Haven't any clue if this will make it into the final draft (honestly, it probably won't), but it's just making me laugh too hard not to share:
"I vividly remember him very specifically saying he wasn't grateful about that," Jason helpfully reminded.
Tim rolled his eyes and sighed. "You don't think they might not feel a little more positively toward us since we compensated—"
"Bribed." Jason interjected.
"—since we bribed them," Tim allowed, without pausing, "and [... spoilers]?"
"...Maybe if we add a fruit basket?" Jason offered, extremely dubiously.
Tim, unfortunately, looked like he thought that was a brilliant idea.
"They're still going to slam the fucking door in our faces," Jason said flatly.
Tim turned back to his laptop, already typing away. "Ah, but would they slam the door on an edible arrangement!"
"Yes."
Tim paused briefly. He resumed typing. "I think you're underestimating the type of fruit sculpture money can buy."
Jason sighed and resigned himself to a clown show full of pineapple and bitter defeat, the likes of which had never been seen before, in his near future.
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JayTim orgasm denial and edging
Tim doesn't know how long they've been at it. How long it's been since he started balancing on the edge of orgasm. The only certainty he has is that he wants to come—No, he needs to come.
"Fuck!" he gasps, yanking on his restraints. “Please!”
Jason's grip on his shoulder tightens in warning. The other man is slick with sweat, his cheeks red with exertion. Short pants fall from his lips as he keeps fucking himself on Tim's cock, his thigh muscles flexing deliciously. He must be just as ready to burst… yet, judging by the silent disapproval in his glare, he's not planning to give Tim what he needs any time soon.
With a desperate keen, Tim scrabbles for purchase on the mattress. He tries to buck up, to bury himself into the hot clutch of Jason's body hard enough to push himself over the edge.
Instead, he cries out in pain as Jason's palm connects with his cheek.
"Stay. Still."
"Please, Jay, please," Tim begs. His cheek smarts but it's nothing compared to the ache in his balls, "I'll do anything, just let me come. I can't—"
"Ask me again, and you won't get to come at all."
Tim lets his head fall back against the headboard with a heavy thud. He closes his eyes and sinks his nails into his palms in a desperate bid for control. Every roll of Jason's hips sends a jolt of pure pleasure up his spine. He feels too big for his skin, drawn tight and seconds away from unraveling at the seams.
Jason lets out a wanton moan, and a tortured whine falls from Tim’s lips. He can't focus. He can't think. He's burning and burning with no relief in sight. He wants to be good — to let Jason use him however he wants to — but he can barely breathe with the effort of holding himself back.
“I can't. I'm sorry, I can't—Please let me,” he babbles wetly, lashes clinging together.
With a growl, Jason takes himself in hand, jerking off hard and fast with his lip caught between his teeth. Tim stares, barely aware of the tears spilling down his cheeks at the continued stimulation.
(Jason's so beautiful. His expression grows tortured as he approaches the edge, but it only makes him look more handsome. Tim can't believe he's allowed to be here, to be the one to bring Jason to orgasm. He wishes he could be his toy, made for nothing but to please him.)
Jason tenses all over with one final moan, and Tim shudders as warmth covers his chest in spurts.
This should be it. He's served his purpose. He made Jason come, and he didn't shoot off without permission, surely this means—
Tim feels Jason relaxing over him, his weight settling more firmly across his lap. He doesn't make a move to pull off Tim's cock, but he's not bouncing anymore. In fact, his body grows lax around the hard length inside of him.
Realization hits Tim like a punch to the gut. Sobs wracking his frame, he starts crying in earnest as his cock flexes.
He made Jason come.
He didn't come without permission.
But he kept asking when he was told not to, and he knows what that means.
He won't be coming tonight.
And he deserves it.
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the what time stamp from sit, stay, speak 👀👀 i ate that fic up i need to know all extras about it
fjsldkajf Ok. When I wrote those tags this timestamp was PURELY HYPOTHETICAL. BUT WHELP.
Cross-posting it to AO3 too lmao
“Wait, wait, wait. I can’t be hearing this right. You were a dog? For a week?”
Tim sighs. He looks over at Dick before returning to the surveillance clips he’s sorting through.
“Yes.”
“And Jason didn’t know.”
“No.”
“Jason took care of you. For a whole week. Thinking you were just a normal dog. Jason.”
“Yes, Dick,” Tim says, long-suffering.
And how long he has suffered.
Ever since Babs let it slip to Dick that Tim had been AWOL for a week and could use some help getting his cases in order, he’s been subjected to grilling from everyone. Even Cass texted him, demanding he spill it all. (She sent a single dog emoji, followed by an eyes emoji. Her methods of interrogation are as effective as they are inscrutable.) He’s had to explain the entire thing at least four times now, and it always comes back to the same ribbing questions.
“Wait. So does that mean— you actually ate dog food?” He stares at Tim with wide eyes, equal parts aghast and intrigued.
Tim wishes he were surprised.
“What— yes, Dick, I was a dog. Jason bought dog food and wouldn’t really feed me other stuff. So I ate dog food.”
“What did it taste like?”
“I don’t— like it smells? I don’t know, Dick, dogs have less oral sensory receptors than humans do. It was food. I was hungry. I ate it. It didn’t smell as good as the eggs or bacon did, but—”
“Todd fed you bacon,” Damian interrupts, eyes narrowing.
Tim glances at him, not sure what to do about the weird note in his voice.
It’s the first thing Damian’s said about the whole affair other than to roll his eyes and mutter a scathing ‘typical’ under his breath. He couldn’t have projected ‘I don’t care about your incompetencies’ any harder; but he also didn’t leave the room when Dick finally cornered Tim into explaining it all in detail.
And he’s here in the first place, in Tim’s Nest, helping with the mess. So.
“...Yes? A few times.”
Damian’s face twists into a dark scowl. “Tch. Idiot. There’s far too much salt in bacon, was he trying to kill you?”
Tim stares.
“Humans can eat a much wider range of foods than many animals,” Damian sniffs. “Most of what we eat should either be considered a treat or not eaten at all. This is basic. A child would know this.”
Tim doesn’t say anything about getting this unprompted lecture from a teenager.
“If Todd couldn’t be bothered to do even a basic internet search, I loathe to think of that man ever owning a real dog.”
“Who’s getting a real dog?”
Jason comes clomping down the stairs from the apartment with a grocery bag in hand. Tim’s heart does something he didn’t tell it to when he comes into view, holding a pack of Tim’s favorite energy drinks tucked under his arm. Jason doesn’t even drink those. He says they taste like death and chemicals, and he should know. Tim might swoon.
“No one,” Tim says at the same time as Damian says, “Not you.”
Jason frowns. “I could get a real dog, why can’t I get a real dog?”
Damian immediately rounds on Jason. “Please. You’re lucky it was Drake you were caring for and not an actual animal. You would have killed it!”
Jason scoffs as he crosses the walkway to lean casually against Tim’s computer desk. “Oh, come on. No way I would have killed it. Dogs are bouncier than that.”
Damian sputters, before launching into a tirade about proper animal care. Jason smiles serenely, always ready to wind up Damian as Dick looks on, partly amused and partly concerned, and Tim tries to bite down on his snickering.
Jason sets down the six pack and pulls one off, handing it to Tim. Their fingers brush over the cool, wet metal, and Jason winks at him. Tim nearly fumbles the can.
“Maybe I should get a dog,” Jason muses, interrupting Damian’s rant before he can get started on the importance of socializing. He slants a grin at Tim. “What do you think, Timmy? How would you rate the Jason Todd experience?”
Tim’s thoughts go briefly X-rated before he gets ahold of himself.
“Zero out of ten,” he says flatly, cracking the tab on his drink. “Would not recommend.”
Jason’s grin turns sharp. It's an expression that clearly says 'that's not what you were saying last night'.
“Oh?”
Tim makes a face at him around the can as he takes a swig. He hopes Jason reads it as ‘shut the fuck up, Dick and Damian are right here’ and not a challenge to see how far he can push it.
Thankfully he’s saved by Dick. First Robin, best Robin.
“You here to help out too?” Dick asks, clearly excited at the idea and trying not to show it, in fear of scaring Jason off.
“Nah,” Jason says, not unkindly. “Just swingin’ by. I had a suspicion that Timbit’s fridge would be about as empty as the last time I saw it.”
Tim squints at his screen, thinking back to lunch and trying to remember if he can defend himself honestly, but he’s pretty sure he just ate a snack bar from the pantry. He doesn’t think he’s so much as looked in the fridge since the morning he turned back into a human. He’d watched Jason make them breakfast from his place seated on the counter; Jason nearly burned the bacon, then blamed Tim for being…distracting.
(He maintains that the spell simply wore off after seven days. Significant numbers are also a thing in magic. Or was it nine days? It doesn’t matter. It was not true love’s kiss. Jason kissed him on the head the night before he changed back, but that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t.)
Anyway.
Dick and Jason are chatting idly while Damian sulks in his corner. They seem to be comparing notes on Tim— and Damian’s— bad habits, but at least they’ve stopped asking him about the dog thing. Jason’s timing couldn’t have been better.
Gratitude for Jason swells in his chest. Tim watches him with a growing flutter in his stomach, and when Jason glances his way, caught, he smiles at Tim. It’s soft, conspiring. It rivals the moon.
“Alright,” Jason announces. “It’s about time I headed off.” From his corner, Damian grumbles something that sounds like ‘finally’.
“Thanks for coming by, Jay,” Dick says, clasping his arm. “Always good to see you.”
Jason ducks his head. “Yeah, yeah.”
He turns to Tim. “Try not to die of starvation while I’m gone, princess,” Jason says, ruffling Tim’s hair with a heavy hand.
Tim’s cheeks pink up. Princess? He’s about to— protest, surely, but Jason leans down over his chair, leaning in close.
“I’ll see you later?” He asks quietly, looking hopeful, his hand still warm on Tim’s neck. Tim can’t help how shy his answering smile is. In his periphery, Dick’s eyebrows shoot way up, and the tips of Tim’s ears go red-hot.
“Y-Yeah,” he says, super smoothly. “I’ll be here.”
“Good.”
All hope of playing it off to Dick and Damian goes right out the window when Jason leans in and pecks his mouth with a short kiss. And then a not so short kiss.
Tim untangles his fingers from the lapels of Jason’s jacket reluctantly, opening his eyes in time to see Jason’s pink face and self-satisfied smirk before he’s turning around and hustling back up the stairs to the apartment. Presumably he’s putting the groceries away before going on his own patrol. Dick and Damian stare after him.
Tim can’t even be mad at Jason for dropping that little bomb and then escaping. He’d have done the same if their positions were reversed.
Of course, the second Jason disappears, Dick and Damian whip their heads around to look at Tim with big-eyed stares, one maliciously gleeful, one truly disgusted. Then they start talking over each other. Loudly.
“Timothy Drake-Wayne, explain yourself immediately—”
“I need bleach for my eyes, Drake—”
Okay. He can be a little mad.
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