AN: Mornings should be illegal.

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"Jason."

The teen's head swam with remnants of sleep still in his vision. Too early to see, let alone think. He told himself he'd imagined the voice, that no-one in their right mind would be up at that hour, and was just about to rest his head back on that sweet, sweet pillow when two insistent knocks aborted the idea completely.

"Jason. Open up, for crying out loud!"

"Damn Dick," he muttered, hand smearing across his cheek in an attempt to rub his eyes. That would have been an easy task, had he not been lying on his arm for the past couple of hours. "Open it yourself, Miss Gotham." He heard murmuring outside. His brother wasn't alone.

Of course, company didn't necessarily insure manners.

More murmuring, then the doorknob turned. Jason's eyelids tightened for a moment.

"Jason?"

That woke him right up. The sound of a blocked nose and a forcibly-controlled voice. He looked into the darkness, scanning the silhouette that stood meekly in his doorway. Everything was too bright, still way too early, as the switch was hit.

"I'll leave you two alone, huh?" Dick asked, giving Tim's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

"No. Stay. I don't think... I don't think I..."

But he didn't finish, instead wiping his eyes with his sleeves.

Jason and Dick shared a look. It wasn't that Jason didn't like having Dick around, and the eighteen-year-old was fantastic when it came to comforting. However, one silent word that Dick formed with his mouth made Jason change his mind.

"Parents."

Dick dropped the bag as Jason nodded, giving Tim's head a little kiss before letting himself out. Jason wanted to leap straight at Tim, to wrap him up in hugs and a duvet and words that would (maybe) soothe the red on his cheeks and the bloated veins in his eyes. First, though, he had to throw on a shirt. It was yesterday's, yes, from the floor, yes, but it didn't really matter, because Tim returned the embrace with open arms and ragged breathing.

"N-nice boxers."

"Didn't know I'd be receiving fashion critique in the wee hours. Did you expect me to sleep in a suit?"

"Honestly, I don't know what I was expecting."

It was the first time he'd seen Tim cry, and he felt bad when the feeling that it was quite cute flashed through his head, only to be smothered by self-disgust. He briefly inspected for bruises, more relieved than ever when none could be seen.

"You wanna come to my bed?" he asked.

Tim shook his head, floppy hair swishing slightly, and murmured, "Don't feel like sleeping, but you can, if you want. I'll do homework or something."

"Do you want to talk?"

"Not really."

Jason didn't like the idea of Tim staying awake at that time in the morning, and he stood awkwardly (a weird look for Jason) until an idea sprang to mind;

"Do you wanna take a bath?" he suggested.

A look of uncertainty rose on Tim's face as he thought it over, though the look of delight beforehand hadn't gone unnoticed. "I dunno... It's someone else's house and I don't want to impose-"

Jason snorted. "You're at the Wayne Manor, kid – I don't think the Queen of fuckin' England could impose." He chucked some towels at his boyfriend, who caught them with ease. "I'll get out your jammies and stuff – you focus on yourself."

Once he heard water start shooting from the shower head, Jason pulled the zipper of the duffel bag. He bit his lip. Tim had packed light, but enough for a few days, which only egged his curiosity on further. Damn, what he wouldn't give to interrogate Tim about tonight's happenings.

Before he had a chance to ponder on the subject, the boy in question stuck his head into the room.

"I... um... I was just going to ask if you wanted to share the bath with me. It's huge after all." His mouth turned into a small smile. "No hanky-panky. Just a bath."

Jason grinned. "Are there bubbles in it?"

"Fuck yeah."

"Then give me a minute – I'm so in."

The moment the sliding door met with its frame, however, Jason's expression flattened.

He caught a glimpse of blue.

Tim's nightshirt.

He decided to chance it – with a quick glance at the bathroom, he held the item of clothing to his nose and inhaled. Doing so made him feel like a creep, but it also comforted him. Tim's shampoo. Tim's deodorant. Tim's sweat.

Air in the bathroom was steamy, humid, and smelled like strawberries. Jason opened the shower door, twisted the knob, gripped his own top, only to hear "Rad-dah-dadaduh..." quietly from the tub.

He turned on his heel and grinned, swaying his hips with sharp sweeps, edging the garment up and over his head. He wasn't sure where it landed, but Tim made little cheer noises, careful not to wake up the people who were still sleeping. Next were the socks, but there was no particularly sexy way to remove them that came to mind, so Jason hurried both to the floor before hesitating at the waistband of his boxers.

"Take 'em off!" Tim crowed.

So he did, with little class to his name, his hands not leaving the fabric until it pooled at his feet. As he straightened, there wasn't a failure to notice where Tim's eyes stuck.

"Still don't want no hanky-panky?" Jason teased. "Coz you totally had me fooled with that look on your face."

Tim's site finally rose. "Well, now that you mention it-"

"Nuh-uh. That was a joke, kid. No action for you tonight. Not with the state you're in."

He closed the glass door behind him.

Sex swam around Jason's head a fair bit. Okay, a lot. He thought about it under the duvet, in his desk chair, in the shower. He thought about it with Tim, with Tim and his hands and that face and his sharp little moans that cut through Jason's breathing like glass. He wondered if that was going to happen—the majority of men-on-men relationships in their teens didn't get it on regularly—and the mental images made his body heat up even more than the water did. He felt eyes on his back as he soaped his body up into a froth-monster.

Tim looked like he was sleeping when he got out, so peaceful that Jason debated over whether or not he should even get in. In honesty, he didn't know if control would be possible if they were both together... naked... wet...

"You're dripping on the floor," Tim told him.

So Jason put one foot in, then the other, and sank down until everything up to his neck was covered. There was plenty of room to spread out, even with the other person, but Jason moved right up to Tim, pressing the sides of their shoulders together. The bubbles burst and fizzled as he moved, but eventually even those noises stopped, leaving them in total silence. Goosebumps on his legs soon flattened out again as he adjusted to the temperature – which was rather hot, if he was being honest. Not uncomfortably so. Just a few degrees higher than his usual bath.

Nevertheless, he leant his neck into the curve specifically designed for such purposes. Jason couldn't stand hotel bathrooms, simply because they were nothing compared to what he was used to.

Jason both dreaded and couldn't wait for the day he moved out. As a lot of teenagers would see it, the change would mean freedom. No more would he have to drive under two blocks to arrive out a fake garage to avoid paparazzi (the tunnel was his twelfth birthday present). Nor would he need to clean his room whenever Alfred made the mistake of entering before he had a chance to shove the mess under his bed.

At the same time, however, the idea terrified him.

Money wasn't the issue – not because he could bum off Bruce—definitely not because of that—but because his job, combined with the tips with some women who appreciated the help of a young, well-built man, paid well enough to get him at least started.

No, this was in no way the source of his worries.

He would squeeze his eyes shut in humiliation whenever he thought about the real fear of moving out.

Loneliness.

No Dick coming home from parties drunk and more affectionate than ever, often coming into the red-head's room for cuddles at 2am. Or, worse, noogies.

No more Alfred tutting at him when he let loose a casual swear directed at either the TV or his laptop.

No more Bruce clasping a tight, warm grip on his shoulder, or the occasional hugs on those days when luck wasn't exactly on Jason's side.

The way to deal with these thoughts of sadness and grief was to remember that he could always visit. Besides this, there was the possibility that maybe Tim could keep him company. If they were still together (unlikely). If not Tim then another boy.

"Jason?"

"Mm?"

"What's Bruce like?" asked Tim.

Jason blinked lazily. "He's as cool as the next guy's dad, I guess. Richer, though. And he gets his chest and back waxed."

"What about women?"

A shrug of Jason's shoulders disturbed the water slightly. "We don't talk about it, but I don't think he's had a lot of luck with ladies. I think... I think Bruce gets lonely." He sighed. "Dick and I used to feel bad, back when we first really started to understand what sex and stuff was and what guys and gals did behind closed doors, because we knew that even with us in the picture he couldn't be completely happy. Bruce didn't grow up with a mother – he grew up with Alfred. He needs a woman. I think Selina's the one."

"Why?"

"Bruce has only really had two top lovers in his life – Selina Kyle and Talia al Ghul. Talia was nice, don't get me wrong, but her dad is the owner of an opposing company who are really, really competitive. He'd have people on the inside of Wayne Enterprises 'leave' for better jobs at his firm and invite co-workers to come with him. Bruce loved Talia, but he couldn't relax around her, the business partners wouldn't be in the same room, he'd have the press up his ass every freakin' day. Eventually, Bruce had to tell her that she was to make a decision – stop working with her father or leave." Jason shook his head. "No points for guessing which one she chose." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, Selina's cool. She even got me laid a couple of times. The first words she said to me were 'Mister Todd – Bruce has told me all about you, and I'd just like to say that every humans should have the same rights. Even red-heads.'"

The corners of Tim's lips twitched.

"And Bruce... He really loves her. Dick adores her. Those two are worse than an old lady's sewing circle when they get together, with their gossip and the talk about clothes and shoes and hair. I like her. She's nice. Bought me glow-in-the-dark condoms the other week. She's the one I go to when I just need to whine like a little bitch until my heart's content."

"Heh. Can't imagine you whining."

Jason laughed.

Silence settled like a blanket, masking the thoughts in the room once again. Jason looked over at his boyfriend, his heart sinking at the numbness. This way in which he looked at the bubbles with glass eyes was enough to make him die a little inside.

"Tim, what's this about? Why are you asking about Bruce and Selina?"

It was like someone had flicked the switch on Tim's emotions; his lips pursed as he swallowed, a shaky sound of defeat.

"My parents were arguing," he admitted. His voice was almost too low, but Jason knew that if he asked for him to speak up then it would only end in a hundred cracks and inevitable tears. "It was fine, at first, because that happens all the time and it usually just ends in loud, disturbing sex. Not that that really makes it any better for me, but at least it doesn't get too bad." He drew another breath. "Tonight it was worse than usual. When 'Tim' turned into 'your son', which turned into 'that boy', which turned into 'that faggot' I had to leave. I wore my worst clothes, stuffed an old gym bag, caught two buses and walked fifteen minutes before I called Dick and asked him to open the gates."

Jason was ashamed at his first thoughts; why hadn't Tim called him to open the gates? Why had he gone straight to Dick?

His next, however, were out-loud. "You were walking around Gotham alone? At night? Tim, that's not..."

But Jason didn't have his heart in the lecture. He wrapped his arms around Tim until he was cuddled up on his chest.

.

Tim's pyjamas fit him in a way that Jason's did not. While the older boy's left room to hang off of him yet not enough to make his physique look weedy at all, Tim's were perfect for his size, expensive-looking, and matching.

The water gave a few final glugs as it flowed down the plughole and Tim spat into the sink, rinsed his toothbrush. Donning a blanket cloak, Jason appeared in the doorway, dashing as his boyfriend spotted him and smirked.

"You don't have to sleep on the couch, Jason. We can be mature about this."

"Why the hell would I sleep on the couch? It's my fucking bed!"

"Didn't Bruce ever teach you any manners?"

"Maybe," Jason replied grumpily.

"We will both sleep here," Tim told him, yanking his arm towards the double bed. "You can keep me warm."

The feeling that jumped from Jason's heart to his loins wasn't one he was proud of as he climbed under the covers. Being like this made him think about things he shouldn't have been thinking about, but the teenager couldn't help it. Sleep deprivation combined with the body of his—hot, sexy, hormone-fuelled—boyfriend so close and under the same duvet was forcing all sorts of fantasies into his head.

"Do you think your parents will mind that you're here?" He didn't really care for the answer, but it provided a temporary escape from the tightening of his boxers and the heat of his face.

Tim's smile faltered. "I don't want to talk about it, or them, or anything. Can we just-"

"-sleep, yeah. I know."

"Actually," Tim blushed, "I was going to say snuggle."

A sudden shade of red flushed the older boy's cheeks. "What happened to the hanky-panky rule?"

It seemed that Tim had had enough, however, and he proved this in the sweep of his hand from Jason's leg to his T-shirt, keeping him in place as the former moved in.

"Just kissing's fine for me," he replied.

So Jason took the opportunity, finding himself on top, trying to create the balance of the gentleness Tim needed and the satisfaction he needed. "God, you..." he breathed.

"Do you always do that when you're turned on?"

Jason's hot mouth was seeking out the pulse point to the side of the tendon in Tim's neck when he asked "Do what, kid?"

"Let out random fragments of sentences." The corners of Jason's lips cocked up at the hush over his words. "You always do it when we're like this." The fabric of his shirt bundled at his collarbone.

"Fine, have some real sentences." The red-head planted a kiss just below the centre of Tim's ribs. "You are smart."

Tim's eyes slid shut, the sigh that he blew out light and fluffy.

"You are cute." This time he was murmuring into the line of muscle running down the middle, his own heart thrumming, then the boy moved so that he was hovering over Tim's bellybutton. "You have a great body."

Tim gave a little gasp in reaction to the tongue that dabbed and flicked into the dip. Jason sealed his lips around it, the heat and movement drawing out another low breath.

By the time he'd reached the spot above Tim's soft blooming of pubic hair peaking out his boxers there was a hand resting on his head. Jason had barely touched it when Tim's hips shot up.

"Stop!" he hissed. "You're going to make me-"

"Take off your pants?" Jason murmured, lifting his face and letting it nuzzle into the curve of Tim's neck.

Tim's fingers slid to the nape of Jason's locks, twirling them and stroking around the spine bumps. "So far your guesses as to what I'm going to say have been wrong, so I suggest you stop. I was going to say that you were going to make me hard."

"From the feel of things, it's too late for that," Jason grinned, creating a trail of spit marks where his kisses neared Tim's lips.

Tim gave him his best look of exasperation. "Well... you too."

His hair was sticking up, his brows flat, cheekbones gold under the glow of the bedside lamp, lips pink, shiny. Jason mashed their mouths together for a full-on, open, messy collision that made his brain melty like an ice-cream in Summer.

"Do you want to take care of yourself in the bathroom," he offered, "or just go to sleep?"

"Sleep," Tim answered quickly. The mere thought of tossing off with nothing but a door and a wall separating him from another human being (relationship status was irrelevant) made his knees feel weak no matter how turned on he was.

"In that case, I'll see you in five minutes," Jason grunted, crawling off of the bed. Tim turned his head away, because Jason's hard-on had his boxers taking... an interesting shape. "Make it ten."

When Tim was alone he began to regret it, the discomfort of his unattended erection making rest more difficult than it should have been. He could hear Jason despite the closed door – the tight noises he was trying to keep down, the trapped grunts, the caught-between-teeth moans. It was an argument easily won by the illogical side of his brain, overcoming a mantra of "Nobody has ever died of blue balls", hand teasing his cock beneath his pyjama bottoms. It was something he'd picked up from Jason.

Next was the search for lube.

He estimated it'd been two minutes since the sliding door shut, and guessed that Jason would keep all of his things for this situation in the bottom drawer. Sure enough, there was a bottle of lube.

That just wasn't what had Tim's eyes going wide.

Toys.

Tim didn't even recognize half of them, but the half he did was made up of dildos, vibrators, clamps, rings...

He finally spotted the thing he was looking for (under some beads that Tim didn't even want to know about) right beside that box of glow-in-the-dark condoms Jason had been talking about. He squirted a fair amount into his palm and rolled over to the left again, since Jason had subtly staked some kind of territorial claim over the right side. His face mushed into the pillow, fisting his stiff dick, moving his pelvis around, imagining anything and everything that would get him off quickly. Encouraging flushes of pleasure multiplied as the fifteen-year-old stuffed another hand down. He cradled his balls, rubbed the base, opened his mouth and gaped silently, smeared precum across the head.

Again the need to thrust hit him and he gave in to it. His hips lowered and rose in quick jumps. The pad of his index finger used a movement much like what one would use when giving a fingerprint on his perineum. Tim was so close, ready to burst, when the clock revealed it had been nine minutes.

Jason swore a little more loudly than he'd intended, the arousal at the realisation that he had came enough to send Tim over the edge and into his own hand, an orgasm muffled by the pillow that smelled like Jason.

When he eventually got through the lovely daze his penis was soft and still wet. Clean-up was easy since he now knew the whereabouts of Jason's tissues through his little exploration earlier. He'd have to find a good way to bring up what he'd dubbed "The Collection" later on.

Jason sauntered in, collapsing lazily onto the bed and moving as eagerly as he could in that state to meet with Tim's back.

"That was quite probably the best tug I've ever had," he stated softly. "If only you'd been there to join me." Tim's heart rate did a nervous little dance as Jason rubbed his chest. Jason didn't care enough to notice, instead dragging his teeth down Tim's shoulder. "Mm, you smell good. Actually, you smell like..." He lifted Tim's hand despite the resistance and inhaled. "That's my lubricant! Did you jerk off in my bed?!"

"Maybe," Tim muttered, snatching his wrist back.

Jason looked...

...disappointed.

"If you didn't want to go through to the bathroom all you had to do was say so. Damn, you were actually doing that in my bed and I missed it?"

Relief took over the places fear had set in.

"Yeah, I guess you did," Tim replied, snuggling down. "So let's just get to sleep, okay?"

Jason grumbled something under his breath as he spooned up against Tim.

"Good night, Jason."

"Good night, Tim. Try not to masturbate while I'm unconscious."