Fandom: DC comics
Word Count: 2,453
Warnings: explicit sex, light bondage
Summary: for the prompt on the robincest meme, "Tim riding Jason. Hard." Special thanks to Heej, and Sasha for looking this over and holding my hand, and Kat for doing all that AND contributing a very important line.
And now Tim's got him spread out on his bed, naked and handcuffed to the headboard. Jason’s not exactly complaining. After all, he’s got a pretty fabulous view.
“Sure you don’t want me to do that?” he asks, watching as Tim presses two of his long, thin fingers inside himself. He’s up on his haunches, hovering over Jason, leaning back a little to get the right angle. “Bigger fingers, I’d fill you up so much better—”
Tim glances at him, thin veneer of annoyance not quite covering up his amusement. “Quiet,” he says, and then gasps as his fingers slide a little deeper inside him, has to take a moment to breathe. Jason strains a little to see, tugging at the restraints.
“You like it when I'm noisy,” he says, and then, “C’mon, Tim, just—”
“You like it when I—when you get teased,” Tim says. He braces himself on Jason’s propped-up knees to get a better angle, and Jason’s retort dies in his throat. Tim’s naked, fucking himself on his fingers, arching his back. His hips are jerking back against his hand—his whole body is moving with it. He’s panting, making tiny noises with each exhale, as he squirms and writhes back into his own hand. Jason’s mouth goes dry, and without thinking he tries to reach for Tim again. He glares at the offending cuff, and then at Tim. He’s laughing, the little bastard.
Jason could get his hands free, even without lockpicks. After all, anything’s possible given enough time, patience, and a little lube to ease the way. Alternately, he could break the headboard; it’s wooden, not exactly made for restraints, and a some properly applied pressure would work wonders.
Still, maybe it’s better not to get too hasty—for one thing, Tim would be pissed if Jason broke the headboard—Jason tries again. “Let me touch you,” he says. He hadn’t meant to plead; he’d been aiming for ‘business proposition,’ but his desperation and need stained his tone. Even as he's speaking, Tim’s shaking his head, still with that insufferable goddamn smirk. “Tim. Don’t you want my fingers inside you, opening you up, I’d make it so good, I’d touch you all over, Tim—”
“Be patient,” Tim cuts him off. Jason meets his eyes, and the promise there makes him groan in frustration and arousal. He’s no good at patient.
“Next time—ah—I'm going to gag you,” Tim says, and Jason heats up all over.
He wants to touch Tim, so badly, touch the beads of sweat at his temple and his lip where he’d been chewing on it and his chest and his ribs and his belly and his back and his legs, he wants to tangle his hands in Tim’s hair, he wants to yank Tim into a kiss. And Tim has gone back to fucking himself on his fingers, and Jason wants so badly, he could cry.
“Tim, Tim, let me, let me touch you, please,” he moans, and that'd be embarrassing if he weren't so desperate, if Tim weren't so beautiful and touchable and close. Tim reaches out with his free hand and strokes his fingertips along the line of Jason’s sternum. It’s a blatant, unfair tease. It makes Jason squirm up for the touch, aching for more.
Tim smiles. “No,” he says, eyes fucking sparkling with half-hidden glee, and Jason's hips twitch up of their own accord. The little fucker is enjoying Jason’s impatience, loving every minute he's refusing Jason what he wants. Jason growls and shoves his hips up again, trying to force Tim to untie him or move or something, but all he succeeds in getting is another smirk and—now Tim is pulling his fingers out of himself, concentrating hard enough that Jason can see sweat forming on his upper lip. Then Tim scoots back, still up on his knees, and regards Jason passively for a moment until Jason snarls, “will you—do something, or let me—”
“I should really wait a little longer,” Tim says dryly. “Before you start to think I'm rewarding you for bad behavior,” and then he starts rubbing back against Jason's dick—not grinding, not even trying to get Jason inside him, just letting Jason’s dick slip slickly against Tim's ass.
Jason’s not entirely sure it's fair that the move is as sexy as it is, since it's just his dick rubbing between Tim's asscheeks. The phrasing makes Jason choke back a laugh, but then Tim wiggles back against him again and he stops caring.
He tries to thrust up against Tim, to get a little fucking friction, and Tim freezes him with a look. It’s the one that says “I know your tricks, pal, and you’re not getting away with anything,” always reminding him a little bit of a sexy librarian.
Jason groans, again, because there’s no way Tim’s gonna move until he’s good and ready. “Fucking tease,” he whines. Above him, Tim stills, a little, his resolve seeming to soften a little. He gives Jason a sheepish half-smile, and Jason—forgets about the restraints. Again. It’s reflexive, now, to reach out and touch Tim when he starts to look vulnerable. Tim sees the attempted movement, though, and his smile turns a little more confident again.
He leans down and kisses Jason, slow and wet and nasty. Jason's eyes close. Tim’s tongue is hot, slipping against Jason’s, curling and licking inside his mouth, making Jason moan a little into the kiss. He loves when Tim gets messy, kisses Jason sloppy and slick. Tim pulls back to licks his own lips, and then licks Jason’s, following with a sharp bite to Jason’s lower lip. Jason whimpers. Tim smirks, and Jason can feel it pressed against his mouth.
“Tim,” he gasps. He’d meant it as a complaint, but something about Tim being a smug asshole makes him squirmy and turns his whining into pleading. Tim pulls back, just enough to press their foreheads together for a short moment. Then he sits back up.
“Stay still,” he orders.
“I'm not a dog,” Jason retorts, play-indignant even through the swelling haze of lust—Tim is moving backwards, scooting on his knees, and Jason’s brain is going yes! finally! too hard for him to put up anything more than a token protest.
Tim’s mouth quirks. “Oh, so you didn’t want me to tell you you’re a good boy?” he teases, and Tim definitely felt Jason's cock twitch against him, because that’s another full-blown smirk.
“God,” Jason says feelingly, and “fuck,” and “Tim,” because Tim's spreading himself again and sinking down onto Jason's dick. Jason tries not to move, to stay put like Tim said. Not because “good boy” is still echoing in his ears, but because if he does, Tim will stop.
Tim looks—amazing, in a way Jason doesn’t usually get to see; he’s usually too busy touching, getting his hands all over Tim. Now there’s nothing he can do except stare. Tim’s breathing heavily, holding himself still as he adjusts to the stretch of Jason's cock. A pink flush has bloomed across his cheeks, making its way down his chest—it’s familiar, and Jason clenches and unclenches his hands in the cuffs. God, he just wants to touch—
And then Tim’s moving, gasping and rolling his hips against Jason’s. “Oh my god, Tim,” and Tim’s breath hitches, and it’s still so slow, like Tim’s just teasing himself, and Jason moans, long and low. Tim's going to take his sweet time, he's going to make it last, and he’s going to kill Jason by making him wait.
Tim hasn't even touched himself yet. His cock's pretty, little and flushed dark, bobbing against his stomach with each movement. There’s a small bead of precome forming at the tip, and Jason’s suddenly distracted by how much he wants to taste. “Tim, Tim, I wanna suck you so bad, I want to feel you in my mouth, I want to taste you so much—”
Tim's shivering, shuddering with Jason's words. Jason goes on, encouraged. “Fuck, you look so good, you—you’re so fucking hot, fucking riding my dick, Tim—”
“F-fuck,” Tim gasps under his breath, grinding his hips down harder. He's starting to work Jason's cock in earnest, arching his back and shoving against Jason, still rhythmic and steady but faster, now.
“God, Tim,” Jason moans. “How’s it feel?” Tim shakes his head, mouth open and gasping for breath. A tiny mewling noise noise escapes Tim, and he presses his clean hand against his mouth to muffle the sound. “No, baby, no, I wanna hear you, you sound so good, I love the way you sound, the noises you make—”
Tim’s eyes flutter closed. He pauses for a moment, swallowing visibly, and then removes his hand. “Yeah, that's it,” Jason says hoarsely. He wants to reach out, to envelop Tim's smaller hand in Jason’s, guide them down, wrap both their hands around Tim's cock. He’d liked the idea of the handcuffs, at first, but now he’s antsy with desire.
Tim’s apparently starting to get the same idea, too, because he wraps his newly freed hand around his dick, arching in relief. Jason stares hungrily, mouth watering at the sight. Tim’s throwing his head back gasping, cut with tiny noises as he simultaneously works himself on Jason’s cock and jerks himself off.
“Tim, Tim, Tim,” Jason groans. Tim huffs a laugh, breathless and low, grinding his hips hard and purposeful. “God, yes, fuck—”
“Jason," Tim rasps, fucking himself hard on Jason’s dick, before he throws his head back and comes, splattering all over Jason's chest.
He holds himself still for a moment, the two of them breathing harshly and waiting. Tim’s flush is dying, ebbing out slowly. His eyes are still closed, long lashes a pretty shadow on his cheek, and then they part as Tim regards him, half-lidded. He looks sated, gorgeous, a small, satisfied almost-smile curling his mouth.
Jason's suddenly very conscious that Tim has stopped moving, and might very well not decide to start up again. “Tim?” he says, strained with the effort of trying very very hard not to let any of his urgency seep through.
“Mm?” Tim says, leaning back, perched on Jason’s dick like his own personal throne.
He’s just surveying, now, tracing his eyes slowly up Jason’s chest. Sight-seeing. Jason bites back a snappish suggestion that Tim should take a picture with the landmarks and get a fucking move on when Tim—does get a move on, all on his own.
Thoughtfully, contemplatively, Tim leans forward and swipes two fingers through the sticky mess he made on Jason's chest. Jason's breath catches. Tim notices, of-fucking-course, and his smirk widens just enough to be tangible. He reaches out, slowly, and rests the tips of his come-dirty fingers against Jason’s lower lip.
“Suck,” Tim says, voice low and throaty, and. Fuck. Okay. Whatever you want, Birdboy.
Jason licks, first, light and teasing. Might as well put on a show, if it’s a show Tim wants. The first taste makes him groan—his mouth's fucking watering with it. He swallows, sucking Tim's fingertips into his mouth messily. Even through Tim's heavy-lidded eyes, he can see Tim's puils eat away at the irises. Jason whines around Tim’s fingers, greedy, sloppy, licking and sucking all he can from them.
Too soon, Tim’s pulling them out, and Jason makes a noise of protest. Tim ignores it, instead admiring the string of saliva between his fingers and Jason’s mouth. Jason licks his lips, swallows, watches Tim’s eyes track the movement for a moment.
Then, "C’mon,” he says, quiet and hoarse, because, really, he’s waited long enough.
“No more teasing," Tim promises, and Jason shudders with his whole body.
“Please,” he moans. He's trying not to thrust up under Tim, but it’s hard, his thighs tensing with the effort of keeping still.
And Tim’s finally starting to move, rocking down hard against him. Jason's mouth falls open and he's gasping, almost sobbing, unable to tear his eyes from Tim's hips thrashing against his. Tim’s writhing, rolling his gorgeous skinny hips down on Jason's dick, and God, Jason almost can’t believe he gets to have this.
“Tim, Tim, TimTimTimTim—” he’s shouting, practically wailing, and he couldn’t stop if he tried. Tim’s body heat feels like a brand everywhere they’re touching, and Jason's heart feels like it’s going to pound out of his chest. Tim’s working a hard, steady rhythm, and it’s driving Jason wild.
His breath is coming in hiccups and gasps, and he’s babbling nonsense he can’t even hear over the blood rushing in his head. Tim's grinding down, riding him like a fucking show pony, and it’s so toe-curlingly, eye-crossingly good that white sparks burst behind Jason's eyes when he comes, hard, buried deep in Tim’s ass.
It takes a moment for Jason to regain brain function for anything more complicated than breathing in and out. He opens his eyes just a slit when he feels Tim dismount, and catches Tim’s slight grimace at the feeling. “Sorry, baby,” he mumbles, and Tim freezes for a split second.
“Don't be,” he says. He pauses, shifts from side to side. “I’m—here, let me—” and he crawls over Jason, using the keys to the cuffs from the bedside table. Belatedly, Jason wonders if he could have reached it with his foot, if he hadn’t had a Tim-shaped distraction squirming above him.
Freeing Jason's wrists one at a time, Tim has to catch Jason's arms, long-since asleep. He massages feeling back into them, careful and meticulous, and Jason smiles up at him. Kinda goopily, but Jason doesn’t give a fuck.
Once his arms are free and willing to move, Jason snatches Tim up and yanks him close, making him squeak. “Ugh—Jason—you’re all sticky—”
Jason hums, nosing up against Tim's jaw. “Yeah, and whose fault is that, birdboy?” he teases, voice rumbly and hoarse. Tim squirms.
“Let me go get a washcloth,” he demands, tugging vainly against the cage of Jason’s arms. Jason kisses him, instead, languid and sloppy, until Tim relaxes and returns the kiss.
Tim pulls back. “Washcloth,” he says firmly. Jason groans and releases him. Fucking one-track mind.
When he gets back, Jason’s going to touch him everywhere he didn't get to touch earlier. Maybe coax Tim into rubbing off on him. He grins and settles back against the pillows to wait.