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Tim and Jason slink back to the manor, shivering and cold and on Tim’s end, absolutely miserable. They’d been caught in a spontaneous autumn storm that left as quickly as it came. But not before soaking them to the bone.
Tim’s feet squelch in his shoes, and Alfred gives them, and the mud they’ve tracked in, a disapproving look. Regardless, he’s there with towels fresh out of the dryer as sopping clothes pile up on the foyer floor.
“Come on, baby bird, it wasn’t that bad.”
Tim doesn’t respond, head trapped in his soaked sweater. Jason helps him pull it off.
“I thought you always wanted to kiss in the rain.”
“Yes,” Tim hisses. “I’ve always wanted to kiss in the rain.”
“So what’s wrong?”
“That. Wasn’t. Rain. Jason. That was a storm. There was nothing. Romantic. About that,” he grits out, shivers framing every other word.
“Aw, come on, babe. You gotta give me more credit than that.”
Tim desperately wants to punch the leer right off of Jason’s face, but even before he rears his arm back, Alfred traps his arms against his body with the towel.
“I’ve already lit the fire in the library. It would be wise to continue your argument there lest you catch cold.”
Alfred hands Jason his towel before fetching a large bucket to dump their dirty clothes in. Tim heads toward the library without waiting.
“Come on, Tim,” Jason bumps his shoulder. “Don’t be mad.”
His efforts go unrewarded.
“If you really didn’t like it, we can. Try again? When it’s not so cold?”
Tim’s glare is just as icy, if not more, than the air outside. “Okaaaay, we won’t try again.”
Lucky for Tim’s nerves, Jason is silent the rest of the way. He probably sensed another word from him, no matter how placating, would only work against him.
If only that quiet had lasted the rest of the night.
When he reaches for the library door’s ornate handle, Tim catches Jason’s hand instead. It’s surprisingly warm.
“Hey,” he nudges Tim’s cheek with his nose. “You aren’t really mad at me, are you?”
A sigh floats into the air between them. Tim rubs the bridge of his nose with his free hand.
“My feet are cold, my hair is dripping wet, and everything in between is even colder and ever wetter. But—” Jason looks up “—no. I’m not mad at you.”
“Great,” Jason grins. He squeezes Tim’s hand and tugs him away from the library. Alfred will be furious about the mess they’re leaving behind. But Jason’s glee is actually sort of infectious, and Tim’s curious to see what his boyfriend is planning.
They don’t stop until they’re outside one of the upstairs bathrooms.
“Jason, what—”
“I was thinking that kissing in the rain can’t be much different from kissing in the shower.”
Jason waggles his eyebrows suggestively, except not really because they’re past the point of suggestiveness and innuendos and have moved onto full out, blatant, straight-forward sexual propositions. The look on his face is positively obscene.
And devilishly handsome, Tim’s mind supplies.
Okay, now he’s mad.
Except not really.
If the way he’s pushing the door open and practically dragging Jason behind him is anything to go by.