Title: (love) Until We Bleed.
Genre: A freaky mix of violence and romance, I guess; I tried to write this in an humorous tone, at first; but a more sombre one suited Jay so much better.
Characters/Pairings: Jason Todd/Tim Drake. Sort of.
Warning: Uh, Jason? Well, that should be a warning. I mean, usually. Innuendo. Violence. Swearing words. Also, unbetaed. :S
Summary: Fighting is not communicating. And while Tim thinks Jay is totally missing the point here, perhaps it's Tim the one's overlooking a blatant clue or two. And they're both stubborn enough for their fight to go on forever.
Notes: I... never, ever posted any story for this fandom before. And apart from a little meme, I never wrote anything about this one particular pairing, either. I'm just... testing the waters, so to say. Probably getting the characterizations all wrong, too, and I apologize for that. D: It's just, I haven't written anything in a year, give or take, and when the Rabid Bunny bit me this morning, I just had to write it down. :)
There was muffled gasp, a litany of curses, then the unmistakable sound of metal hitting concrete as a startled Jason Todd dropped his gun. Robin spared no time kicking the weapon out of reach, which prompted another string of curses from his opponent's mouth.
"You little..." Jason clenched his fists, nails clawing into his sweaty palms, teeth ground so hard together that his jaw was trembling with the strain. "I don't know what sorta' game you think you're playing..."
Robin's face seemed to smooth and shutter down, like Bruce's own did when he tried to rein in a fierce surge of emotion. It was uncanny, and familiar, and so wrong, and Jason ground his teeth even harder, hard enough to hear them crack, because Bruce was Bruce and Tim was Tim and the kid really couldn't afford to become anything like the Bat.
"This isn't a game, Jason."
His voice was cool. Cool and low and level, and way too familiar, too intimate than it had any right to be. It made Jason's blood boil over every time he heard it.
Jason's nostrils flared, his irritation surging anew, coiling in his guts.
"That," he gestured brusquely towards Robin, "is so not how you're supposed to fight."
Robin's lips quirked briefly and peculiarly. He clasped his arms at the elbows, gave a shrug that shouldn't have made his whole body ripple, suit and cape and all, but did exactly that.
"Actually, I think it says somewhere in the small print that Robins must tease their opponents during..." He was cut short when he had to duck under Jason's fist, twisting backwards and grabbing onto Jason's wrist until he was forced to drop the taser. He scowled.
"And you accuse me of playing dirty?"
"I'm not the good guy, Baby B. I'm entitled to some—umph!"
He should've known it. He was well within range, so of course Robin was going to use that cheating little new trick of his the moment Jason was distracted.
His breath stolen from him, every muscle in his body pulled taut, Jason latched onto Robin's arms, and dove backwards in a controlled fall. The moment he landed on his back was the moment he put a steel-tip-reinforced boot to Robin's chest, using the leverage to throw the kid over his head and against the wall.
Jason rolled away, powerful thighs pushing him smoothly up and onto his feet, and tried not to look impressed when he noticed that Robin had twisted mid-air, somehow managing to land in a crouch a few feet from the wall.
"You," Robin informed him with one of those looks he had, frustrated with an edge of disappointed, "are totally missing the point."
"No, you are missing the point," Jason countered. "This is a fight, Baby B, so either you drop the tricks and start fighting, or..." he was the one who had to duck this time. He was fast enough that the shuriken only grazed his cheek, drawing a thin line of blood.
It stung like a bitch, but it was a step in the right direction. Brawls, Jason could handle. The kind of shit the Robin-replacement was stirring within him at the moment? Not so much.
"Fine." Robin was clasping his staff now, half-crouched into a stance that might lead to... well, at least fifteen different attacks Jason could think of, and all of them painful. "You don't want to listen to words? You'll listen to this."
Well, that was more like it.
Jason grinned, shoulders unwinding, incongruously placated by the notion that yes, there'd be violence soon, and goodbye to words.
He licked at the blood that had trickled onto his lip, tasting copper and the salt of his skin. He reached for the knife, held it slowly before him, and tried to forget it was the last weapon he had on himself, if only because his whole body was a weapon, especially against someone as compact and swan-lithe as...
Jason stiffened, a growl like rumbling thunder issuing from deep within his chest, and charged another attack. Charge, leap, drop. Mind blissfully empty, but for rules ingrained so deep they were part of him.
Evade your opponent, make him dance around you, make his sweat, make him pant. Parry the stick with one arm, thrust out with the other, speed and surgical precision, grinning when a bloody little welt blossomed across Robin's cheek, mirroring Jason's own wound.
Robin gasped, reeled, glared. And it should have surprised Jason when Robin spun the stick in his hand, sending both their weapons flying, but he didn't have time for that. Suddenly, Robin was upon him, fighting like his namesake, hitting fast and dodging even faster in a flurry of motion.
Adrenaline pumping, Jason shout out a laugh, and pushed bodily against Robin, chest to chest, hip to hip, forcing him backwards and into awkward spins.
This is what he lived for, this, the thrill, the speed, the chase, his mind focused on one thing only, Robin focused one thing only, which wasn't pain, wasn't strategy, wasn't anything but each other, and they pushed and gave, clashed and reeled, breath mingling and sweat running, and Jason was comfortable enough now that he could grin at the quick dart of pink when Robin's tongue swept across his upper lip, licking up the sweat there gathered.
He pushed, Robin ducked, rolled away, engaged him again, bare-handed and agile and fast. Jason parried a volley of blows, caught Robin's foot as it arched in a spinning kick, and used the kid's own momentum to push him back and away from him and into that damned fuckin' wall, at last.
Something caught Jason's eye as he leaped back into a defensive stance, something that glinted dully amongst the debris, and – Hello! So that's where Robin had kicked his gun to, before. He'd been wondering.
Face split by a grin that was all sorts of nasty, Jason dove for the weapon.
He was already half crouched over it when Robin, who had been there not one second before, was suddenly here, pressed snugly in the space between Jason's flexed biceps and his chest, breath fanning hot and warm and sweet against Jason's chin, the heat coming off him in waves, hot, so hot, hot and writhing and...
Jason wrenched himself away from the impromptu kiss, aching inside as he did, and not a second too soon to evade the punch that followed.
He shied away, fists held defensively before him and tried not to stare at the spit-shine he had left on Robin's red-swollen mouth.
"For the last time, Baby B, I'm not playing this game!"
Robin stared back defiantly, fists clenched, panting and hot and not entirely in control of himself.
"And for the last time, this is not a game."
He sprang forward, deftly and suddenly, and kicked Jason's legs from under him.
Even before he hit the floor, Jason knew that Robin would follow him down and glue their mouths together for exactly the fourteenth time since the fight had started.
...not that Jason was keeping count or anything.
He reached up to grab Robin, somewhat unsure if his goal was to throw him or pin him to his chest, but the damned kid just rolled with the motion, rocked against him, in his lap, his groin, kissed Jason harder, tongue slipping between Jason's lips, tasting tobacco and blood, and just as Jason was about to finally pin him (definitely going to pin him, now), Robin somersaulted over Jason's head and away from him, an amused burst of air streaming from his lips.
Jason was on his knees in a moment, hot and sweaty and just the right side of bothered, mouth and chest and groin tingling with what might possibly be the beginning of an addiction.
"You asked for it, little fucker."
He lunged, caught Robin's ankle, swept it from under him, pulling and and dragging until he was lying in the cradle of Robin's parted thighs, pinning him down with more force than absolutely necessary, especially since – it occurred to him now – Robin wasn't putting up much of a fight, except for staring at him with that determined frown that was so intrinsically Tim it made Jason want to eat it, made him want to laugh out loud and muffle the laughter within Tim's own mouth.
"You are crazy."
And the irony of that statement coming from him was not lost on Jason.
For the whole of a minute, he expected Tim to say something along the lines of "Pot, meet kettle", but Tim just pushed his mouth around, seemingly lost in thought, and then shrugged with something akin to acceptance.
"Pretty much, yes."
This time, Jason did laugh.
"Then you are crazy."
"I thought we'd already established that?"
Jason narrowed his eyes.
"I know that."
"I don't care."
Growling. Jason was growling now. And Tim thought he really shouldn't start shivering when Jason's breath pushed hot and fast against his mouth, but it felt exactly that good.
"Fuck it, Baby B! Are you gonna let me talk?"
Tim shrugged as much as Jason's renewed hold allowed.
"If you're not going to push forth any of those trite arguments about madness, sides of the law, duty or family which I've already considered and dismantled, then yes, be my guest."
No smart argument was to be found. Still...
"Did it ever cross that monster-genius-child mind of yours that I might not be interested?"
Tim's raised eyebrow was entirely too eloquent. He rolled his hips up against Jason's own for good measure, but at least he didn't step as low as uttering one of those "is that a gun in your pocket, or are you just happy to be pinning me ?" jokes that Jason would've exploited to death if he were still a Robin.
Jason tensed all over at the reminder of his own desire, which he'd tried not to think about, because, really? Tim had be up to something, or on something, or to be missing something, because there was no way in Hell that it could be as easy as I-want-you-you-want-me-let's-live-happily-ever-after. That's not how it worked, not in their world, and Jason really ought to...
…ought to snap out of his trance, apparently, because Tim was nibbling on Jason's chin and looking at him a little expectantly, as if he'd said something and was waiting for an answer.
Jason upped the wattage of his scowl.
Huffing, Tim flipped them over easily, so he was straddling Jason like he was his Ducati,
his tongue darting out, delving briefly between Jason's lips
"...I want you..."
teasing flicks, slow and long
"...you want me..."
swallowing Jason's surprised, almost-pained groan
"...and I've over-analysed this enough..."
touching Jason nowhere but on his mouth
"...for the both of us..."
rolling their tongues together
"...go with it, Jay."
He considered it a victory when Jason flipped them over again, and started to kiss Tim like he was trying to swallow him whole.
But then the blanket of muscle covering Tim was removed, and Jason was on his feet and backing away, fists balled and trembling and scowling. As Tim rolled his eyes, went for another leg-swipe and reclaimed his perch atop Jason's thighs, he realized it might take a bit more than predicted to bring this infuriatingly stubborn man to see reason.
Luckily for them, Tim was just as stubborn as Jay.