Work Text:
“Okay,” says Jason, “shirt off.”
Tim’s face flushes red and ducks his head down. God, did Jason have to sound like that?
Jason barks a laugh. “No need to be modest. I literally stitched up your butt last week.” Tim bites his tongue and rips his shirt off. It was fine, he could be normal.
He hadn’t actually planned this. Hadn’t actually been all that serious when he’d mentioned wanting a tattoo to Jason the other day.
“Then get one,” Jason had said like it was that simple. Except it wasn’t because a tattoo was an identifying mark. There was a reason Timothy Drake-Wayne covered up all his noticeable scars before any event that could even have the possibility of paparazzi. If Red Robin was ever caught with his pants down, figuratively, and whoever had given Tim the tattoo recognized their design it would be over for him and the rest of the Bats.
Or say Tim Drake was at the beach and someone snapped a pic of the tattoo, and then a villain saw the same tattoo on Red Robin.
There were too many loose wobbly ends. And besides, it’s not like Bruce would ever give him permission.
Jason had laughed at him. Loudly and for several minutes.
“You’re nineteen,” he’d said, “and you’re still asking Daddy-bats for permission?” He’d then thrown a muscled arm over Tim’s shoulder, the heat of him searing against Tim’s side. “You should rebel a little. Come over this weekend and I’ll dig out my tattoo gun.”
Which was how Tim had found out that Jason not only knew how to use a tattoo gun, but had also given himself and Roy multiple tattoos.
Jason had tattoos, and Tim had never seen them.
Tim tried not to think too hard about where they must be.
Tim sits currently, rim-rod straight on the stool Jason had set out for him as Jason shaves and disinfects his peck, just above where Tim’s heart beats heavily in his chest.
“You got the printout?” He asks as he sits back. Jason looks... nice, like this. Soft sweater with the arms rolled up and a pair of reading classes perched on his nose to help him see the fine lines. “Tim?”
Tim jolts, ducking down quickly and pulling out the image he’d printed out earlier on the specialty printer Jason had directed him too. Jason smiles when he sees the image, but doesn’t laugh like Tim had thought he would.
“Fitting,” Jason murmurs, and then presses it against the spot on Tim’s chest he had cleaned, pressing against the back of the image with a wet sponge. Cool water drips down Tim’s stomach and seeps into the line of his jeans.
It’s the outline of an American robin. A little on the nose but Tim honestly was excited for it. He’d asked Damian if he could sketch something for him and, after a two hour lecture on realism versus pop art and the stylistic integrity of impressionism, Tim had ended up with the PNG of a calligraphic style bird sent to his email with the note of “if you’re going to get a tramp-stamp, Drake, I DON’T want to know.”
Jason wipes away the excess water with such care that Tim almost feels improper watching. He directs Tim to lay down on the couch and then Jason is leaning over him and he’s opening the ink and dipping his needle in and saying, “Let me know if you need a break, and try not to move.”
Tim had practically grown up watching Jason Todd. Memorizing how he moves, how he laughs.
He can’t remember the last time he was this close to Jason’s face. He has a perfect, unobscured sight of Jason’s face as his eyebrows knit together and his mouth twists as he draws the first few lines of ink on Tim’s chest.
Jason leans back slightly, and his eyes flick up to Tim’s and all thoughts leave Tim’s head.
Damn.
He was so beautiful.
“Tim?” Jason asks, in a way that makes Tim think this is not his first time saying Tim’s name. “How’s that feel? Think you’ll be okay?”
Tim blinks and glances down at his chest. He hadn’t even noticed the needle piercing his skin, too taken with watching Jason’s face. God, he’s such a creep.
Tim can feel his face flush lightly. “Yeah,” he croaks, “it’s fine. I’m fine.”
Jason gives him a look but shrugs. “Alright, just lemme know if that changes.” And then he’s leaning back in and Tim can count all of the freckles splattered across his face.
It’s not that Tim can’t feel the needle gliding across his skin, the sharp burn that comes with the piercing of skin, but he can’t bring himself to pay it much mind when Jason’s this close.
The side of Jason’s hand is warm where it rests, steady as he draws. His other hand is set just below Tim’s collarbone, fingers spread. Tim can feel each finger like a brand, and he wishes Jason’s touch would be seared on his skin for the rest of time. Just proof that he had touched Tim. Had wanted to touch Tim.
The scar on Tim’s neck doesn’t count. Not really. Jason had wanted to hurt him. Had a point he wanted to make, and had wanted to make it stick.
Still.
Sometimes Tim will be brushing his teeth and he’ll catch sight of the pale line and flush at the thought of Jason leaving a permanent mark on his body.
And now... well.
Now, every time Tim saw the bird gently perched on his chest he’d remember that Jason had given it to him. That Jason had taken the time to paint something so beautiful on Tim’s skin. A product of their history, of their family.
He’d never be able to go another day without thinking of Jason. Not that he had such a great track record of doing otherwise.
It burns a little as Jason starts filling in the outline, but with his face so close and his attention so focused on Tim, the pain is easy to ignore.
Jason glances up, once, when he’s taking a moment to dip his pen in for more ink. His eyes catch Tim’s, flicker over his face for a second, and then a small smile spreads over his lips.
He’s beautiful.
Tim’s mouth feels dry. He rips his eyes away and forces himself to watch the ceiling.
It’s harder to ignore the buzzing of the tattoo gun now that Tim doesn’t have Jason’s face to take up his every waking thought. After a while though, the pain melds into the background. Tim closes his eyes, focusing on where Jason’s hands rest on his skin. One hand guiding the pen, the other spread on Tim’s chest. Bracing Jason and keeping Tim still.
Tim keeps his breathing slow and steady, and keeps his eyes closed.
Jason smells faintly of the gun polish he uses, like his lavender soap and the gun powder lingering on his skin. It’s something Tim’s come to associate with Jason. Which might become a problem someday. He shouldn’t find the smell of gun powder relaxing.
Finally, after what seems like an eon, the buzzing of the pen stops. Tim feels Jason wipe off his chest a final time and spread something that feels like vaseline on it. Tim keeps his eyes closed because if he opens them now he’s just going to turn the same shade of red as his suit.
He tries to listen as Jason seems to pack up his stuff. Once Jason steps away then it’ll be safe to open his eyes and sit up. He can pretend that he’s entirely normal about this whole exchange.
Finally he hears the small click of Jason’s supply box being closed and waits to hear Jason shift away.
Except he doesn’t.
Tim can feel where Jason’s knee is still pressing against his leg. He’s still just sitting there, next to the couch. For some reason.
This is fine, Tim convinces himself. He’s probably just checking over his work. Tim just needs to open his eyes and sit up and ruin this moment because it’s not a moment. Jason did Tim’s tattoo because he’s a good guy. Because they’re friends. Maybe. Probably. Not because there’s anything more to it than that.
Okay.
Tim’s eyes flutter open just in time to see Jason’s face leaning down over him, his brain stalls.
The corner of Jason’s mouth quirks up. “I thought maybe I was supposed to kiss Sleeping Beauty awake,” he says.
“Uhhhhh,” says Tim.
“It was hard not to while I was doing your ink, what with how you were looking at me.”
“Um,” says Tim, “not to what?”
Jason bites at his lips, clearly trying not to smile. “Not to kiss you.”
Tim blinks up at Jason and takes a moment for his brain to come back online. “You want to kiss me?”
Jason smiles down at him. Something soft. Quiet. “Is that okay?”
Tim’s throat cracks as he tries to form words. Any words. “I— yeah. That’s fine,” he manages to get out.
Jason breathes out harshly through his nose— a laugh. He’s laughing.
And then he’s leaning closer and pressing his lips so softly against Tim’s. They’re soft, plush almost. And it makes Tim feel a little self conscious of his skin-torn dry lips. Tim wants to do anything— lean up, deepen the kiss, even tilt his head to the side but all he can do is stare wide eyed up at Jason as Jason Todd kisses him.
Jesus, he was a mess.
Jason leans back slightly, breaking contact, and then rocks forward slightly to kiss Tim again. Briefer, this time. He sits back and his hand comes up to brush some of Tim’s hair away. Tim blinks up at him, agape.
“Speechless, huh?” Jason asks. “I have been known to have that effect on people.”
“I,” says Tim, “um.”
“Wanna see your tattoo?” Jason stands and moves back. “You can tell me if I did a shit job or not. And if you like it, maybe I’ll earn another kiss.”
“Um!” Says Tim. “Okay?” He sits up quickly and only now realizes how flushed his face is. The room spins.
“C’mon, birdy,” Jason says, and holds out his hand.
Tim places his hand in Jason’s, and stands.