this might be an advertisement for gloves

anonymous asked:

46 for Jaytim?

46. “Wanna play?” also requested by @drabblemeister

Inspired by this post by @drabblemeister and @tanekore I love you two <3

~

“Wanna play?” Tim asks, voice light like what he’s saying is inconsequential, something he asks every day, and while those words might be common for him, it’s the context that has Jason freezing up, eyes wide and mouth open and brain blank. Because usually when Tim asks that question, he’s talking about Super Mario Kart or Uno. 

He’s not talking about Uno right now. 

Jason rasps a small, “What?” and Tim turns those blue eyes up at him, gloved fingers still caressing the smooth, shiny metal. It looks cold.

“We could have some fun with this.” 

“F-fun. With…”

“This,” Tim affirms, holding up the cuffs. The light from a nearby sign advertising Marlboro reds for buy one get one half off glints off the chrome steel, the neon red catching on the curves and grooves and this is one time Jason doesn’t like the color red. 

“We, as in, you and I? And those?” 

“Yes,” Tim says simply. 

Jason wants to run. 

“How,” he asks, even though he already knows. 

Tim blinks. “Well, I was thinking you could put me in them.”

“Um,” Jason manages though his very dry mouth, through his sluggish mind that’s not forming any words, just a strongly negative feeling that’s pulsing, crashing like frantic waves between his ears. 

“Or,” Tim says, still sounding like he could be talking about ice cream or shoes or any other ordinary thing, “I could tie you down.”

“No!” Jason blurts out, already taking a step away, toward the end of the roof top and away. He stops himself before he gets there, the small part of his brain that’s not freaking out, yelling run, reminding him that is Tim, that Tim is good and won’t hurt him and he should talk to Tim, he can talk to Tim.

Jason breathes. “No,” he says, calmer this time. “I’m not. Not comfortable with that.”

Another small part of his brain braces for… something. Anger. Violence. A thousand questions and weird looks and rejection. 

It doesn’t come. 

Instead Tim just says, “Oh, okay,” and slips the handcuffs into a pocket on his belt, the chain links rattling. 

Jason breathes easier. 

Tim asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

And no, he doesn’t really want to talk about it, but this is Tim, and Tim is good, and he should talk to Tim, and he can talk to Tim, so he nods, and says, “Later. At home,” and Tim nods back, and that’s the end of it.