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The wig is a medium length bob riddled with loose curls. The nails are timeless, classy, French-tipped. (His hands have always been the nicest, even compared to Dick’s tapered fingers and Damian’s mostly unscarred knuckles.)
In summer, the nights are sweltering and dresses with plunging backlines don’t help a single bit, but at least the hotel is fully air conditioned.
Tim tosses his body, half-dressed, onto the king-sized mattress and sinks into the fluffy comforter. He pulls the wig off, careful to keep it from tangling, and the top of his dress hangs, unzipped, at his waist, the falsies already discarded.
He doesn’t bother removing his shoes. His feet are swollen from dancing all night, and right now, it would just take more effort than its worth.
Groaning, Tim turns onto his back, and makeup smear against his arm. Jason walks out of the bathroom and leans in the doorway, already in his undershirt. If Tim were less exhausted, he’d be able to appreciate the way the older man’s pants hang a little lower on his hips without the belt.
“Long night?”
Tim cranes his neck to glare - “You think?” – before falling back against the bed. His muscles ache in all the wrong places.
Jason wasn’t the one who had to flirt his way through locked doors and guarded vaults.
“Meeeeooowww.” Jason curls his fingers and bats the air.
“Jason, I swear to God—“
“No need to get testy.” Socked feet shuffle across the carpet, and the fabric of his pants rustles as he kneels in front of Tim’s legs. “I’m doing you a favor.”
Before Tim responds, strong fingers knead into the backs of his legs, working lower and lower until they brush the straps of Tim’s stilettos. Jason works them off gently, and Tim moans as his muscles turn into jelly.
“Stay there.” Jason stands, but he isn’t gone for long. There’s a sound of things clacking together in something like a plastic container. Before he even figures out what it is, Jason lifts one foot and places it inside. It’s blessedly cold, and the ice cubes threaten to spill over the bucket’s side when Tim curls his toes in pleasure.
“Woooooooooow,” Tim moans. Jason switches in his other foot. “That’s good.”
Jason wraps a hand around the back of Tim’s leg and places a kiss on his knee. He takes the wig and neatly places it on its stand for tomorrow night. When the ice has melted, he dumps the excess in the bathroom sink and gently dries Tim’s feet with a towel.
Tim’s too comfortable now, to respond with anything that resembles words, but Jason knows what his sounds mean. Jason knows what all of his sounds mean.
With gentle hands, Jason undresses Tim all the way, and they fall into bed naked but too tired to do anything but nestle against each other.
“Shower,” Tim murmurs.
Jason presses his lips to Tim’s neck. “Tomorrow.”