theflyinggrayson:

redrobinyuum:

theflyinggrayson:

[He’s stopped trying to predict where this conversation might lead, because every time he does, it takes a new turn and leaves him feeling dizzy. First he’s crushed, then he’s angry—the ups and downs are between the clouds and the center of the Earth. He supposes that’s fitting for them, though. They never quite settled into a comfortable medium, which is maybe what made him so infatuated with what they had. It never got boring. They never gave it the chance to.]

That’s right, Tim. Six months. Not a couple weeks. Not one or two months. Six.

[The fingers tangled at the base of Tim’s hairline circle just a bit tighter. Dick’s opposite hand dives down to find and capture one of the teen’s wrists, ripping the painfully familiar touch away from his body and pressing it down against the mattress.]

I know you waited for me, and I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize it. But I was always there for you, even when we weren’t together. And when we were, I would never have left you like that. Never.

[Fueled by months of hurting, Dick narrows his eyes and presses forward—just an inch, just enough to remind them both how closely fitted they are.]

Six months without contact? Without seeing your face? That’s warrant for a long more than a break up. What else was I supposed to do?

Moving on was the only option you left me. 

[Tim’s chest heaves with shallow breaths as Dick leans over him, his wrists pinned to the thin matters with a pair of practiced, calloused hands— Dick’s thighs on either side of his waist, his weight holding Tim down with ease. He hates being controlled like this; contained. He hates it.]

Maybe what I did was wrong— I know that! But at least what I felt for you was real. [His face scrunches together in an angry way, crumpling in on itself as he looks up at Dick from his position on the bed. His eyes are tired.]  I spent every minute of every hour of every day thinking about you while I was gone— and for a long time before that, too! 

You and I both know that this wouldn’t be happening if the situations were reversed. 

What do you mean ‘at least what I felt for you was real’? [Dick’s voice is low, dangerous.] If for a second you think that I wouldn’t have done anything for you—anything, Tim—then maybe you’re not as perceptive as I thought you were.

We’d just moved in together. I was committed to you. You don’t think I spent every second trying to figure out where you went once you were gone?

[The aged look on Tim’s face wears at Dick, but he can’t seem to reel himself in. He’s bitter, his words are acidic, and even though he feels guilty with each accusation, they just keep coming.]

If it had been you? I’ll tell you what would have happened if it had been you.

After a few weeks, you would have worried. You would have searched, frantically, everywhere. After a few months, your heart would have broken. You would have blamed yourself. You would have felt more alone than you had in years. You would have asked yourself what you did wrong, and what you could have done to change it.

And then you would have sought for something, anything, to try and take your mind off the fact that the person you loved abandoned you without a word.

If it had been you, we would be having the exact same conversation. 

[He feels like he can’t breathe. The inside of Tim’s chest is hollow and cold, his ribcage tight— constricting and squeezing around his already shallow puffs of air. He wants to be angry, so badly he wants to yell and scream and pound his fists until Dick understands, until he just—

Tim’s eyes slide away from his brother’s unfocused and glazed as he stares at in inscrutable point in the distance. He’s right. Everything Dick has said so far—Tim left Dick. At the time, maybe, he thought it was his only choice; the only way to find out what had happened to Jason was to use the one connection the two of them had shared.

Ra’s. And the League.

Tim knew Dick wouldn’t understand, he wouldn’t let Tim leave on his own—He’d beg and plead and refuse to let Tim go, at any means necessary. He wasn’t just a little brother to Dick anymore; Tim knew that. He knew the strength of their bond, he knew that the (very likely) possibility of his death at Ra’s hands would destroy Dick. Which was why—Tim thought, humorlessly—he did what he felt was necessary to keep that hurt away from the one person who mattered most.]

I didn’t—[He licks his lips, the chapped, dry skin chafing as he talks. His throat feels dry and chalky.] I didn’t want to hurt you. That’s why I couldn’t tell you, I—I didn’t want to hurt you, ever. I love you. [It hurts to say it now, more than it did a few hours prior. Now that everything is out in the open, now that he knows what Dick thinks of him—selfish, unloving—it feels hollow against his lips.]

speedyarrows liked your photo

Creep.

theflyinggrayson:

[He’s stopped trying to predict where this conversation might lead, because every time he does, it takes a new turn and leaves him feeling dizzy. First he’s crushed, then he’s angry—the ups and downs are between the clouds and the center of the Earth. He supposes that’s fitting for them, though. They never quite settled into a comfortable medium, which is maybe what made him so infatuated with what they had. It never got boring. They never gave it the chance to.]

That’s right, Tim. Six months. Not a couple weeks. Not one or two months. Six.

[The fingers tangled at the base of Tim’s hairline circle just a bit tighter. Dick’s opposite hand dives down to find and capture one of the teen’s wrists, ripping the painfully familiar touch away from his body and pressing it down against the mattress.]

I know you waited for me, and I’m sorry that it took me so long to realize it. But I was always there for you, even when we weren’t together. And when we were, I would never have left you like that. Never.

[Fueled by months of hurting, Dick narrows his eyes and presses forward—just an inch, just enough to remind them both how closely fitted they are.]

Six months without contact? Without seeing your face? That’s warrant for a long more than a break up. What else was I supposed to do?

Moving on was the only option you left me. 

[Tim’s chest heaves with shallow breaths as Dick leans over him, his wrists pinned to the thin matters with a pair of practiced, calloused hands— Dick’s thighs on either side of his waist, his weight holding Tim down with ease. He hates being controlled like this; contained. He hates it.]

Maybe what I did was wrong— I know that! But at least what I felt for you was real. [His face scrunches together in an angry way, crumpling in on itself as he looks up at Dick from his position on the bed. His eyes are tired.]  I spent every minute of every hour of every day thinking about you while I was gone— and for a long time before that, too! 

You and I both know that this wouldn’t be happening if the situations were reversed. 

(Source: redrobinyuum)

speedyarrows:

redrobinyuum:

speedyarrows:

You took the words from my mouth, “Timmy.”

Pfft. Like you could keep up with me. 

You’re so naive, it’s adorable.

I think I know a little more than you’re giving me credit for. But I’ll let you keep fetishizing my innocence— I’m all about helping out the elderly.

theflyinggrayson:

[The conflicted look in Dick’s eyes only subsides when he’s met with a humorless laugh and a remark that stings like a hand thrown against the side of his face. It’s the most appropriate medicine for his anger, which is chased from his body as quickly as it came, and replaced by something icy and deep-seeded. Perhaps Tim’s words only cut so deep because he knows they’re true. Or maybe it’s that their vocalization is happening now, but it leaves Dick wondering how long they’d been stewing inside the teenager’s head. Their relationship hadn’t been without its problems, but Tim’s absence made it easy to romanticize everything they’d been through.

Now the reality of it had returned full force.

His head is tipped back and despite himself, a soft noise leaves his throat in response to the tightly curled fingers against his scalp. Each confession is worse than the last, each word hits harder and digs deeper  and leaves him feeling clawed apart and hollowed out. The last sentence is the perfect ringer, the trap door opening below his feet so that the noose can go taught. He feels strangled.]

Tim, is that. [Appropriately, his voice gives out. It’s a struggle to find it again, and during his search he lifts his hands up from Tim’s thighs and drags them over his upper body. One settles against the side of his neck, and one dips into his hairline.]

Is that really what you—?

[Lowering his head again, Dick struggles to keep himself composed enough to think. He desperately wants the anger back, because it’s so much more bearable than the suffocating, bottomless feeling that he’s left with now. So he tries, really tries to coax a glare back onto his face.]

I might not have been everything you thought I’d be. Maybe I failed you. But you’re the one who left.

You’e the one who let it all fall apart.

[All of the air in Tim’s lungs feels like it’s been sucked out, like his chest is shriveling under the suffocating weight of Dick’s stare— Of course that’s not what he really thinks, of course he doesn’t feel that way— but he can’t find the breath to say it. He only chokes on a few strangled syllables, pushing into the hand that travels up his chest. It burns a hot line from the top of his thighs to the base of his neck, searing that touch into his skin like a brand. In a way, Tim thinks, it really is.]

I didn’t let shit fall apart. 

[He finds breath in the anger that fuels his blood, heats his insides with a new power that he’s never felt before. Tim shakes in Dick’s arms, clutching and grabbing at whatever skin he can reach, too blinded to care anymore.] 

I waited for you for nine years— nine fucking years— for you to notice me. 

[There’s a dark edge in Tim’s voice now, lower, coming deeper from his rib cage— he growls at Dick.]

Do you think I don’t regret leaving you, Dick? Because I do. Of course I do— [He sucks in a sharp breath, the crease between his brows growing deeper with each confession. They’re finally at the heart of the issue.] But I leave for six months, and you’ve already moved on? Just like that, you’re over it— you’re ready to start anew with someone else? [Tim is spitting venom now, hissing his words.]

Fuck you.

(Source: redrobinyuum)

speedyarrows:

redrobinyuum:

speedyarrows:

They only come out when I see your face.

Or hear your name.

Either one does it.

That’s gonna be really difficult for you when you can’t stop moaning it, won’t it? 

You took the words from my mouth, “Timmy.”

Pfft. Like you could keep up with me. 

speedyarrows:

redrobinyuum:

#redrobinyuum #Brb I need to go punch something (preferably ur gut xo)

Wow, anger issues much?

They only come out when I see your face.

Or hear your name.

Either one does it.

That’s gonna be really difficult for you when you can’t stop moaning it, won’t it? 

#redrobinyuum #Brb I need to go punch something (preferably ur gut xo)

Wow, anger issues much?