#timjaime
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idk if anybody else likes this ship but hello redbeetle nation
#made two videos about them 😭#tim drake#jaime reyes#redbeetle#tim drake x jaime reyes#tim drake/jaime reyes#blue beetle#red robin#nk draws#timjaime#jaimetim#bluerobin
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HEY!! L FOR BLUEROBIN PLS??
“stolen kiss” it is. :3 This is… more or less 63!Tim/Jaime. Because I wanted to use the Traci lead-in from Blue Beetle #16.
“ – could meet a cute girl who would be okay with all the weird.”
“Jaime? Jaime Reyes?” The girl walking in looks kinda familiar, in a weird way. And really pretty, not that Jaime’s staring at her or anything because his mom raised him way better than that. But just. Wow.
Paco elbows him in the side, and Jaime realizes that oh right, he’s should probably. Say something. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” She tilts her head at him, and for some reason, he can’t shake the feeling that she sees way more than she’s letting on. It’s practically giving Khaji-Da conniptions. “Can I talk to you… privately? For a minute?”
“Lady,” Paco says, “you can be private with my man here doing anything you want.”
“Sure!” Jaime says, quickly and loudly like he can somehow cancel out Paco’s being an idiot while she’s right there, come on. Luckily, Paco gets out of the garage pretty quick. “So, uh, what did you need?”
“I, uh.” The girl goes quiet for so long that Jaime’s kinda worried Paco really did offend her or something. “God, this was stupid. He’s gonna kill me,” she mutters, which is definitely not the least alarming thing she could have said.
“Are you in some kind of trouble?” He’s not sure why she’d be going to Jaime Reyes, Definitely Not the Blue Beetle for that, but it’s not like he’s going to ignore her if she needs help.
“Not yet.” Her mouth tilts upwards in a smile that’s more bitter than happy. “I mean, hi. I’m Robin, of ‘Batman and’. I’m AWOL and probably having some kind of nervous breakdown, but I figured since I was having it in your general area, I’d stop in and let you know that Batman believes you about the Reach. And he’s taking steps to prepare against it.”
It’s a lot to take in, and he really wouldn’t even believe her if it wasn’t for the fact that she knows about the Reach, but somehow, the thing that pops out of his mouth first is “Robin is a girl?”
“Sometimes. I mean, Robin’s a boy, but his civilian identity is me, and I’m a girl, and that’s – really not important right now.” She shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans, shoulders hunched over. “I just wanted to let you know that you’re not alone, with the Reach. Cause, uh, you don’t – deserve that. Okay?” She twists around so she’s looking outside again, like she’s gonna leave. “It was nice meeting you.”
“Wait,” he says immediately, even if he’s not sure why. Maybe it’s just cause she’s a superhero or something, and there’s gotta be a heroes help heroes kind of code, right? Maybe the JLA sorta screwed it up when they left him like they did, but – she just looks so sad. “We’re really far from Gotham, do you have a place to stay? Or… do you want to hang out and talk or something?”
“You’re really sweet,” she says with a smile that looks a little more sincere than the last one. “I have to go now, but – maybe we’ll run into each other again.” Robin kisses him on the cheek briefly – which is, oh man, it’s going to take some time to process that – before turning and walking out.
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Curious Intentions of a Date that Isn't-Yet-a-Date
thesensibleone13 asked you:
Hi, congrats on all the followers, you definitely deserve all the win, because you are awesome. Can I prompt for some Jaime/Tim fic (thank you for introducing me to that by the way)? umm, sorry i con't think of any context, so anything would be lovely. Thank you and may you gain many more followers.
Sure! Here you go!
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Pairing: Jaime/Tim
Verse: DCU
Rating: PG
Summary: It’s just coffee. Just coffee with the son of Batman/Bruce Wayne. Yeah. Just coffee.
—
“It’s just coffee,” Tim had said, as if to imply that there really were no strings attached, that if Jaime said yes, there would be absolutely no expectations on his part. Which, despite Tim’s best intentions, doesn’t make him feel any better about the entire situation.
But here he is, having just coffee with Tim at this café in El Paso, and if he’s going to be stressed out, he’d rather this be more than just coffee. Because Tim’s lips are quirked in a perpetual half-smile, and the way he fidgets with things has been endearing since Jaime first noticed that he even did that. (Who would have figured that anyone in the Batfamily would have the audacity to fidget?)
“Tim,” Jaime asks, tapping against the table because he can feel the Scarab reacting to his stress.
[if you keep up this level of adrenaline, you are going to pass out]
“Yes?” Tim stops fidgeting abruptly, which is just as unsettling as it sounds.
“Is this really just coffee? Because no one I know comes to El Paso from Gotham for just coffee. I mean, I know we’ve got good coffee, but you have coffee that caters to CEOs and the like. So I’m just trying to see if my impending heart attack is over nothing, or if it’s something warranted, such as I’m on a date with Timothy Drake warranted. ¿Comprendes?”
Tim’s half-smile turns into something flustered, “I didn’t want to make you nervous.”
“And, see, that didn’t work, and also doesn’t answer my question.”
Neither of them have touched their not-date coffee, and his heart really is going to burst.
“This might be able to change into more than coffee. Like. Maybe dinner and a movie.”
Jaime sighs, but his spine tightens in response. “Like a date dinner and a movie, or just dinner and a movie?”
Tim covers his eyes in embarrassment, and he ducks his head when he says, “a date, if you don’t mind going on one, and maybe even date-coffee afterward.”
[adrenaline spike leveling into almost normal rage]
Jaime leans back against the chair, boneless with the effort of sleuthing out the intentions of this outing. “You’re exhausting to figure out, you know that?”
Tim laughs, and that made every labored breath worth it, and his heart spikes in response.
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Fic -- Love Letter Blues
Title: Love Letter Blues
Rating: T
Fandom: Young Justice
Characters/Pairing(s): Bart Allen, Jaime Reyes/Tim Drake
Warnings: Cursing
Word Count: about 2,500
Prompt: for finkpishnet's don't call them sidekicks ficathon on lj. Tim/Jaime Best two out of three?
Summary: With the help of Bart, Jaime's been trying to woo Tim with special gifts in his locker but it looks like Tim has had enough.
"Are you sure he's going to like this, Bart?"
"What? What are you talking about? He'll love it! It'll be totally crash!"
"That's what you said last time when you told me to get him candy. You were like 'Oh, don't worry about it, Blue. Everybody likes Reese's.' Well, apparently Robin doesn't because he's allergic to peanut butter."
"Uhhh minor set-back. But this! Oh this is going to make him fall so much in love with you that there won't even be a useful thought left in that big brain of his."
"Um, I don't know if... I mean maybe someday but right now... I mean right now I was just hoping for a date..."
“….”
“….”
"...Blue? ... Blue, buddy stay with me okay?"
"What? Oh yeah sure."
"Oh! Here's his locker. Okay just slide it in and then we'll make a clean getaway."
"I don't know, Bart. I feel like I should at least give something like this to him in person..."
Bart gave Jaime a withering stare. "Do you seriously want to give him that in person?"
Jaime briefly thought of all the embarrassingly romantic things that were written on the love-letter Jaime wrote for Robin with frequent suggestions from Bart.
"Right. I'll just slip it in here."
Jaime was about to do just that when he heard the object of his affections say, "Hey!" from behind him.
The next thing he heard was a quick whispered, “Here’s your chance, Jaime. Get some for me!” Then there was a rush of air that left the room. Jaime looked around and saw that it was only him and Robin alone in an empty locker room.
Jaime let himself take in every detail of the boy in front of him. He was wearing his civvies and had a bag slung over his shoulder. And his eyes were still behind those god damn sunglasses. He was in a plain white T-shirt and track pants. And when Jaime’s eyes made their way back up to Tim’s face he was met with a disapproving eyebrow raised far about the rim of his sunglasses.
“What is that?” Robin asked like Jaime was holding a severed arm and Robin had half a mind to tackle him to the ground and turn him over to the police.
“Uhh… this? This is, uh, well, umm, you know… the presents? In your locker?”
“You mean the teddy bear that was holding a heart and the candy and the flowers from you? Yeah, I noticed.”
Jaime flinched at Robin’s tone. God he must hate me so much.
{Jaime Reyes. Detecting hostile tones from the Robin. The Robin plans to attack. Suggestion: preemptive offensive action.}
Jaime whipped his head toward his spine and whispered sharply, “No. No we are not doing this here and we are definitely not doing this now!”
When he turned back around to face Robin, the eyebrow was still up but the whole expression just seemed a tinge more worried than before.
Jaime said, “Uh, yeah. All of those things came from me… Which you know about. And this letter that I was about to put in your locker is also for you so I was going to put it in… your locker… and now I’m just saying out loud what we both already know, aren’t I?”
When Robin gave a curt nod, Jaime slumped and sighed.
{I detect that you lack finesse when courting, Jaime Reyes. Suggestion: desist and find another organic being with which to mate.}
“You’re not making this any easier, you know.”
“You’re right. Sorry to have inconvenienced you. Let’s fix that. Follow me.”
Robin’s detached tone with a side of icy edge made Jaime wish that he could take words from the air, grab them, and swallow them and keep them firmly inside his head under lock and key. Of course Tim didn’t know that Jaime wasn’t talking to him. Of course what he said had come out rude as if he deserved some repudiation for harassing Tim with his stupid crush.
Jaime couldn’t do much else so he did as he was told and followed Robin.
Robin led him out to the training room where normally the members of the team sparred.
Jaime gave a questioning glance at Robin after the Boy Wonder set his bag down.
“Why here?” Jaime asked.
“Before I answer that question why don’t you answer a few of mine?” Robin had hardly waited for an answer before he continued talking… or maybe it was closer to yelling.
“Is this funny to you?” Robin then seemed to catch his raising voice and cut himself off. He took a deep breath, exhaled and then started to speak in a more subdued voice. “Listen, I don’t know what I did to you or Bart but just… stop. Okay? Please?”
“What do you mean what you did to me? You didn’t do anything to me. I just… um, I just wanted to ask you out.”
Robin tensed. “Look, I know what you’re trying to do so there’s no need to act all innocent anymore. It’s a prank. I get it. Ha ha, you’re hilarious now just drop it, okay?”
{The Robin misunderstands your intentions, Jaime Reyes. Perhaps a more suitable mate should be sought out.}
Jaime ignored the scarab and just stared dumbfounded at Robin.
“What? No I-”
“Fine, I should’ve guessed that the humane way of dealing with this wouldn’t work but how about we spar. I win you stop harassing me and do more productive things with your time.”
In retrospect, Jaime could’ve probably said something a lot different and something that could have diffused the situation. Jaime didn’t really know what to blame the next words out of his mouth on except his head was still reeling from the fact that quiet, responsible Robin looked like he was going to enjoy beating the shit out of him.
“What if I win?”
Robin just shook his head. “Don’t worry. You won’t.”
It was over in a matter of seconds. All Robin had to do was throw a few well aimed punches and a fantastically executed kick and Jaime was on his back gasping.
{The Robin means to destroy us. Initiating plasma canons.}
Jaime could feel the armor crawl up his arm like spiders and he had to flip himself over on his stomach and clutch at his hand that was slowly becoming a deadly weapon.
“NO! Nonononononononono! No initiating plasma canons. Robin doesn’t want to destroy anything! Calm down!”
While Jaime was busy trying to get his alien armor under control, Tim went over to his bag, picked it up and began to walk out of the room.
“As you can see, I can handle myself now. So just leave me alone,” Robin said over his shoulder.
“Robin, wait!” Jaime shouted from the ground.
Robin stopped but he didn’t turn around.
“Look, I’m sorry that you think we’re playing a joke on you. But we’re not. I just wanted… and then Bart was trying to help me and maybe I shouldn’t have left those stupid useless things in your locker. I should’ve just gone straight up to you and-and asked if you wanted to go out with me because that’s what I want, Robin.”
It was about this point in time when Robin turned around and faced Jaime. He had a slightly surprised look on his face.
Jaime continued, “I just wanted to ask you out on a date and maybe if that went well we’d go on another one and… I just… I never asked someone out before and I was nervous and I wanted some advice so I thought, for some stupid reason, that Bart would know something about asking people they like out. So I’m sorry. But I do want to go out with you, Robin.”
When there was a long enough pause to alert Robin that Jaime probably won’t say anymore, he made his way over to where Jaime was still laying on the ground and still clutching his arm that was no longer a plasma canon or turning into one very soon. Robin crouched down and with an unreadable expression on his face reached out two fingers to Jaime’s pulse point on his neck and said, “Say that again,” in an equally neutral voice.
So Jaime obeyed. “I want to go out with you, Robin.”
There was a beat of silence and then Robin’s face turned a bright scarlet. He retracted his hand so fast you’d think Jaime’s neck was a hot stove top or something.
“Umm… I … Uh…” Robin said articulately and continued to speak like that as he looked anywhere but at Jaime. Jaime began to wonder where the Robin from ten seconds ago went but then stopped when he realized how cute Robin looked when he was blushing.
“R-Rob?” Jaime sat up and reached out for Robin’s hand purely on impulse (not to be confused with the bratty speedster who got him into this mess). His mother always taught him that comforting someone who was distressed or upset was better with a simple touch.
However the touch didn’t seem to help at all. In fact, some might even go as far as to say it made it worse because as soon as their hands touched, Robin snatched his hand away and looked at Jaime guiltily. Then he rushed out a quick, “I…I’m sorry!” and quickly stumbled up, grabbed his bag and fled the room.
Jaime didn’t know what to do. He felt like someone hit him in the chest with a bat. But that’s rejection for you.
Jaime scrubbed a hand against his face and then ran it through his hair.
{Jaime Reyes, you do not possess the necessary mental faculties with which to choose a proper mate. From now on, I will make the appropriate decisions for such a relationship.}
“No, you will not!”
:::::::::::::::
It was days later before he saw Robin again. It was a mandatory training session for all members of the team. Jaime tried to catch his eye a few times to gauge whether or not there were any hard feelings. But judging by the fact that Robin never met his eyes, he figured that he should just quit while he was ahead.
But after training Jaime was surprised when Robin came up to him and asked, “Hey, umm… do you mind staying back for a little? I, uh… want to talk…”
Jaime dazedly nodded and Robin had given him a quick nod in return. They waited for everyone else to either hit the showers or zeta home. What was interesting though was that on his way out, Nightwing passed by them and gave a solid slap to Robin’s back. Robin glared at his mentor and Nightwing flashed him a smile and waved.
{The Nightwing is encroaching upon your territory. Destroy him!}
Jaime had to as subtly as possible whisper to the scarab that Nightwing was encroaching on anybody’s territory and that no one deserved to be destroyed.
Then they were all alone.
“L-listen, what I did the other day…” Robin started, “it-I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions like that and demeaned your… your feelings in the process. So I’m sorry.”
Jaime smiled. “Hey, it’s not all your fault. Presents in your locker from a not-so-secret admirer is pretty cheesy. I probably would’ve beaten the crap out of me too.”
And then subdued, sometimes volatile, always serious Robin… smiled. At him. At Jaime.
“It was still wrong of me to do and I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted.”
They shared a smile that made Jaime think maybe he still had a chance.
Then Robin asked, “So, what was in that letter?”
Jaime blushed and let out a nervous laugh. “Uh, you definitely don’t want to see that. It’s a… well, it’s really not important so, you know, and it’s totally embarrassing so I’d think it’d be better if we all just forgot that it exists.”
“You won’t let me see it?”
“Nope.”
“You were going to put it in my locker before.”
“That was before I felt your right hook. Now I’m afraid to see what else you’d do to me if you read it.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I wrote a first draft and after Bart read it he told me I needed lessons in how to be romantic. We spent the whole weekend watching chic flicks and told me to take notes.”
Robin whistled. Jaime didn’t know he could do that but then after he thought about it, it made sense.
“It sounds like you were committed,” Robin said.
They gave each other a look and then the both of them erupted into giggles. And it gave Jaime just a shred of hope that maybe there was still a chance and that made Jaime a little bit bolder.
“So how ‘bout a best two out of three?”
“What?”
“Well, before you said that when we sparred if you win then I’d have to leave you alone and I never got to say what I’d get if I win. So I propose a best two out of three and if you win I’ll never bring up the subject again but if I win, I get to take you out on a date. Deal?”
Tim looked at him from behind his sunglasses and he smiled. Jaime was beginning to get addicted to it.
“Sorry, no deal.”
“What?”
“Well it wouldn’t really be fair, would it? I mean if you win then you’d be winning something we both want and then I’d just let you win. So if we were going to do a two outta three it would have to be different stakes.”
Jaime’s heart was hammering in his chest. Did Robin just agree to-
“Wait so does that mean-I mean I thought-you know yesterday-I mean-”
“Jaime,” Robin said interrupting him and honestly Jaime had never been happier about being interrupted. “I want to go out with you.”
Jaime wanted to pinch himself or dance or jump up and down or sing or make out with Robin right then and there or you know just scream.
“Are you SERIOUS!”
Which was apparently the option he went for.
Robin smiled a little wider and said, “Yes, I’m completely serious. So anyway back to the stakes how about instead of the dating thing which is happening regardless of whether or not you win, how about if you win, I drop the subject but if I win, I get to read the letter?”
Jaime didn’t know whether to be happy, indignant, annoyed, or just cry with frustration but he settled on happy because the Boy Fucking Wonder wanted to go out with him.
“You are unbelievable,” Jaime said.
“What? Why?”
“You know you’re going to win. Why would I agree to something like that?”
“Oh come on, last time I caught you by surprise. This time it’ll be fairer.”
“Ah, see? You’re trying to manipulate me through my machoness. It won’t work.”
“Come on, Jaime, let me see it.”
“Nope.”
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whejehjrhr woah baking and silliness!!! and more redbeetle stuff on my profile
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what is the Jaime/Tim ship name. we need to settle this I’m going insane
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can’t believe I was searching the wrong name omg but hi guys. redbeetle/jaimetim/bluebird/bluerobin whatever playlist!
#what even is this name#redbeetle#bluebird#jaimetim#timjaime#bluerobin#jaime reyes#tim drake#Spotify
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kay but for real, bluebird or bluerobin for Tim/Jaime, I like the alliteration but bluerobin’s cute, too
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Conversation
what she says: I'm fine
what she means: JAIME REYES AND TIM DRAKE WOULD MAKE SUCH A CUTE COUPLE FIGHT ME
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Brushes With Death
thesensibleone13 asked you:
Hi, are you still taking prompts? Please can I request something adorable with Jaime and Tim? I really don't mind what, but if you would like some more context, maybe a scene between them after The Team gets Jaime back in 'Before the Dawn'. I hope this is alright, but thanks anyway.
Pairing: Jaime/Tim
Verse: Young Justice: Invasion
Rating: PG-13
Summary: “I’ll hate you forever.”
—
“I’ll hate you forever,” Tim tells Jaime, pumping down on his chest, the Scarab shifting back toward his spine. “I’ll hate you forever if you die,” he repeats. It’s the worst thing he can think of—he hopes he it works. (If Bart saved him for nothing—) His throat closes up. He keeps pressing.
And water finally comes up, spilling past Jaime’s lips with a wet cough. He sits up, heaving, and Tim backs up, his head swimming with the possibility that Jaime wasn’t going to be around anymore. That he wasn’t going to argue with Bart anymore, or look at his would-be mentor, or speak fond bits of Spanish to him before he fell asleep, or—
“Dios,” Jaime coughs, wiping his forearm across his mouth. “Christ, that was terrible. I’ll be tasting the ocean on my tongue for days, I can feel it.”
His head turns and he grins, looking wan and almost dead, but not dead at all, and Tim is pretty sure his heart is stopping. “Welcome back,” he says anyway, because if he dies he doesn’t want his last words to be I’ll hate you forever.
“Thanks for the wake-up call, mi amor.”
“Anytime,” Tim replies. Except don’t ever do that again. Except you almost killed me you idiot. Except—
But he doesn’t say any of that.
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The Firing Squad
alluringalliteration submitted:
Prompt: Anything with Jaime Reyes! Maybe Jaime meets Tim’s family for the first time as “boyfriends”?
Pairing: Jaime/Tim
Verse: Young Justice: Invasion
Rating: PG
Summary: Tim seems too calm about this which means he’s probably not calm at all.
—
They walk together, fingers laced, elbows brushing every so often, but Jaime is almost one-hundred percent sure that Batman already knows they’re coming. Tim feels loose, calm, prepared. And that is terrifying. When he’s loose like that, he’s ready for a fight.
Jaime doesn’t feel any better about this endeavor.
(But it’s worth it, he thinks to himself, definitely worth it.)
Because Tim has been meaning to do this for weeks and it kept getting put off because of Batman’s absence, Batman’s return, and Batman’s workload. Well, Nightwing finally got the family silent and together and so here they are, walking toward Tim’s home, hand-in-hand.
The gate to the Manor (Wayne Manor, Tim had said, sighing) is huge. The driveway is the length of his street back home, and the house could fit all of the homes in his suburb more than likely.
Jaime would think about being jealous, but looking at the subtle twist of his lips, the way his eyes look toward and away from his house, looming up closer, and closer. Tim looks small. And his shoulders sag. But Jaime squeezes his hand and he straightens again.
“Listo?” Tim asks, carefully, fishing his key from his pocket. Jaime’s pretty sure there are sensors in the door to tell the Bat who’s arriving.
Jaime nods.
And Tim squeezes his hand.
(Time to face the firing squad.)
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Return the Favor
anexorcist asked you:
How about Jaime/Tim sexytimes?? With the threat of being caught oh la la~
OH LA-LA.
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Pairing: Jaime/Tim
Verse: DCU
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Tim looks good in a suit, doesn’t everyone know?
—
“Jaime,” Tim hisses his name as he kisses down his abdomen. One of Bruce Wayne’s parties goes on just down the hallway and to the right, even as Tim’s fingers thread through his hair and his nails scrape against his scalp. “Jaime, anyone could walk down here—“
“Mm,” Jaime swipes his tongue against Tim’s navel, unbuttoning his dress pants and tugging both those and his boxers down to his knees. Tim’s length is hard, ready for Jaime’s mouth. “Es verdad, si. But you asked me here—and I at least want to enjoy it.” He looks up to find Tim watching him, already panting, lips swollen from rushed kisses down the hall, dress shirt unbuttoned, tie loosened around his neck.
Tim looks good in a suit, even when the suit is rumpled and opened, showing off his skin.
“I want you to enjoy it too,” his whispers against Tim’s cock. It twitches under his lips.
“You—“ and he takes Tim into his mouth, appreciating the keen that seems to tremble from his neck to his toes. “—are a—“ Tim breathes out, trying to muffle the long ohhh that pours from his throat. It only half-works, “—a genius. But—“
Jaime works his throat, sucking hard (Tim likes to feel everything), and Tim’s hips shudder underneath his hands. “Did it have to be—“ nnnngh rumbles in his chest and Jaime groans, quietly, around Tim’s dick. “—in the hallway?”
Jaime hums, hollowing out his cheeks, hearing the string quartet reach the peak of one of their pieces. Tim’s started a string of unintelligible English-Spanish—and that’s his cue. He runs his tongue on the underside of Tim’s cock, pulling back until his lips kiss the head—before taking him deep, swallowing, pulling hard with his mouth, and Tim’s thin fingers (perfect fingers) tighten in his hair and almost yank when he comes.
It’s with a shout.
Jaime thinks he timed it perfectly, pulling away from Tim’s dick, watching him slide down the wall, slowly, his pants around his claves.
Jaime licks his lips, achingly hard. But watching Tim is its own reward.
“Next time,” Tim croaks, trying to button his shirt and failing. “I—I’m going to do this to you. At your mother’s.”
“You would not,” Jaime snorts.
“I totally would. I totally will. I’ll—I’ll.” Tim pull his pants and boxers back up, but doesn’t bother to zip them, grabbing the lapels of Jaime’s blazer, forcing Jaime into a bruising kiss. “I’m going to return the favor,” and the next kiss is messy and wet.
“Please do,” and it sounds more desperate than sexy.
But Tim seems to like that just fine.
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If This is the Last Time We Speak
theeasygreen asked you:
Can i please prompt some JaimeTim with: "Tim has something to say. Jaime doesn't want to hear it" <3
OF COURSE YOU CAN PROMPT of course you can.
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Pairing: JaimeTim
Verse: DCU (this is the most reliable verse because it encompasses everything, I guess, but vestigial cartoon references will be here probably)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Tim has something to say. Jaime doesn’t want to hear it.
—
They don’t fight that often. They pick and they push against one another, but they don’t fight. Fighting involved anger and tension and they really don’t need those kinds of emotions for what they are. But when they do fight, it’s normal, couples fight, naturally, of course they do.
At least—that’s how Jaime rationalizes the fact that they’re about two minutes away from throwing things. The unfortunate part about Tim’s decorations in his apartment is that there are a lot of things to throw. Jaime’s within reach of about five different objects small enough to toss, three of which could probably hit Tim and hurt.
“I can’t believe this.” And he can’t. If he says that enough, he’ll wake up, and Tim will not have just said I need space.
Tim always needs space—and Jaime is happy to give it to him. But space and the space in which Tim demands are two different things. It’s the difference between alone time and let’s take a break.
This is what love does to you.
(I knew it, I knew it was a bad idea—)
Jaime instantly takes back that thought, because that’s a lie, it wasn’t a bad idea and it isn’t a bad idea and it won’t ever be a bad idea because—It’s Tim. Tim isn’t a bad idea.
“Well it’s time to start believing.” Tim isn’t prepped to start throwing things—not in the same capacity that Jaime is, but he probably has batarangs in his back pocket, or those discs he likes to use, so he can throw things before Jaime even decides what he’d use.
“No,” Jaime tosses up his arms, thanking the Lord that his throat isn’t squeezing shut with the effort of speaking, even though his mouth waters with the urge to cry. “No, I can’t, because you said—“
Tim’s eyes are shuttered—for being so expressive, there’s nothing in them right now. “I said a lot of things.”
Jaime’s across the room, Tim’s T-shirt fisted in his hands and he brings Tim’s face as close as he can, trying to make use of the small height difference they have. “And you mean every one, even with your subterfuge.” He wants to curse. And scream. And just generally through a tantrum because this isn’t fair.
“You need to leave.”
And something sparks in Tim’s eyes. His hands come to Jaime’s shoulders and he shoves. Jaime stumbles and the Scarab groans. [electronic signal detected, recommended that we do not leave—]
“Goodbye,” but he’s already out the door, “and I’m sorry.”
Jaime could, in effect, shoot down the door. They could have it out with fists and teeth. And he wants to. He wants to try every avenue before this—problem—whatever the problem is—tears them to pieces.
The Scarab slides over his clothes, just as the shockwave hits him and he’s tosses over the railings, three floors down Tim’s apartment complex.
And Tim’s apartment is, effectively, gone. Flames licking at the edges. It’s lucky he didn’t have neighbors—it’s lucky he’s so alone—it’s lucky Jaime wasn’t in that apartment.
For once, the Scarab has no plans or suggestions.
And Jaime has no voice.
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Contextual Differences Between Simple and Easy
At this point I actually am sorry about all the JaimeTim stuff.
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Pairing: Jaime/Tim
Verse: Red Robin Comics/vestigial Young Justice: Invasion
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Simple and easy do not mean the same thing in every context.
—
Simple and easy are often interchanged—but they do not necessarily mean the same thing in different contexts. Jaime is intimately acquainted with the difference between the two words. For example—communicating with Tim is easy for him, at this point, even though every conversation is a complex dance around certain issues until he finds an opening to twist in, starting a Deep and Meaningful Conversation instead. Jaime doesn’t break a sweat anymore when Tim hides things—he dances. But that doesn’t stop the conversations from being complex—Jaime can just do them easily.
And, on the other side of things, Tim has relatively simple requests—love me, don’t leave, don’t die, and respect my boundaries. (Jaime strictly adheres to the first two, does his best with the third, but pushes the fourth to its limits.) But, as simple as those are, it’s really difficult to not die when he has to fight aliens. It’s difficult to respect his boundaries when his boundaries are built around something he needs to talk about. The first two are both simple and easy.
That is how Jaime understands the difference. And it is between these two terms that he is currently tied up in.
It’s Tim’s turn to visit him, and he is curled up on Jaime’s bed, reading Jaime’s physics textbook while Jaime himself works on a paper due in American Government and Economics. The paper is half done—and has been for about the paaaaaast—forty-five minutes.
The question he wants to ask is simple—do you want to move in together?—but going about asking it is terrifyingly complicated. It’s been gnawing at him since he got his acceptance letter to University of Texas (in Austin). It’s a great opportunity—after all, they’re pretty liberal with financial aid, the school is financed really well, and depending on what Jaime wants to major in at all, they have extensive research programs but—
Tim’s probably applied to northern schools. But Jaime can’t really afford to go anywhere where out of state tuition is a serious factor and he’s not exactly Gotham’s biggest fan.
And he’s already decided that he’s going to college—at the UT in Austin. But. He wants to be with Tim now that they’re not exactly tied to where they live. It’s. Complicated.
Because he doesn’t want Tim to say no.
And the Scarab is no help. [take him with us] is the logic there and it’s pragmatic, but completely undermines Tim’s ability to make decisions for himself—which he likes to do. All the time. Whilst simultaneously making decisions that affect those around him because he knows what’s best. Milagro says that if Jaime and Tim love each other, it doesn’t matter where they go to school and that he’s freaking over nothing and that if he really wants to know he should ask.
But it’s not that easy.
(Tim is simple—and complicated. Just like everything else these days.)
He thinks he might start to slowly decay from the stress of thinking about asking and dreading Tim saying no.
He’s pulled out of this decay—forcibly, and he jumps—when Tim turns a page in the physics textbook and says, “Jaime?”
“Dios mio, Christ—!” His arms tense and Tim’s eyebrows go up—he’s amused. His lips twist up and he cocks his head. “Uhm. Yes, Tim?”
“Do you want to move in together?” Tim blinks, slowly, like a cat. “Soon—or something?”
The world freezes—stuck in a pinpoint, twitching like a stuck record because Tim just went and—
“Te odio,” Jaime tosses a pillow as the world starts to spin again and Tim catches it like it’s nothing—it probably isn’t. His reflexes are remarkable. But still, couldn’t he let it hit him in the face, just for the point of the matter? “I hate you,” Jaime repeats in English, even though he doesn’t need to, but it emphasizes his displeasure so he’ll just roll with it.
Tim tucks the pillow against his chest, resting his chin on top of it—and he looks baffled. It’s adorable—his eyebrows are contorted, his lips tugged down in a little frown, and his eyes are stormy with what did I do wrong?
But Jaime’s not going to think about how adorable he is because Tim just went and asked—
“What did I do?” He says, and his voice sounds hurt where his face looks confused. “If you don’t want to—that’s okay, I’m sure I can—we can—Uhm. I’ll—be here. And still love you. Vivas donde vivas. So.“ Tim’s starting to panic—and that’s not what Jaime wants at all, but—
“I was going to ask you!” Jaime covers his face with his hands, hating Tim’s stupid face and his stupid adorable expressions and his stupid way of taking the words right out of Jaime’s mouth. Ugh. “If you wanted to move in together,” he says to his palms, but it’s directed at Tim. “But—I got accepted to a Texas school and I was sure you’d say no, ugh, you stole my question.”
“Sorry?” Thin fingers tug on his wrist and Jaime looks at Tim, whose face is stuck between amused and disgruntled. “I just—I know. You applied to schools in Texas. I.” He flushes a little, keeping his eyes on Jaime’s cheek, just shy of actually making eye contact. “In the event we were still together,” he says slowly, “I applied to a lot of schools in Texas—and got accepted to all of them. I—uhm.”
Jaime knows his face is empty with shock. Even though he knows Tim thinks of everything—and he makes it sound easy, having contingencies for everything that he does—it’s still a little appalling. In a good way. But still. “I thought you would go to school in Gotham or something. I would—if you didn’t want to I’d—visit. Or. Try and—I don’t know.”
Tim half-smiles and sort of attempts to meet his eyes. “Well. I wouldn’t want to make you live in Gotham—she. She eats everything she touches. Slowly. And—besides. I.” Tim swallows, letting go of Jaime’s wrist to lean back, sitting back on the bed instead of crouching. “I just—wanted to be with you.”
"But what about your work?" Tim rolls his shoulders.
"There are people to beat up everywhere," he replies, simply--he makes it sound so easy, his thought process. And when he meets Jaime's eyes, his mouth softens, his eyes melt and he says, "besides." And there's a pause. Jaime thinks he might be holding his breath. "I have higher priorities."
Jaime takes a moment to gather his emotions—to sort out this incredible feeling of I love you so much that I just can’t breathe sometimes with the heady brew of he applied to schools here so that we could live together and I didn’t do the same for him but out-of-state-tuition, does he mind?
And then he manages a shaky smile. “You applied to Texas schools for me? What if we didn’t—weren’t—us.”
Tim shrugs, but his throat bobs like he’s rather not think about it. But Jaime lets the question hang anyway. “Probably cry about it, throw away the acceptance letters, and just go to school at Gotham University or something.” It sounds sarcastic. It probably isn’t.
“It’s—I got accepted to University of Texas in Austin. I. I’ll need to move out of here and find a place but—I would really like to live with you. I just—“ Nope, he thinks, because his eyes are watering. He feels dumb for it but—he’d been stressing about this for weeks. He doesn’t have the breath to cry from all that. “You thought we’d be together still?”
Tim looks at his hands, fisting in Jaime’s sheets. “I wanted us to be. I hoped we would be. So I planned for that.”
Jaime’s head is going to pop—it’s going to pop and he’ll never get to live with Tim and that will be terrible but he is just so happy—and—
He embraces Tim in a sprawling hug, his chest in Tim’s lap, his nose leveled with Tim’s solar plexus—and he buries his face against Tim’s stomach. “Te quiero, mi pareja. Te quiero, te quiero, te quiero.” Jaime loves Tim in every language—but he loves Tim the most with his birth language. As if Tim was part of him from the beginning, from the start, ever since he started speaking what his family spoke, ever since he could say the words I love you.
“I love you too,” Tim’s fingers work through his hair, scratching along his scalp and Jaime is swelling to the point of bursting—he wonders how he handles all these emotions on a regular basis.
“Can you stay tonight?” Because he needs to wrap himself up in Tim—tightly, all limbs, kiss him a lot, tell him I love you a thousand more times.
“I don’t have anything to do until tomorrow.”
“Muy bien. Quédate aquí esta noche.”
Tim hums, his hands still threading through Jaime’s hair.
He takes that as a yes.
(The Scarab approves Jaime’s interpretation.)
There are a lot of things to worry about—money for an apartment, because Jaime won’t let Tim pay for more than half—it’s not right. He has to worry about applying for financial aid, for traveling, for moving in general—it’s all very complicated, all very pressing.
But right now, as Tim drags his nails against Jaime’s scalp, he’d rather just let everything be simple and easy—for tonight at the very least. Just for a little bit.
He doesn’t think Tim would disagree.
#Ryssafic#JaimeTim#TimJaime#Jaime Reyes#Timothy Drake#DCU#Red Robin Comics#Red Robin#Blue Beetle#Young Justice: Invasion#slash
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Thought Experiment
Alison wanted some JaimeTim with Miguel thrown in there for jealousy purposes.
WHO AM I TO DENY ALISON?
I’m not going to deny Alison.
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Pairing: Jaime/Tim
Verse: DCU/DCnU/Red Robin/Teen Titans (DCnU)/Young Justice: Invasion (vestigial)
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jaime’s sort of having a crisis and having the purple one here doesn’t really help at all.
—
[neutralization suggested]
“No,” Jaime mutters under his breath, watching Miguel chat Tim up like they’re best friends (which would, probably, irritate Kon and Bart, and maybe even Tim’s friend Ives and there’s a possibility it might make Dick angry too). “Suggestion rejected.”
Miguel lays a hand on Tim’s shoulder, a delicate caress of fingers—and Jaime thinks the caress part is just him being jealous but the delicate part is absolute fact.
[perhaps unconsciousness]
“Store that idea.” He watches Tim’s eyes flicker over to him before resting back on Miguel’s face—and his lips quirk just so and they might actually be best friends and this just makes it all the more awkward.
“So, mi amigo, how is Gotham’s crime rate, currently?”
“The same,” Tim’s eyes do that flicker again and Jaime’s starting to think Tim can see it on his face. “Excellent—if you’re a criminal. Dismal, if you’re a law enforcer. You know how it goes.” Jaime almost rolls his eyes.
(Not as well as I do, he adds, but doesn’t say because Jaime is better than petty jealousy.)
Miguel nods with a sí, sí, and Jaime really doesn’t have this thing but Scarab kind of does so—Jaime’s trying to think Tim finds Spanish speaking attractive—will this be an issue? while the Scarab is thinking [targeting—trying to bed Tim] and both of those emotions conflict—
And Jaime just really wants to hit this guy—it’s stupid. It’s really dumb. And yet jealousy burns in his gut anyway, regardless of how immature and unnecessary it is. Because Tim engages Miguel when he speaks. He tilts forward and backward and he looks so at ease—and it’s killing him.
Slowly.
And emotionally.
Because—
(I am the one that’s supposed to make him at ease like that.)
And that is just—ridiculous. It’s a ridiculous thing to think and if Tim knew what Jaime was thinking word for word, well—well. He’d probably get irritated and he would have a right too. Because no matter how deep Tim is rooted in his heart, Jaime will never have the right to choose his friends—but still.
Spanish is something that causes Tim’s pupils to blow open—that and affection, and surprises, and I love yous.
So Jaime’s got a repertoire of things to keep Tim happy, it’s just—
—ugh.
So Jaime manages to do homework (barely) on Tim’s bed while Tim and Miguel catch up from their brief team up to apprehend NOWHERE, though there is discussion of Miguel, Solstice, and Skitter joining the Titans for a while—
—and the Jaime of right now would really rather than not happen but life is not always what you want it to be, and all that proverbial mumbo jumbo.
The Scarab rushes over his skin when Miguel gets up to leave and gives Tim a kiss on each cheek—Jaime himself is almost off the bed—because yes, people do that but come on, can the Lord in Heaven please just cut him a break today—!
And Miguel leaves, with a smile and a encantado, Jaime to which he replies igualmente and then he’s gone and the weight upon Jaime’s chest is relieved. A little.
[I still think we should have gotten rid of him]
Jaime doesn’t dignify that with a response—because there is a part of him that would like to say yo también.
Tim nudges the chair under the desk in his room, crawling into bed to look casually at Jaime’s physics. And he tilts his head, dark hair tipping to the side and brushing his cheeks and Jaime is literally so in love that it hurts—and he understands why he’s jealous.
“So I see you’ve been trying new wrinkles on,” Tim taps against the skin between Jaime’s eyebrows, and he realizes he’d been frowning. Much of the time Tim had been chatting. (Can anyone say ‘worst boyfriend ever?’)
[that is rhetorical?]
“I, uh. Lo siento, mi pareja. I was—uhm.”
Tim sort of smiles—the half-smile that says ah, I see. Jaime simultaneously loves and hates that half-smile. “I see,” he says out loud. And Jaime has similar feelings about that tone, as well. “Well. I’m sorry Miguel made you uncomfortable.”
“No! Not uncomfortable, I was—it's complicated?” Tim arches an eyebrow—and Jaime never lets him get away with it’s complicated. Which is now about to bite him, he can tell. Tim waits. And Jaime cracks (and don’t judge, okay, because you have not been stared down the same way). “I just—I was jealous! Because. I know you like it when—I speak to you in Spanish, and I very much like it when you speak it to me. But watching that happen with someone else, it was a little—uhm. I’m sorry.” And all he can do is shrug. (He’s embarrassed, upset at his own insecurities and this is—as he has repeated many times—stupid.)
“I see,” Tim says again, his breath crawling along Jaime’s cheek and then Tim is crawling over Jaime, one knee pressed to the physics book near his left hip and the other at his right hip. “Jealousy, you said?”
“I—“ Jaime reaches up to cup Tim’s face, admires the way Tim just leans into it, his skin feeling smooth under the pads of Jaime’s fingers. “Yes, I—“ he brings Tim’s head down and almost finds himself thinking it would be just like him if this was part of the point—because Tim can play games with emotions when he wants. Their foreheads press together, noses brush, and Jaime finally manages to sigh, “I want to be the one to speak Spanish to you—in bed, in the morning, todo al tiempo.”
“Mm,” Tim replies, and if he spoke words his lips would brush against his own. “I see,” and they do, trace the words against Jaime’s lips and suddenly they feel very dry. “Well, you already do. Every night and—“ he smiles, Jaime feels it, a real smile that is so close to having teeth Jaime could probably breech the smile with his tongue, “every day. Todo al tiempo, you said?”
“Yes,” and it’s a strangled sound more than a word. “You did this on purpose.”
“Think of it as a thought experiment, mi amor—“
Jaime doesn’t let Tim finish talking. Instead, he crushes their lips together, because there is tension in his muscles that really needs to go somewhere.
(And—even though Tim admitted to some underhanded tactics—he’s still jealous, still envious—at least until Tim makes a noise so deep that he finds he really has no reason to be.
After all, Miguel isn’t the source of that, is he?
No. Didn’t think so.)
#Ryssafic#JaimeTim#TimJaime#Timothy Drake#Jaime Reyes#Miguel Barragan#slash#DCU#DCnU#Teen Titans#Young Justice: Invasion#Red Robin#Red Robin Comics#I just really love their relationship regardless#even their physical one#just goddamn#attractive babies
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Háblame
And here’s the JaimeTim thing because you know why not.
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Pairing: Jaime/Tim
Verse: Red Robin (Comics), vestiges of Young Justice: Invasion probably
Rating: PG-13/soft R (it’s not porn, not really, just talking about heat moving to different places soooo)
Summary: One month is Tim grieving. Two is Tim angsting. And three is cause for concern.
—
Jaime is surprised. To say the least, anyway.
He’d come to Iraq to find Tim—aka Alvin Draper, aka Mr. Sarcastic, aka the boy with the gorgeous blue eyes and the night-colored hair and is he staying here, do you know? (it had, after all, been months since they last spoke, which not only resulted in a fist-sized hole in his chest, but it also might have driven Jaime a little crazy—because they’re still together, right?).
Well, he thinks, one hand pressed against the wall, his nails digging into horrendous yellow paint, the other around Tim’s waist, pressing their bodies together, I found him.
Yep. Jaime had found his hotel room first, spoke to the man in the lobby, and had even had his hand ready to knock on the door, before he was pushed against the wall of the hallway and found himself sucking on Tim’s tongue (coffee and cinnamon—and something else, something bitter).
Which isn’t—exactly—a bad thing but—oh.
That bite is going to bruise, certainly. And now—Jesus—his jeans are unbuttoned and Tim’s hand—
And Tim is wearing sweatpants (he go out for a run or was he expecting someone or) and he is quite obviously hard and—“Jesus, do that again—“ because Tim had done this twist on the upstroke—
[this is not what you came here for]
And—for once, he thinks, in a good while—the Scarab is the voice of reason. So—deep breaths—Jaime focuses himself, tries not to focus on Tim’s hands in his boxers—and he swats at Tim. He swats at Tim’s hand even as Tim’s kissing him breathless and all Jaime really wants to do is take Tim into the hotel room and enjoy some time together that they haven’t had in months—
—because Tim was too busy doing whatever it is he’s doing here.
“Tim,” and his voice is a pitiful whine but he can roll with this, even as his voice betrays him, “I’m here to be angry at you.”
“Carry on,” and it should sound soft—alight with the tone that says sure you can try and stay mad at me but let me try and change your mind. But it’s doesn’t. It sounds tight—strained.
“No,” Jaime hiccups against Tim grabbing at him again—swats at his hands, and he praises his self-control. “No, Tim—I need to—I came to talk to you.” Since I found you. Before you slip through my fingers.
“So—speak,” Tim pushes his hair away from his face—longer than he ever remembers it getting, but not a bad look at all—and his cheeks are flushed, lips swollen and Jaime thinks that telling Tim to stop was the bravest thing he could have ever done.
(He does note the word speak that Tim uses. Talk implies a Deep and Meaningful Conversation and Tim doesn’t want to have one.
Well. Tough.)
Jaime zips his jeans (though I wish I didn’t have to) and sighs as Tim opens the door, leading him into the room as the door falls shut behind them.
His posture has changed in five months, Jaime’s noticed. As Tim sits on the single queen bed in an otherwise unnotable hotel room, it’s more obvious. His shoulders are slumped, his eyes focused on the floor, his feet rolled onto the side, facing inward.
It seems like, from Jaime’s perspective, anyway, that Tim’s got a boot between his shoulder blades, shoving him into the dirt—and he just looks like it isn’t worth picking himself up. (And everyone knows what happened in Gotham—but he still looks so tired.)
“So,” Tim rests his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands. Defeated. Sad. And Jaime isn’t even sure if he can be angry when Tim looks like that. But he wants to be. “Go ahead. Be angry.”
(Ah. He expects it. Por supuesto.)
“Well,” Jaime pulls a chair away from the small desk in the corner, taking a seat, folding his knees to his chest, swallowing the last of his burning blood before he continues. “You haven’t answered your phone. In five months.” You haven’t spoken to me. He doesn’t accuse. Because Tim will—Tim expects accusations. You left me with nothing. No note. No message.
“Sorry,” and Tim could be. But.
“You haven’t answered emails. You fell off the face of the Earth.” And—Tim’s eyes cut over to him—harsh. Cold. But there’s something behind them. The Iraqi nighttime is the only thing lighting up his face. “And you didn’t take me with you.”
“Sorry,” he says again. This time it sounds more sincere. Because when Tim looks away, guilt twists his lips. But he breathes, his shoulders curl more forward, and he says, “so what have you been up to?”
Jaime wants to shake him—to rattle his teeth, to get him to see that this is not—this is not how talking goes. Sorry is not a nullifier.
All Jaime wants is a conversation—a why—a come home with me please. “Vuelve a conmigo.”
Tim scoffs—snorts even, looking at Jaime like he’s grown a second head. (The Scarab assures him that he has not.)
“No. I’ve got—there’s work to do, I—“
There has to be something on Jaime’s face—because Tim stops talking. His head drops back into his hands and he just—Tim’s over. He’s crushed. Jaime moves from the chair—Tim has had enough space, enough time—and takes a seat next to Tim at the foot of the bed.
“Talk to me, Tim,” he murmurs, even as Tim shies away from his open hand. “Háblame.”
“What do you want me to say?” And the air he pushes out of his windpipe sounds like a hnn, a whine. Jaime takes that as his cue—his opening to put his arm over Tim’s shoulder, even though Tim stiffens instead of relaxes. He can work with this—he hasn’t been with Tim this long just to quit, to roll over and say alright, too many emotions, I’m done. “What do you want me to say, Jaime?”
“Just talk to me. I think I’ve earned it. Months waiting for news was a little rough, mi pareja.”
Tim makes a noise—or. Rather, it would be fair to say that the noise pushes out of him. Roughly. Unstoppable. (And he regrets using guilt—but he can regret it later, he thinks.) “What do you want to hear? That my life fell to pieces? That I couldn’t do anything? That I left the pieces because there were too many to pick up? That I went on a ridiculous quest because I just can’t let my life go?” He covers his face, trying to curl down. But Jaime pulls him close, shoving his arm under Tim’s knees to cradle him. “Do you want to know why I left? Do you want me to tell you that everyone I love dies or leaves me? That I’m terrible luck and I just—what do you want me to tell you?”
[this is the part] the Scarab murmurs, [where comfort is recommended.]
But he’s ahead of the symbiote. He presses Tim to his chest, feeling him tremble in his arms, under his hands, Tim’s face buried toward his collarbone. Tim, to his credit, is excellent at silent tears.
“All of that’s good,” Jaime whispers. “That’s—that’s a good start.”
“I’m sorry,” a hiccup is the only indicator of tears. His voice is otherwise smooth—unbroken. “I’m sorry—I should have—told you and.” Swallow, hiccup, shudder.
“You should have,” Jaime agrees, “and you probably should have consulted me on that cowl because, en mi opinóin, it’s not your look, mi amor.” A shudder laugh—Jaime thinks he could be doing worse, in the grand scheme of things.
“I’ll take that into consideration.”
“Do that.”
Tim breathes. Jaime listens. Trying to keep his own quiet—as close to silent as he could be. He’s missed Tim—Tim in his bed, Tim breathing while he works, Tim in his life. (And this is what love does to you.)
“What do you want to hear?”
There was a lot in that. A long story. A story that can’t be told in a day. Or a week. But—“You should come back to El Paso with me,” he blurts. Because that is on his mind. And it’s something that Tim, perhaps, needs to hear.
(And Jaime needs him to listen.)
“I’m—I’ve got work to do.” A whisper against his collarbone. “And—is there even an. Is there an us anymore, anyway?”
“No,” Jaime replies dryly. “I came all the way to Iraq because I heard that the food here was delicious.”
“You’re such a—“ sigh, hiccup—and Tim’s fingers wind in his shirt. “You’re so—“ Jaime lets him talk. After all, it’s nice to hear him say things without having to pry the words from his throat. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Jaime says into Tim’s hair (it really is a good look for him—he ought to tell him so, later, after this). “And yes, idiot. There’s an us.” (There will always be an us. But Tim would think that’s overly optimistic. And Jaime would roll his eyes and say Tim’s a pessimist. Not an argue they need at the moment.) “So come with me—for a little while, at least. Take a break. Quédate conmigo.”
Tim shifts, pulling out of his arms to straddle his waist (no, not this again, I don’t think I can resist twice, I—) and he pushes Jaime backwards, only to flop down on top of him, wiggling his arms under Jaime’s back.
“I just—I think I found Bruce.” The shaking starts again and Tim buries closer. “I think he’s stuck in time somewhere.”
“And that is distinctly not your problem.” Jaime admits he sounds harsh, but listen—“I can talk to the League, maybe, and they can handle it. Come with me. Por favor.”
A huff of air against his neck, tickling his skin. “Okay.”
(Jaime is persistent—but he didn’t expect a yes. Tim is nervous around his family—even though he doesn’t need to be.)
“Okay?”
“Okay. I—“ He feels Tim’s neck move when he swallows. “Okay.”
Jaime breathes—squeezing Tim to him, attempting to wind his legs up in Tim’s. “Te extrañé.”
“Te extrañé también.Te quiero.”
Jaime starts to fall asleep, because it’s easy. But Tim holds on, and doesn’t, because it’s hard. Even when Jaime rolls them onto their sides, still wound up tightly in him, he murmurs, “sleep. I need you to snore so I can rest properly for the first time in months.”
“I don’t snore,” Tim whispers, shifting slightly so that their foreheads are pressed closely together. His face is warm with Tim’s breath (and it smells of coffee—and of cinnamon—and wow, Jaime’s missed it).
“You do. And I need it. Sleep, Tim.”
Tim huffs, breathes, shudders. But he does sleep, squeezed up against Jaime—and it’s perfect.
(And, for the record, Tim does snore—lightly, softly—and both of them sleep soundly for the first time in months.)
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