Where everything is Hallmark and Homos

why would you do this to me, now I have all the characters picked out with headcanons and auhfsgjdf fuck you <3

“I know what it’s like to be invisible,” Jason says, “Unwanted and scorned.” Breathes it into his ear like a promise of safety, an invitation to be wrapped in darkness under the bed, away from those who can hurt him.

And Tim knows that tone of voice, the desperation laced just under the surface, the raw look in those wide, dark eyes that seem to have no bottom—that loneliness.

But he thinks of the children; their bright smiles and rosy cheeks and noses, the hope and love that fills their hearts with blind faith, and tightens his hand around his staff as he pushes away from temptation and up onto the north winds, home bound (and in the back of his mind he thinks that maybe he could make Jason home too, but only if the man of nightmares will let him). 

Tim’s in the kitchen, only half awake as he pours his coffee. A firm body just barely presses up against his back and he stills, shivers as his lips part of their own accord. But it’s not him that Jason wants, rather the sugar in the cupboard high above his head. Personal space is not something the man is known for, and so Tim is always hanging unsteadily in a vast void of uncertainty. Wondering if Jason’s just not thinking in his self-absorbed ventures, or if there’s something else prowling beneath the surface, if Jason feels it too—taut energy stretched between them like silk. His gut tugging like stitches at a wound.

A hand whispers up his back, and he doesn’t know whether to press back or arch away from it. He burns with both longing and distress. He hesitates, not daring to breathe, because Jason is merely reaching up to pull the cough drops out of his way, fumbling for the sugar canister in his groggy state. Tim continues to stir his coffee, even though there is nothing in the mug besides the black liquid that tastes of tar on his tongue as he waits perfectly still in the bow of Jason’s body. He is dwarfed by the other man, and the thought alone almost makes him shudder.

And then Jason is moving away, unaware as he shuffles back to the table. Tim is left vulnerable and cold; his body so quickly loosing the heat it had greedily leeched from Jason like silk sheets. Slick fabric that whispers in a sensual slide. He mimics the imagery, rising up on elegant toes and arched feet, his shoulders rolling back and arms moving like soft fabric, ripping like water. Stretching up in an impressive display he plucks a banana from the hanging basket. The heavy gaze on him is obvious, thickens the air in a way that Tim doesn’t even have to turn around to see.

Tim gathers his slight breakfast and glides from the room, free hand slipping casually into the hem of his pants to scratch at one hip. He does not look at Jason as he passes—the lack of sound at the table is enough. It tightens around his lungs like stretched cord.