too close to the truth
Title: too close to the truth
Author:
somehowunbroken
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Tim Drake/Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake/Conner Kent
Word Count: 1,781
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for queer_fest 2012. The prompt: Any fandom, any character, Five lies s/he wouldn't have told if s/he'd been straight. This is my take on asexual Tim. Eternal thanks to
camshaft22 and
shinysylver for audiencing and doing beta work.
Summary: Tim figures it out when he's fifteen.
1. Tim figures it out when he’s fifteen.
More accurately, he figures it out when he’s making out with Steph on a rooftop, her hood and mask discarded, his hands wound in her hair. He’s got his back to a wall, she’s pressed against his front, and when she slides against him and makes a little whining sound that his mind distantly classifies as arousal, Tim realizes that he’s not feeling anything like that.
It’s not that he isn’t enjoying kissing Steph. Kissing is, in and of itself, enjoyable, but Tim has given it considerable thought during his downtime, and he’s pretty certain that he likes the emotional intimacy more than the physical. He likes that Steph trusts him enough to let him close, and he likes that he can return that feeling. It’s close to the feeling that he would get from hugging Dick, though, maybe even a little less than what he’d felt the last time he’d been at Titans Tower, when Conner had fallen asleep with his head in Tim’s lap during their weekly movie. He’s absolutely sure that those aren’t the kind of feelings you’re supposed to be having about your girlfriend.
“What?” Steph asks, pulling back. “You’re a thousand miles away from me right now, Robin. What’s on your mind?”
He smiles at her, glad that she can’t see his eyes through the mask.
“Nothing,” he replies. “Nothing at all.”
2. Tim’s mind is wired for research. He likes it a lot; he likes learning new things, expanding his knowledge, tucking away bits of information that will be useful in the least likely of times. It’s one of the things that Conner likes to tease him about: the sun will rise, the tides will change, and Robin will have his nose in a book.
Research isn’t helping him right now.
He’s got a reputable book on sex and sexuality; he’s got several, actually, and he’s working his way through them systematically, cross-referencing and making notes and trying to figure out what’s in his head, in his body. He knows the physical reactions that his body is supposed to be having, the way his heart rate should speed up and his temperature increase, how the blood should rush to his groin. He knows what’s supposed to happen; the issue he’s having now is that he’s an otherwise healthy fifteen-year-old guy, and they’re not reactions that he’s in any way familiar with on a personal level.
Tim takes a breath and closes his eyes, picturing Steph in her swimsuit, the curve of shoulder and breast and hip, the long line of her throat as she tilts her head back and laughs. His check of his vital signs shows no change, so he leans further into his chair and thinks about Conner, the way he smiles with his entire body, the tanned skin of his back, how he likes to touch Tim’s shoulder and his elbow and his hands. Again he monitors his reactions; again, there’s really no reactions to report.
Tim turns back to his reading, searching more, searching further, and he comes across a few paragraphs in one of the psychology books he’d purchased without any real hope of it helping. He stares at it for a full three minutes, reading it again and again, and then he turns to his computer and finds as much reputable information as he can about asexuality, websites and more books and the name of someone local that he might be able to talk to if he feels the need.
There’s a knock on the door, and Tim looks up to meet his father’s smile. “Hey, Tim, what are you up to?”
Tim smiles back and throws an arm casually across the open book in front of him. “Not much,” he says. “Just doing some homework.”
3. Tim lets out a breath and waits when he finishes mumbling through his thoughts. It’s not like he’s an expert on any of this, though he’s trying, but he feels like he owes Steph some sort of explanation. He’s also well aware that it’s healthy to have someone to talk to about things. He still has that therapist’s phone number hidden away in a safe place, but Steph might be able to offer some insight.
“So it really was you and not me,” Steph says after a moment, taking a bite of her ice cream and looking speculative. “I mean, I know that for a line to be even the slightest bit believable, it has to be true some of the time, but I never really thought-” She breaks off, shaking her head and taking another bite of ice cream. “Huh.”
Tim frowns. “So what did you think?”
Steph shrugs a shoulder. “For a little while, I thought you had another girlfriend,” she says. “Even while we were dating. I mean,” she adds at the horrified look on Tim’s face, “it’s not that I thought you didn’t care about me, Tim. I just figured you had someone outside of the whole - thing - you know, someone who knew who you were, and I thought maybe things got serious with her. Or him.”
“Oh,” Tim says. He’s absolutely at a loss for any other words.
“You never seemed interested in going any farther with me than making out on rooftops,” Steph says. “You weren’t into getting your hands under my cape, you didn’t try to grab my ass or ‘accidentally’ touch my chest, and when I got a hand into your tunic, I thought you were going to have a panic attack.” She shrugs again. “I figured you were getting what you needed somewhere else.”
“I’m,” Tim starts, then shakes his head, trying to calm his stomach. “Steph, I-”
“But that’s not true,” she continues, scraping her spoon against the bottom of the cup, aiming for the last of the melted ice cream. “And it never was, and I’m sorry that I thought it.” She admits defeat and sets her cup down, eyeing Tim’s sundae. “Are you going to eat that?”
Tim pushes the cup towards her, his mind reeling. “I wasn’t hungry in the first place,” he says. Butter pecan is his favorite, but right now it tastes like ash in his mouth. “I really got it for you.”
4. “Hey, I’m not pressuring you,” Conner says, and he looks so earnest, so heartfelt that Tim has to smile at him, just a little twitch of his lips that makes Conner smile back softly. “If the answer is still no, then it’s still no, okay?”
They’re lying on Tim’s bed in Titans Tower, Conner on his back and Tim half on top of Conner. They’ve been alternating between lazily making out and talking, which is pretty normal for the weekends that they don’t have to rush off and deal with the latest threat to the safety of the greater San Francisco area. Conner keeps his hands on Tim’s waist for the most part, occasionally trailing them up the curve of his back or down his arms. He doesn’t try anything else, and they both ignore the bulge in Conner’s pants.
It’s not that the question never comes up; it’s that Conner honestly doesn’t push the issue. When they’d first started their relationship, they’d had one near-disastrous makeout session that had ended with Tim locked in the bathroom, trying to catch his breath and calm himself down, while Conner had slumped against the wall outside and waited for Tim to come back out. When he had, Conner had stayed at least a foot away from him while he’d asked, low and kind of restrained, if Tim was okay, if someone had hurt him, if there was anything Conner could do.
Tim had sat down on his bed and they’d talked. No, Tim hadn’t been abused, and no, he’s not angry with Conner for sticking his hand down the front of Tim’s pants. Tim had explained that he wasn’t ready, that he didn’t want to sleep with Conner and he hoped that it was okay, and Conner had simply shrugged and said he’d wait, that he was pretty sure Tim was worth it.
And, other than Conner asking again every so often, it doesn’t come up. Conner keeps his hands where Tim had asked him to on that first night, and Tim curls in closely and lets himself relax into Conner.
Tim sighs, now, and tries to ignore the ugly twisting wreck of his stomach. “Conner,” he says, rolling to the side and sitting on the edge of the bed. He clasps his hands in his lap and looks at the floor, wondering if this is the time he can bring himself to say it, if this is how one of the most important relationships of his life comes crashing down around his head, if there’s actually the one-in-a-million chance that Conner will still want to be with him if he says it-
“Hey, Tim,” Conner says, breaking into Tim’s thoughts and pulling his mind back to his bedroom, to Conner sitting by his side. “Forget it, okay? I said I’d wait, and I will.” His smile this time is a little crooked, a little like he’s beating himself up on the inside for asking and a little like he wishes he didn’t have to ask, and Tim thinks about Conner waiting for him, and he smiles back and takes a breath.
“I’m working on it,” he says weakly. He is, too, just not quite the it that Conner’s thinking about. “I hope - I hope I’ll be ready soon.”
5. “Tim,” Dick says, frowning at him in a way that’s more concerned than anything else. “Are you okay?”
Tim thinks about the question, really considers it in the context that Dick means, and comes up empty. He’s a mess and he knows it, but it’s the kind of thing that he thinks he’s entitled to right now. His dad has been buried for less than a month, Steph is gone, and Conner is-
Conner is-
Tim thinks about their last conversation and has to close his eyes and take a breath. He does his best not to regret anything, because if he starts down that path, he might never stop - but his last words to Conner, the guy who was willing to try to make this work, the first person he’d ever really wanted to try with... when it comes down to it, his last words to Conner had been a lie.
Tim pushes it to the back of his mind, takes another breath, and looks up at Dick. He knows his smile isn’t convincing, but it’s all he’s got right now.
“I’m fine,” he says.
This was originally posted at http://somehowunbroken.dreamwidth.org/193568.html, where it has
comments. Comment here or there.
Author:
somehowunbroken
Fandom: DCU
Characters: Tim Drake/Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake/Conner Kent
Word Count: 1,781
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for queer_fest 2012. The prompt: Any fandom, any character, Five lies s/he wouldn't have told if s/he'd been straight. This is my take on asexual Tim. Eternal thanks to
camshaft22 and
shinysylver for audiencing and doing beta work.
Summary: Tim figures it out when he's fifteen.
1. Tim figures it out when he’s fifteen.
More accurately, he figures it out when he’s making out with Steph on a rooftop, her hood and mask discarded, his hands wound in her hair. He’s got his back to a wall, she’s pressed against his front, and when she slides against him and makes a little whining sound that his mind distantly classifies as arousal, Tim realizes that he’s not feeling anything like that.
It’s not that he isn’t enjoying kissing Steph. Kissing is, in and of itself, enjoyable, but Tim has given it considerable thought during his downtime, and he’s pretty certain that he likes the emotional intimacy more than the physical. He likes that Steph trusts him enough to let him close, and he likes that he can return that feeling. It’s close to the feeling that he would get from hugging Dick, though, maybe even a little less than what he’d felt the last time he’d been at Titans Tower, when Conner had fallen asleep with his head in Tim’s lap during their weekly movie. He’s absolutely sure that those aren’t the kind of feelings you’re supposed to be having about your girlfriend.
“What?” Steph asks, pulling back. “You’re a thousand miles away from me right now, Robin. What’s on your mind?”
He smiles at her, glad that she can’t see his eyes through the mask.
“Nothing,” he replies. “Nothing at all.”
2. Tim’s mind is wired for research. He likes it a lot; he likes learning new things, expanding his knowledge, tucking away bits of information that will be useful in the least likely of times. It’s one of the things that Conner likes to tease him about: the sun will rise, the tides will change, and Robin will have his nose in a book.
Research isn’t helping him right now.
He’s got a reputable book on sex and sexuality; he’s got several, actually, and he’s working his way through them systematically, cross-referencing and making notes and trying to figure out what’s in his head, in his body. He knows the physical reactions that his body is supposed to be having, the way his heart rate should speed up and his temperature increase, how the blood should rush to his groin. He knows what’s supposed to happen; the issue he’s having now is that he’s an otherwise healthy fifteen-year-old guy, and they’re not reactions that he’s in any way familiar with on a personal level.
Tim takes a breath and closes his eyes, picturing Steph in her swimsuit, the curve of shoulder and breast and hip, the long line of her throat as she tilts her head back and laughs. His check of his vital signs shows no change, so he leans further into his chair and thinks about Conner, the way he smiles with his entire body, the tanned skin of his back, how he likes to touch Tim’s shoulder and his elbow and his hands. Again he monitors his reactions; again, there’s really no reactions to report.
Tim turns back to his reading, searching more, searching further, and he comes across a few paragraphs in one of the psychology books he’d purchased without any real hope of it helping. He stares at it for a full three minutes, reading it again and again, and then he turns to his computer and finds as much reputable information as he can about asexuality, websites and more books and the name of someone local that he might be able to talk to if he feels the need.
There’s a knock on the door, and Tim looks up to meet his father’s smile. “Hey, Tim, what are you up to?”
Tim smiles back and throws an arm casually across the open book in front of him. “Not much,” he says. “Just doing some homework.”
3. Tim lets out a breath and waits when he finishes mumbling through his thoughts. It’s not like he’s an expert on any of this, though he’s trying, but he feels like he owes Steph some sort of explanation. He’s also well aware that it’s healthy to have someone to talk to about things. He still has that therapist’s phone number hidden away in a safe place, but Steph might be able to offer some insight.
“So it really was you and not me,” Steph says after a moment, taking a bite of her ice cream and looking speculative. “I mean, I know that for a line to be even the slightest bit believable, it has to be true some of the time, but I never really thought-” She breaks off, shaking her head and taking another bite of ice cream. “Huh.”
Tim frowns. “So what did you think?”
Steph shrugs a shoulder. “For a little while, I thought you had another girlfriend,” she says. “Even while we were dating. I mean,” she adds at the horrified look on Tim’s face, “it’s not that I thought you didn’t care about me, Tim. I just figured you had someone outside of the whole - thing - you know, someone who knew who you were, and I thought maybe things got serious with her. Or him.”
“Oh,” Tim says. He’s absolutely at a loss for any other words.
“You never seemed interested in going any farther with me than making out on rooftops,” Steph says. “You weren’t into getting your hands under my cape, you didn’t try to grab my ass or ‘accidentally’ touch my chest, and when I got a hand into your tunic, I thought you were going to have a panic attack.” She shrugs again. “I figured you were getting what you needed somewhere else.”
“I’m,” Tim starts, then shakes his head, trying to calm his stomach. “Steph, I-”
“But that’s not true,” she continues, scraping her spoon against the bottom of the cup, aiming for the last of the melted ice cream. “And it never was, and I’m sorry that I thought it.” She admits defeat and sets her cup down, eyeing Tim’s sundae. “Are you going to eat that?”
Tim pushes the cup towards her, his mind reeling. “I wasn’t hungry in the first place,” he says. Butter pecan is his favorite, but right now it tastes like ash in his mouth. “I really got it for you.”
4. “Hey, I’m not pressuring you,” Conner says, and he looks so earnest, so heartfelt that Tim has to smile at him, just a little twitch of his lips that makes Conner smile back softly. “If the answer is still no, then it’s still no, okay?”
They’re lying on Tim’s bed in Titans Tower, Conner on his back and Tim half on top of Conner. They’ve been alternating between lazily making out and talking, which is pretty normal for the weekends that they don’t have to rush off and deal with the latest threat to the safety of the greater San Francisco area. Conner keeps his hands on Tim’s waist for the most part, occasionally trailing them up the curve of his back or down his arms. He doesn’t try anything else, and they both ignore the bulge in Conner’s pants.
It’s not that the question never comes up; it’s that Conner honestly doesn’t push the issue. When they’d first started their relationship, they’d had one near-disastrous makeout session that had ended with Tim locked in the bathroom, trying to catch his breath and calm himself down, while Conner had slumped against the wall outside and waited for Tim to come back out. When he had, Conner had stayed at least a foot away from him while he’d asked, low and kind of restrained, if Tim was okay, if someone had hurt him, if there was anything Conner could do.
Tim had sat down on his bed and they’d talked. No, Tim hadn’t been abused, and no, he’s not angry with Conner for sticking his hand down the front of Tim’s pants. Tim had explained that he wasn’t ready, that he didn’t want to sleep with Conner and he hoped that it was okay, and Conner had simply shrugged and said he’d wait, that he was pretty sure Tim was worth it.
And, other than Conner asking again every so often, it doesn’t come up. Conner keeps his hands where Tim had asked him to on that first night, and Tim curls in closely and lets himself relax into Conner.
Tim sighs, now, and tries to ignore the ugly twisting wreck of his stomach. “Conner,” he says, rolling to the side and sitting on the edge of the bed. He clasps his hands in his lap and looks at the floor, wondering if this is the time he can bring himself to say it, if this is how one of the most important relationships of his life comes crashing down around his head, if there’s actually the one-in-a-million chance that Conner will still want to be with him if he says it-
“Hey, Tim,” Conner says, breaking into Tim’s thoughts and pulling his mind back to his bedroom, to Conner sitting by his side. “Forget it, okay? I said I’d wait, and I will.” His smile this time is a little crooked, a little like he’s beating himself up on the inside for asking and a little like he wishes he didn’t have to ask, and Tim thinks about Conner waiting for him, and he smiles back and takes a breath.
“I’m working on it,” he says weakly. He is, too, just not quite the it that Conner’s thinking about. “I hope - I hope I’ll be ready soon.”
5. “Tim,” Dick says, frowning at him in a way that’s more concerned than anything else. “Are you okay?”
Tim thinks about the question, really considers it in the context that Dick means, and comes up empty. He’s a mess and he knows it, but it’s the kind of thing that he thinks he’s entitled to right now. His dad has been buried for less than a month, Steph is gone, and Conner is-
Conner is-
Tim thinks about their last conversation and has to close his eyes and take a breath. He does his best not to regret anything, because if he starts down that path, he might never stop - but his last words to Conner, the guy who was willing to try to make this work, the first person he’d ever really wanted to try with... when it comes down to it, his last words to Conner had been a lie.
Tim pushes it to the back of his mind, takes another breath, and looks up at Dick. He knows his smile isn’t convincing, but it’s all he’s got right now.
“I’m fine,” he says.
This was originally posted at http://somehowunbroken.dreamwidth.org/193568.html, where it has
comments. Comment here or there.