APOCALYPSE HOW: IC INBOX

[cacophonish]

"...is this thing on?" un: freakscene voice | video | text | action | everything

Comments

[cacophonish]

Jeff sits up. Well, he doesn't sit up entirely, with Tim on him, but, he props himself up on his elbows and looks at him with something like confusion, crossed with concern, and a little wince of guilt to top it off, because it's hard not to feel some responsibility for this.

He must've been too pushy. What if Tim's a virgin? What if he's not ready? Fuck, what if he didn't even know if he liked guys, and he decided to give it a try, and it turns out he's totally straight and Jeff's just-- No. Stop. Don't make this about yourself. That's bound to make everything worse.

It already doesn't help that he's still hard and Tim's on him and fuck there's a lot of emotions going on and he's not sure he's capable, functional, or even smart enough to help him breathe and come down and step away from the emotional precipice he's about to stumble over.

"Hey-- no, it's--" He puts a hand on Tim's thigh, though it's not any attempt at rekindling the hot and heavy making out, just. He's trying to be comforting and it's the easiest spot to rest his hand. "You're fine. You're good, um... We-- we don't have to do anything you're not feeling, you know? We can just hang out and watch movies or talk or... not talk, whatever you want. It's okay."

idk cw for general... depressive thoughts, brief SI, brief history of sexual assault

[ployboy]

It's that... feedback loop. White noise enveloping coherence and wearing it down until it's just that old and knowing voice trying to get Tim to admit what he knows: he's disappointed. Not that he is disappointed. He has disappointed. His eyes widen at the realization, imagined or otherwise, and he can't pinpoint a moment where he's felt so alive before. He's not sure if it's all that great. --stop. "Sorry. I."

He forces himself to swallow, he doesn't know what to do.

Jeff... is really trying, isn't he? And Tim laughs, a forced and tiny and not at all convincing laugh but it was necessary all the same. His breath hitches-- what, why is his breath hitching?

He's not sure if he ever imagined his first time being with Steph.

He takes initiative, starts to move to untangle himself, untangle them, get them away from anything compromising or implicating or dangerous. His fingers brush against the knuckles of Jeff's hand, his heart leaps at the small connection, and he needs to come clean and "I don't know..." he pauses, searches for his perfect excuse and can't find it. "I don't... know what happened." But he does, and he's disappointed, and there's white noise and mortification where common sense should be. "I've. Never. Uh. Thanks. For stopping."

Above it all, it's there: relief.

[cacophonish]

There's a hitch in Tim's breath, and fuck, Jeff wants to help. He wants to, but he's all caught up in the paralysis of how and if and all the other questions. Is it wanted, needed, possible? What if he makes Tim feel worse? Jeff is... well, he's Jeff, so the possibility of fucking up and making everything worse is pretty high.

He sits up, scoots back until he's against the arm of the couch, legs pulled in criss-cross applesauce.

Tim's trying to explain something that, who knows, maybe it can't be explained. These things happen. There's always the chance that everything can get... messy and weird and awkward, and that's normal, even if it stems from some well that Jeff can't possibly know or get.

"Yeah," he nods, a little too emphatically, like he really wants to prove that it's all good. "Of course, uh. I-- yeah, I'd never... never wanna do something that wasn't-- um. Wanted."

Wow, he's so fucking articulate. Jeff wrings his hands together, glancing down at his finger, at-- himself, really, and feeling that odd wave of self consciousness that tends to come with these things. He's only got his shirt off, and he feels impossibly exposed.

"Um." He swallows, then looks back up at Tim and offers a wry smile. "I... The first time I had sex, it was with this girl, we were kinda dating, I guess, and... I was at her house, and we thought we had a couple hours til her dad came home. So we were going at it, I mean, I'd, like, just found my, uh, my rhythm, you know, and-- Then he started banging on the door, fucking yelling and shit. And he was a cop, so I totally thought he was gonna shoot me. Anyway, I had to get out through the window, and my pants were falling down, and there were dogs barking and I had to jump a fence and..."

Look, there's a point to this, and that point is: to buy Tim some time to kind of... find his bearing again. And maybe to help him feel less like a freak, too.

"And, uh, it really stuck with me. I mean it messed me up for a while. Like for the next six months, any time I tried to hook up with a girl, I'd just hear his voice in my head and totally freak out." A beat. "You don't have to tell me anything, you know. I just... Um." He shrugs. "Icebreaker."

[ployboy]

It's all so easy with Jeff. Tim wars with himself. He's got no right to downplay the fact that the awkward atmosphere isn't stifling but there's the genuine reaching out that's coaxing a (mildly... reasonable?, hysterical? nervous?) snort-turned-giggle. And his shoulders shake, because it's a little more long-lived than it should be. But who the hell says what Jeff's just said aloud? Tim scrubs his hands over his face. His heart's hammering, he feels like a prey animal.

Jeff's huddled in the opposite corner and Tim simultaneously feels the grounding of his palm coming back wet (gross-- he won't think about it, he won't think about it, he won't) and the... flutter of adoration.

Two prey animals.

He's comfortable.

All things considered.

God, it's so weird. He's so weird. He laughs, a little looser, a little more self-conscious. He... has no idea what to do with his legs. He tucks in his feet.

"That story... is a right of passage. I was, I think, fourteen?" He can't remember. His voice reveals as much. Tim drums his fingers over his thighs just eager for the outlet of that roll of anxiety. "My first girlfriend. She had invited me over and I was used to doing whatever, so I didn't think anything of it. She was all dressed up."

And he doesn't even feel bad about saying it. Did anybody know this story? But he's blushing, because of course he is. Jeff's gotten used to blue eyes peering at him from a red face, Tim figures. "But we were kids, and she didn't want to-- you know, it was more like she felt that she had to. We ended up just chilling out in the living room until her uncle came back from manning the shop. He kept screaming that he was going kill me. Got his gun and everything."

And fuck it, Tim thinks that's funny. He's still looking the part of an apologetic dope, but his voice is. Fine.

"I was breaking a new personal best in getting outta there. So I get back home and my dad's heard I was messing around in ways I shouldn't have been. He was pissed." But it's not like Tim to say the word: he mouths it, though, makes it pretty obvious he just doesn't give the curse any volume. He scrubs at his face a second time.

Fuck.

He has hang-ups about sex.

This isn't how valuable introspection is supposed to happen. He's smiling, wry. "I think that was the first time I was in enough hot water to have to scope out military schools."

Icebreaker?

[cacophonish]

Jeff feels like a prey animal pretty much all the time, so maybe there's something in the way Tim's holding himself that's recognizable. There's a lot they don't know about each other, but this is familiar, at least.

(And, now, there's a concept: getting to know someone before he sleeps with them.)

Tim's laughing, and that gets Jeff to laugh, too. It's a fucking ridiculous story, isn't it? But hey, it's more common ground. A rite of passage, like Tim says. Jeff props his elbow on his knee and rests his cheek on his palm, an amused-- and ridiculous and smitten-- smile half-obscured by his hand.

And he laughs again, muffled into his own palm, when Tim doesn't even say the word. He really is sweet. Fucking cute...

"Shit... Really?" Jeff drops his hand now, picks at a little tear in his jeans with a lingering smile. "Parents are so weird, man. When my mom found out, she like, sat me down for a really long talk about consent and, uh..." He cringes a little. "Mutual... pleasure? Orgasms. Stuff like that. It was so embarrassing, I wanted to die." A beat, then: "And what's with these dudes and their guns!"

[ployboy]

"They're overcompensating," Tim mutters, and he hears it before he even truly realizes he's said it aloud. Brainless little prod at uh, toxic masculinity?, or something, because in reality he'd been wondering if he shouldn't be shuffling to put on his shirt if they're talking about parents. He feels naked.

Which is funny because he's very much no longer... excited. In that way.

He thinks, Kon would be so disappointed to learn he's thrown away his one good hormone on doing Nothing.

He thinks, mildly alarmed and unbearably bashful at the sight of Jeff's amused smile, what the hell is wrong with him. God, it's a long story. Tim laughs, but it's to clear out the lingering nerves. He sucks in and lets out a deep breath theatrically enough to clue Jeff in to the fact that he's alright. Then he balls his fists and steels himself and admits, "I really wanted to--"

Uh. His brain doesn't work that way, Tim remembers, and his confession blanks. He wilts, and makes up for it by leaning forward a little, into Jeff's space once again. Apologetic, once again. Appeasing, because he doesn't know what to do. "I'm sorry. I'm embarrassed."

[cacophonish]

It does make Jeff feel a little flutter of... relief? Maybe happiness? that Tim had wanted to. Whatever happened, at least there was a point when they'd both wanted... that: the elephant that's still lingering in the room, awkwardly outstaying its welcome. He smiles a little, adjusts the way he's sitting, pulling his legs up to bump his knees to his chest.

"Dude." He reaches a foot out to lightly-- gently!-- kick Tim, now that he's moved closer. "You don't have to feel embarrassed around me. I'm, like, the most embarrassing fucking person. Maybe that's why I always rush things like, um, like this." There's a wry edge to his smile, because god it's scary (and: embarrassing) being like... vulnerable. Even as he dresses it up in irreverence, like it's all a big joke, he's still skirting on the edge of actual vulnerability here. "So I can screw and run before the other person realizes what a big fucking mess I am."

He exhales. It's kind of a laugh. Then, softly, without any jokey irreverence to hide behind: "Anyway. I'm sorry I pushed so fast."

And now Jeff holds up a finger and waggles it in Tim's face. "New rule: no one's allowed to say 'sorry' anymore tonight."