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"Just say it," Jason snaps once he's through the door, but Tim doesn't react with anything more than a twitch. "Say it to my face. Just—look at me!"
It isn't surprising when Jason's in his space in an instant, grabbing him by the arm and wrenching it backwards just to make Tim focus on him. Tim stops his pacing by the window, glaring frustratedly at a spot above Jason's shoulder in an attempt to keep his temper.
"What," Tim snaps, curt. He raises an eyebrow at Jason, who's gripping him hard enough that Tim imagines he can hear the grinding of his bones. "What exactly do you want me to say?"
"You think I messed up tonight," Jason says. "I did what I had to. I wasn't going to just—" He cuts himself off; then, baring his teeth, he doubles down. "Don't pretend like you could've done any better."
At that, Tim can't help his expression turning stormy. "Better than you nearly getting us both killed?" he mocks. "Oh, I definitely think I could've managed that."
He lets out a hiss of air when Jason slams him into the wall hard. Tips his chin upwards to stare defiantly at the rage plain on Jason's face. Tim knows better than to look away, to let himself falter in any way, not when there are eyes on them. For all he knows, this isn't even fooling anyone.
To his credit, Jason isn't a bad actor. If he's faking at being pissed, Tim certainly can't tell; because as much as he's gotten to know Jason over the years, and as much as Tim trusts him now, Jason has always been a wildcard.
So while he doesn't think Jason will break any bones for the sake of their act—well. He won't know for sure until the night is over.
The first half of the night had been a shitstorm.
Going undercover is old hat for Tim, and, as soon as he'd turned 18, being the honeypot had quickly been added to his repertoire. Tim wasn't the least bit surprised that there'd been no protest from Bruce, who'd always understood the need for such things. Not that it stopped the others from taking issue with what he had to do.
The mission was simple: pay a visit to one of the nightclubs that served as a front for the syndicate, pretend to down some drinks, be invited to the mark's private room, find the intel and get the hell out of there.
There'd been one glaring problem with that, however—
Turns out the mark had a thing for threesomes.
With Tim being the best at getting jobs like these done, there'd been no question about him taking on this case. Dick wasn't available because he was busy with his own op, and Steph didn't fit the bill on account of not having a dick herself. Which left him with one other option, and quite possibly the worst of them all.
Jason freaking Todd.
All things considered, the job wasn't actually supposed to be that difficult. They had to dance and drink and be the pretty young things that they already were to grab the attention of the mark. Made up and dressed in their skimpy, tight fitting outfits, Jason and Tim certainly looked the part, and had gotten invited from the dance floor with no trouble whatsoever.
It was only when the clothes starting coming off that Jason had fucked up.
He'd panicked, and even now Tim doesn't really fault him for it. There's a reason why Tim prefers to ride solo; after all, it's difficult for others to compartmentalize when the mission hits a little too close to home.
Now that they're back in "their" apartment, there should've been enough time for that panic to wear off—that's why it's so disconcerting that Tim isn't sure whether Jason being rattled is really an act or not.
"You think you’re better than me. You always have," Jason snarls, curling his fingers tightly in the fabric of Tim’s jacket, thrown on hastily over the sheer top he’d picked out for the night as they’d scrambled out of their mark’s rented lounge. His expression flashes. "Or that you can do better than me," he accuses.
Tim rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore that. "Yeah, sure. At least I can keep it together. What, you think decking Justin was a good idea?" He leans in closer, straining against Jason’s grip.
"What, you thought we were actually gonna sleep with the guy? You whore yourself out like that all the time?" Jason scoffs and lets go of him in disgust, rubbing his hand off on his pleather pants, like he can’t stand having Tim on his fingers.
"If you’re not mature enough for—What is that," Tim cuts himself off as Jason pulls a wallet from his pocket.
"Mr. Perfect didn’t see me take it?" Jason’s tone is mocking as he pulls the wallet open, stepping away from Tim and turning around, like he’s keeping what’s inside to himself. Tim pushes off of the wall and now he’s the one getting in Jason’s space, trying to see what’s in there. He grabs Jason’s arm, trying to tug it down closer and to the side so he can see.
An ID, a few credit cards (not as impressive as Tim’s own, he notes), cash, and…
"Bingo." Jason tugs out a business card, holding it between two fingers with a flourish. It’s a plain, crisp white, though the cardstock is clearly of high quality. The writing is in black ink, sleek modern font, lots of negative space around it to make it stand out.
Tim’s reading the name when their spectator finally makes himself known, clearing his throat to their left. The man they’d really been waiting to bait out, though Tim hadn’t anticipated him showing up quite so quickly. They turn in unison, Tim with one hand still on Jason’s bare bicep.
The man’s in a black suit with a white pocket square sticking out the front. He’s wearing sunglasses. It’s nearly midnight. And, noticeably, he’s got a dangling earring in his right ear, a pearl on the end of a short silver chain. Their original mark had had the same piece of jewelry, so unless this is one hell of a coincidence (or he's Justin’s boyfriend, Tim allows), they’ve got the right guy.
"You didn’t earn that card, so I’m going to have to ask for it back," the man says, sounding almost sorry about it.
"Not the wallet?" Jason asks, playing the fool.
Tim appreciates it, for all that his pulse is still thudding in his ears from their half-real argument before. He lets himself shrink, adopts a wide-eyed demeanor in contrast to Jason’s more flinty one, and makes his own move.
"What can we do? To earn it, I mean?"
"Babe," Jason turns to him, frowning. He’s quick to pick up on what Tim’s trying to do, although there’s a tension in his jaw that indicates he’s just as likely to punch the next guy. Maybe Tim can convince Jason to let him handle the whole thing this time while he stands guard.
The man raises one douchily-plucked eyebrow, just visible over the dark frames of his sunglasses. Tim lets his jacket envelop him more, knowing it makes him look smaller, more innocent. And, even through the opaque lenses, Tim knows when he’s getting a once-over.
"I can think of a few things," the guy says. "But the big guy’s gotta go."
"He’s not going anywhere alone," Jason says, crossing his arms. He’s scowling now, and it’s hard to tell how much he's playing it up.
"He can help convince you," Tim promises, cutting a sideways look at Jason and trying to convey that he needs to trust him. Then he reaches up for the back of Jason’s head, threads his fingers through his hair, and yanks, jerking Jason’s head back.
Jason goes with it much nicer than Tim expected, red mouth opening wide and eyes squeezing shut. He looks almost vulnerable, if you don’t know how to spot a trained vigilante. And this guy doesn’t, not with the way he licks his own lips at the sight.
"Is that how it is with you two?" the man says, eyes fixed on the way Jason's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. "You get on your knees for pretty boy over there?"
Tim expects Jason to tense up again. To finally blow their cover, make the man pull out a gun and end this farce once and for all.
But Jason doesn't drop the act. His breath hitches, cheeks flushing—not with anger but arousal.
Fuck.
"He does, sometimes," Tim murmurs demurely, ducking his head as if he's shy.
In this fantasy, Jason is the tough guy who's soft for his sweet, deceptively innocent boyfriend. They just need to lean into that. And if this is what it takes for Jason to let his guard down... Tim can work with that.
Tim plasters himself against Jason's side, playing with the hair at his nape and pressing a kiss against his exposed shoulder without dropping the man's gaze. He exaggerates their height difference as best he can when he stands on his tiptoes. When he whispers in Jason's ear, it's just loud enough to carry across the room.
"Please, baby?" he says, fluttering his lashes in a butterfly kiss, scratching Jason's scalp deliberately. Hold.
Jason shudders helplessly under his touch. He shakes his head jerkily—only to still when Tim makes a quiet, pleading sound in his throat.
"Please?" Tim whispers. He sees the man's mouth curve into a smirk, and Tim wants to break his face, too. "It'll be okay, Jay. I'll make it good, promise."
A moment of silence. Then slowly, Jason nods.
They're doing this.
Tim bites his lip, and he isn't sure whether it's from nervousness or something else entirely. It isn't fair of him to put Jason in this position, but... it'd be a lie to say it doesn't fill him with a thrill. More than anything, Tim is good at what he puts his mind to, and he does so love to show off.
"We're good for it," Tim purrs, unnecessary with the way the man's already stepping forward. Jason tenses again, but now he can tell it's put on; Jason's placing himself in Tim's hands, finally acknowledging that he knows better what to do. "Do you want him on his knees?"
"I can have both of you if I wanted," the man says.
He stops only when he's standing in front of them—foolish, because Jason could snap his neck in a heartbeat, and Tim would only try so hard to stop him—and holds his hand out for the card.
They give it to him. But they'll have it again by the end of the night, Tim knows.
The man holds the card between his index and middle fingers and taps the edge of it against Tim's cheek, demeaning. It’s the barest touch, almost tickling, but Tim can see it for the power play it is. He figures the man wants him scared, so he lets himself quiver. The man smirks and tucks the card into his pocket. Casual, easy. Careless, but Tim likes that in a mark.
"You can have us," Tim offers breathlessly. He’s late, and he’s visibly working himself up to offer it as he says it. Jason’s playing his part, too, leaning into Tim as he slowly pulls his hand free of Jason’s hair and glides it down the front of his chest, almost framing it.
"Hm," the man says, tilting his head. He’s reveling in this. Good. "I want to see what that mouth can do." The man’s eyeing Tim, which is exactly what he wants.
Tim opens his mouth like he’s surprised, letting it hang there for a second before he closes it with a click and starts to shift towards him.
"Not for me. For your little boyfriend. I figure you can remind him what to do, then I’ll have his mouth after."
Tim doesn’t freeze, though he does press against Jason with his palm when he feels Jason’s muscles tense underneath his ripped black tank.
"What daddy wants, daddy gets," Tim says, almost cooing. He’s trying to help Jason relax, figures Jason gets that he’s being silly with it.
Jason glances down at Tim, and Tim can see in his eyes what he’s thinking. Jason thinks they should just take the guy out now, grab his wallet, then see what leads they can chase from there. Tim thinks they’ve got a better chance undercover still, so he raises his eyebrows. Maybe to the man, it looks like he’s pleading, but Jason will know that it’s a challenge. Jason’s mouth firms into a thin line before consciously relaxing.
"Anything for daddy," Jason agrees with just a hint of reluctance, rolling his shoulders back. He’s clearly trying to work what he thinks the man’s into—showing off his exposed, muscular arms as he moves them. Tim has a theory that the man actually just likes that Jason’s big and submissive, but the muscles probably don’t hurt.
"Daddy wants you on your knees, baby," the man plays right into it, and Tim doesn’t see any reason to take things slow.
It’s a show, but not one he’s going to extend any longer than he’s got to… Well, okay. Maybe a little longer, to fuck with Jason. Punching the first guy hadn’t actually been part of the plan, and it’s not like Jason’s probably in a hurry to try his hand at giving this guy a blowjob.
Hell, has Jason even sucked anyone off before? Tim thinks he should probably be a bit of a role model here.
Dropping to his knees, Tim reaches out for Jason’s pants. Thumbs the button and realizes that Jason isn’t hard. Of course he isn’t hard. Shit. Maybe if he—He leans in and nuzzles against Jason’s cock through his pants, the coarse jean fabric rubbing against his cheek, and looks up at Jason through his lashes, making sure to angle his face so the man can see him, too.
Jason's expression shutters—god, if even this is too much, then Tim doesn't know how any of this will work—but then his eyes darken and he lets out a rough, "Fuck, babe."
And suddenly Tim knows this'll be very, very easy. At least for him.
He makes a show of it, flicking the button open with deft fingers, pulling the zipper down with his teeth, letting his eyes slide shut invitingly. Hides the fact that Jason's not ready yet by rubbing his cheek against his groin. Breathes him in, moans like a whore, pulling out all the stops… and he's harder than he's ever been in his life.
Jason's getting there, too. It's not long before there's a damp spot against his cheek, and Tim shows his approval by grabbing his hips firmly and urging Jason to lean against the wall. Tim wants to do all the work—to make this good for Jason, just like he'd said.
He's not even ashamed when the low groan from the man behind him makes his own cock twitch in his pants.
The guy has the gall to press the flat of his shoe against Tim's back, making Jason growl in warning, but all he does is chuckle. Tim gets up from his haunches to stick his ass in the air. The curve of his spine is almost painful, but he knows how it makes him look. The foot nudges his thighs apart, tucking itself under Tim's crotch until he plays up the act with a whimper.
"Oh god—"
"Touch yourself," the man says lowly, and Tim throbs with want when he realizes he's not the one being addressed.
His eyes snap open to see Jason swallow hard, fingers curling at his waistband. Tim had wanted to peel those sinfully tight pants off Jason himself, but after a moment of hesitation, Jason shoves them down his thighs and palms his cock through his underwear.
"Let me see," the man demands, and Tim's mouth parts in a gasp when he flexes his foot in between his thighs. "Let me see that fat fucking cock of yours. I want him gagging on it."
Jason bites his lip hard enough to make it bleed, Tim's certain of it. Still, he obeys.
When his cock bobs free, Tim can't stop himself from leaning in for a taste. As soon as his tongue flicks out to lick at the tip, Jason's hips jerk forward of their own accord, making his cock slap against Tim's face. It smears wetness over his cheek, lets Tim inhale Jason's scent as he pants helplessly against a dark thatch of hair—and Jason keens.
Those eyes on them don't matter to Tim, really; if anything, that invasive stare only makes him want to suck Jason even more. Tim isn't faking when he curls his fingers around the base of Jason's cock and strokes it eagerly.
And to Tim's utter delight, Jason brushes his knuckles over his mouth, parting his lips and resting his fingers heavily on his tongue. Tim gets them nice and wet, licking the salt from his calluses as he enjoys the muffled curses that Jason gives.
After giving a nice, long moan, Tim shakes his head insistently and Jason pulls back his fingers, alarmed. He gives the tips of them a chaste kiss in apology, before he turns his cheek to mouth at the side of Jason's cock. Impatient.
Damp fingers twist in his hair and yank. He wraps his lips around the head and sucks long and hard, just to be petty. Jason thrusts into his mouth just as Tim opens wide enough for him to fit, and Tim lets Jason do it.
The man has stopped rubbing at Tim's crotch, completely still and quiet. It’s a predatory silence.
"That’s good. Do that again."
Tim grabs Jason’s ankle subtly, thinking the man won’t notice. He squeezes once, trying to let Jason know it’s okay without giving them away. Jason seems to get the message, pulling back and pushing back in, resting the first couple of inches comfortably in Tim’s mouth.
"Deeper—I said gagging, not whatever this is."
Tim squeezes again, then opens his mouth as wide as he can. He finally looks up at Jason, who’s flustered and flushed already. He looks like he’s the one who's been sucking cock with the way his bitten-red lips are parted. His eyes are half-lidded, too, though there’s still an undercurrent of alertness.
Perfect. Tim knows he’s good, but he doesn’t want Jason completely gone in a situation like this… though he’s starting to think he wants to see him that way later.
"Okay, daddy," Jason says, which Tim thinks is really more of a warning for himself.
He keeps his mouth loose as Jason pulls back, even though he doesn’t want him out. But Jason comes right back, of course, shoving forward until he’s battering against the entrance of Tim’s throat. Tim actually doesn’t have a gag reflex anymore (self-assigned Robin training when he was 15 that he can never ever tell Batman about), but their guy’s been clear about what he wants, so Tim chokes on it.
Jason shudders, and Tim lets his own eyes close. If he’s focusing on the shape of Jason, the way his cock is forcing his mouth wide… Well, that’s allowed here, isn’t it? Jason’s grip shifts, and then there are new fingers just pushing against Tim’s hair—the man must have pressed his hand over his.
Definitely has, Tim thinks, when the next thrust has Jason’s cock breaching his throat for real.
Tim gags on it, feeling spit leaking down his chin as he’s made to take it. The man doesn’t know that either of them could stop this any time, and that thought makes it even hotter. Jason’s cock drags as Tim’s head is pulled back and then shoved forwards, and the heat of it is perfect. Tim tries to make it good for him, tries to swallow when he’s all the way in, rubs his tongue on the underside. Jason’s throbbing in his mouth, and Tim’s so hard he's aching in his pants.
The man’s not giving him any more friction though, too focused on making him take Jason’s cock. On the next thrust, Tim’s nose is pressed up against Jason’s stomach, his eyes rolling back as Jason’s cock lingers there in his throat. The man or Jason or both hold him there, only pulling him back enough to bring him down in a filthy grind. Tim can’t breathe around him. He lets his eyes water at the sting of it—the hands in his hair, the choking feeling—
"Yeah, that’s good. You like that tight little throat around you? I bet you do." The man’s smug. He’s fading from Tim’s awareness.
Tim’s held there for long enough that there’s black at the edges of his vision. When he’s jerked back off of Jason, his throat is raw and his face is wet. He gasps around the head for two, maybe three seconds—but Jason hasn’t come yet. He’s still hard and ready, and they move Tim on his cock shallowly for a few thrusts. Tim breathes wetly around him, feeling dizzy, and then Jason’s cock is back down his throat, so deep Tim thinks he won’t be able to taste him when he comes.
"Bet he can’t breathe around your fat cock."
Jason gasps, like that’s what’s shocking him. Surely he doesn’t think he can be this far in without cutting off Tim’s oxygen? Tim would be amused if he could feel anything beyond arousal, adrenaline, and something like desperation. He wants Jason to come soon because, as hot as this is, he doesn’t think he can keep it up forever, not if he’s held down this long every time. He swallows around Jason, tries to make himself tighter.
Jason’s making little sounds again, probably making that face again—like he’s the one taking cock. Tim wishes he’d known before that Jason sounded like this while getting blown. He’d find him at least once a day and hold him down and watch and listen while he sucked Jason off. And Tim does want to see Jason’s pretty mouth again. He powers through the disorientation he’s starting to feel, holding tight to Jason’s ankle still, and forces open his eyelids blearily.
Slowly, he tracks his gaze over Jason’s exposed skin, his happy trail right in front of Tim, cut off too soon by that black tank top. Jason’s chest juts out, his massive pecs distracting as ever, and then above them—
A hand. The man’s hand, choking him. He’s pressing Jason against the wall by his throat, and Jason’s just taking it, because Tim had asked and because Tim’s still got a hand on his ankle. The thought sends a guilty thrill through Tim, and his cock jumps at the desperate half-sound Jason makes. But, he can admit, this is dangerous. He doesn’t trust this guy with Jason, not like this.
And apparently Tim's a fucking freak, because, even knowing that, he still grinds down against the man's shoe in between his thighs. Messy, pathetic, desperate—
Jason's whole body jerks when the man squeezes harder, hands flying to grasp at wrist, and—he can get free at any time, Tim knows. Break the guy's wrist and shove him off with barely any effort. Can throw them both off himself and have them subdued in an instant, even if that means it would hurt Tim in the process.
But he doesn't. Because it would hurt Tim, and because Tim's still gripping at Jason's ankle and telling him to hold. Tim wants to come just like this, with him choking on cock while Jason cries desperately for air—
—and against all the selfish, greedy want he feels, Tim decides to be good and lets go of Jason's ankle.
Jason snaps the guy's wrist and Tim whines that the fantasy is finally over. The man gives a shriek of pain, but Tim's already jerking himself back from sucking Jason's cock, taking a gasping breath through his abused windpipe. Then he locks his thighs around the man's ankle and shoves at the wall, knocking the back of his skull against the man's stomach. They both fall to the ground.
Pain blooms in his head and the movement hurts with how hard he is, but Tim is too frustrated to care.
He hears a loud crunch, the sound of Jason's fist colliding with the man's face. Tim's untucking his legs and rolling off in an instant so he doesn't get in the way. The man scrabbles at the ground, trying to fend Jason off. It takes a few seconds for Tim to decide whether to step in or not.
It ends up in a one-sided fight. So instead of giving into the urge to spring out of his crouch, Tim licks at his swollen lips and presses the heel of his hand against his cock, thighs straining with exertion as he forces himself not to come yet. He'd been so fucking close.
The man gives a final, choked breath before he passes out from Jason's hands wrapped around his neck.
Serves him right, Tim thinks. The man isn't dead; a quick glance shows he's still breathing, but Tim should look him over just to be safe, just to make sure he isn't going into shock.
But then Jason's wild-eyed gaze meets his own, and he forces out Tim's name in the most wrecked, fucked out voice Tim's ever heard.
Tim's stepping over the man's body before he even registers it, and Jason's stumbling backwards to get away from the bloody scene. Tim slams into his front hard enough that it hurts when they land on the hardwood floor, and Jason lets out a punched-out breath as Tim finally gets a hand around his cock.
Jason's mouth tastes like blood when Tim licks into it, the slide of their tongues against each other filthy and so, so good. Apparently this is everything he's ever wanted: to stroke Jason fast and rough, to swallow his moans and muffle them with his own, to shove his tank up to expose his pecs and rake stark, angry marks into his skin.
No. What he really wants is—
"Tim," Jason gasps, eyes flying open when Tim suddenly wraps his fingers around his throat. He keeps the pressure firm and steady, pressing down harder only when Jason relaxes into his touch. Jason searches his gaze for something—Tim doesn't know what, or for how long—and, finally, raises a hand to hold him by the wrist. Squeezes once.
He grins down at Jason, feral, and leans in to kiss him again.
And again. And again. Tim wants to steal his breath away in more ways than one. He wants to ruin Jason for anyone else. Wants Jason to do it to him, too.
"Jay," Tim barely recognizes his own voice, even hoarser than Jason's own, the soreness of his throat a satisfying ache. He won't be able to talk in the morning, and Bruce and the others will know exactly what happened tonight. They'll see the marks on Jason's throat and Tim's swollen, red lips and they'll know.
Jason can’t get away from Tim, not underneath him like this. That means when Jason tosses his head back, it just thunks against the floor. His neck is thick with muscle and bone and blood, resisting Tim’s grip, but Tim knows how to cut airflow off on a guy twice Jason’s size. Jason makes a strangled noise and his hips buck up. Their cocks graze through clothing, and the sensation is perfect, but Tim still can’t tear his attention away from how Jason looks with Tim’s hand wrapped around his throat.
Tim releases the pressure for a second, but leans in to kiss Jason again. Pants into his mouth, so that all the air he breathes comes tasting of Tim. Can he taste himself on Tim’s tongue? It’s like they’re mixing and mixing and—Tim brings his hand down again, gripping tightly. Jason’s eyes are wide and his mouth open and gaping and slick with spit.
Maybe Tim should say something. Words won’t come, though. He’s staring into Jason’s eyes, and Jason’s tugging at his wrist, but he’s tugging down, like he wants it harder. Tim can’t go any harder. He digs his nails in instead, short as they are. Jason’s eyes roll back, and his whole body shudders so strongly that Tim shakes with it, too. A heartbeat later, and he feels Jason’s cock throbbing as he comes. Tim gasps, grinding down.
Jason can’t make any noise at all—he doesn’t have any air. Tim thinks about holding on until Jason actually passes out. Lets go and scoots up to rest his knees on either side of Jason’s chest and yank his own cock out of his pants. He strips it rapidly with the hand he’d had around Jason’s throat, the warmth lingering in his fingers. He’s sweating, it’s trickling down his back. Jason’s mouth is still open, his eyes unfocused. He’s shivering with the aftershocks of his orgasm.
Tim jerks himself harder, curling forward and visualizing the way he’ll paint Jason’s face.
Abruptly, Jason’s hand is back on him—on his thigh, squeezing. He doesn’t look at Tim, but his mouth opens just a fraction wider, and Tim can see the blood coloring Jason’s throat a vivid red where he’d held him. It’s going to bruise—
With a gasp, Tim comes, feeling like it’s being yanked out of him. His eyes close instinctively, but he forces them open a sliver to aim, watching his come land on Jason’s cheek, in his eyelashes, in his mouth. Tim’s shaking with it now. He keeps stroking, the stimulation coaxing more come from his body, until his last spurt lands on Jason’s ruined throat. Tim feels a surge of arousal at the sight—if he could get hard again, he would. He’s still not fully soft, but stroking himself is painful, and Jason’s a wreck besides.
Shit. Wait. The guy. Tim glances over his shoulder at the bloody mess they’d made of the man. Scoffs to himself. He hasn’t moved, at least.
"Jay…" Tim says, returning his attention to Jason. Jason’s staring up at him, face still flushed and covered in Tim’s come. Tim blushes, too.
"Gonna—" Jason coughs, his voice rough and weak. He clears his throat, smirking. "Gonna take a picture? It’ll last longer."
And Tim’s mouth and throat are sore, too. He realizes that whatever he says is going to sound a lot like that, too. He’s going to feel this tomorrow. He wants to feel this tomorrow.
"Not if we can do this again," he says, the words scratchy.
"I could be convinced," Jason murmurs. He reaches up, and Tim doesn’t move as Jason’s hand brushes against his throat. Jason runs a thumb over Tim’s Adam’s apple, slides it up to just graze his jaw, then moves it around the back and tugs Tim down for a filthy kiss. Tim feels his own come staining his face and realizes his cock is still out. He kisses back all the harder for it.