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Apr. 24th, 2005 01:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
holliI should be asleep right now. I *want* to be alseep right now. Instead I am contemplating Tim/Steph, with subsequent Steph bitching out Jack Drake for being an ass to her boyfriend. I'm just not sure *why* this is happening. Stupid brain. Now is not the time for porn! Much less het! Much less angsty het!
...oh, fine.
Tim knows this is a terrible idea. He shouldn't even have let her in, although in that case he'd have run the risk of Steph jimmying the lock from the outside and coming in anyway, and then she'd have been mad at him for *that* on top of everything else. So he doesn't *really* regret opening the window. He should, but he doesn't.
He should also regret not making Steph leave as soon as possible, and he kissing her back, and letting her push him back towards to door and fumbling it locked. But he doesn't. Even though he knows he should.
He should be talking to her, be letting her say all the things he knows she wants to say, letting her call him names for leaving, call him a coward or a quitter or whatever else he deserves. He should be patiently explaining why he did it, why he doesn't regret it at all, why his dad was right and why he had to give up being Robin. He isn't, though he knows he should be.
Instead, he's kissing Steph, letting her lick at the inside of his mouth and catching her lower lip between his teeth. She smells like sweat and Kevlar, like smoke, and he thinks there must have been a fire tonight, somewhere in the city. She tastes like the soda they get on patrol, and her gloves feel strange against the bare back of his neck. He feels off-balance, feels the absence of the mask that should be on his face and the gauntlets that should be on his hands and the gritty rooftop gravel that should be under his feet. But even with everything that should be there and isn't, Steph feels more familiar than anything has in weeks.
Even though he knows she shouldn't.
...oh, fine.
Tim knows this is a terrible idea. He shouldn't even have let her in, although in that case he'd have run the risk of Steph jimmying the lock from the outside and coming in anyway, and then she'd have been mad at him for *that* on top of everything else. So he doesn't *really* regret opening the window. He should, but he doesn't.
He should also regret not making Steph leave as soon as possible, and he kissing her back, and letting her push him back towards to door and fumbling it locked. But he doesn't. Even though he knows he should.
He should be talking to her, be letting her say all the things he knows she wants to say, letting her call him names for leaving, call him a coward or a quitter or whatever else he deserves. He should be patiently explaining why he did it, why he doesn't regret it at all, why his dad was right and why he had to give up being Robin. He isn't, though he knows he should be.
Instead, he's kissing Steph, letting her lick at the inside of his mouth and catching her lower lip between his teeth. She smells like sweat and Kevlar, like smoke, and he thinks there must have been a fire tonight, somewhere in the city. She tastes like the soda they get on patrol, and her gloves feel strange against the bare back of his neck. He feels off-balance, feels the absence of the mask that should be on his face and the gauntlets that should be on his hands and the gritty rooftop gravel that should be under his feet. But even with everything that should be there and isn't, Steph feels more familiar than anything has in weeks.
Even though he knows she shouldn't.
