teased. “Is there a box full of tabloid photos lying around somewhere? You know, all you ever had to do was ask.”
“Good to know,” Jason said with a wry smile, pushing the article closer to Tim. “Now read it.”
Tim glanced down at the page and bit his lip.
“Out loud, please.”
Tim cleared his throat and began reading in an unhurried, low voice. The same voice that made Jason’s pulse spike, even over their comms. “Gotham authorities are on the hunt for what has been described by one bystander as ‘the bag lady bandit’—”
“Tim.”
“Okay, Jay,” Tim laughed. “Let me see. Is this the one you want me to read?” Tim pointed with his finger.
Jason nodded.
“‘When it comes to his personal life, the Wayne Enterprises CEO and second adopted son of Bruce Wayne,’ she always forgets about you,” Tim paused, glancing at Jason.
“Keep going,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders.
Tim sighed and then resigned himself to reading. “‘…always plays it close to the vest—especially when asked about his love life. Gifted with good looks and a brain to match, Tim Drake is no stranger to flirtations from the social elite. Really, Jason, you found this interesting?”
Jason only inclined his head, urging Tim on.
“‘When asked if he was single or taken at a recent Wayne benefit, the young heir played coy.
‘I don’t really like labels, Vicki. What do you call someone who used to consider you an enemy?’
‘Depends on what you call them now.’
Tim Drake paused in an unusual moment of uncertainty before answering. ‘Important.’
‘That sounds like a lover to this reporter. Who is the lucky girl. Or guy?’
But the notoriously private mogul was back to business. ‘I’d say we’re the lucky ones here tonight, being able to contribute to such an important cause and raising funds for Gotham’s newest orphanage.’
There you have it, people of Gotham. A cryptic admission from one of Gotham’s most eligible bachelors. Or is he?‘
When he was finished reading, Tim dropped the paper and raised his eyes to Jason.
“Important,” Jason repeated with a blinding smile.
“So?” Tim shrugged his shoulders. “You were on my mind.”
“I can see that,” Jason said, placing his hand underneath Tim’s fingers. “Does this mean we’re official?”
“If it’s not on Facebook, it’s not official,” Tim glowered even as his fingertips traced a pattern into the back of Jason’s hand.
“Bruce reads the paper every morning.”
“I know,” Tim said, feeling his face heat up only slightly. “So does Dick. And Alfred.”
With a half smile, Tim slid from his seat and then slipped into the space between Jason and the B-I-N-G-O table to straddle his lap. Jason's thick thighs were warm and sturdy underneath Tim’s boxers and his light blue eyes were dark and hooded when he tipped his head back to stare up at Tim.
“I didn’t think you’d notice,” Tim admitted into Jason’s ear, letting his lips brush lightly with each word.
Jason’s breath hitched and his hands found their way to Tim’s waist, warm and callused, his thumbs pressing into the grooves of his hipbones. Tim knew that if he looked down, his skin would have faint grey markings from the oil that stained Jason’s fingers.
“You’re impossible to ignore,” Jason said softly, angling his head to the side in order to give Tim better access to his neck.
Tim spent what felt like hours tasting the skin there, pulling it into his mouth and sucking, laving pink marks with his tongue and then starting all over again. Jason shivered under him, soft and yielding and subtle as ever in revealing his pleasure.
When he was satisfied, Tim pulled back to face Jason. “She was right about something, though.”
Jason voice was broken glass. “What’s that?”
“We are lovers,” Tim said against Jason lips and then kissed him sweetly.