For a Moment, Less Desperate by scheherezhad
Rating: R
Summary: Gar just wants to make Tim feel better. This isn't really what he had planned.
Disclaimer: Don't own, not making any money, please don't sue.
Author's notes: Set after Tim's dad dies and he has his little meltdown in TTv3 #20. First draft written in January for Sweet N Low, who loves Tim and pr0n, and because we were discussing what circumstances could possibly lead to the utter hotness of this pic by Cris. This draft finally came into existence because of Amarinrose's Get Timmy Laid challenge.
Feedback: Yes plz. Concrit welcomed and desired. I don't write Tim much, and I still haven't managed to edit this to my satisfaction. scheherezhad@yahoo.com



"Wanna pet me?"

It's pretty much the last thing in the world Tim expects to hear when he opens his door. But Gar is standing there, grinning and waiting expectantly. Tim blinks twice behind his mask, folds his arms beneath his cape. "Excuse me?"

Gar shifts into a chubby, fluffy tabby cat that, disturbingly enough, gives Tim a cattish grin. "I asked if you want to pet me. Bet it'll make you feel better."

Tim watches as Gar waltzes into the room and jumps lightly onto the bed. He really needs to be reviewing a case file or catching up on his sleep, not...be reminded of how he broke down in front of the team yesterday. That had been more than a little embarrassing, even though he'd obviously needed it. But Gar picks a spot to sit on, kneads the comforter, watches him back.

It's disconcerting to find himself stared down by those calm cat's eyes when he knows there is a human's intelligence behind the gaze. More disconcerting to think *which* human. Gar reads body language better than even Cass, and Tim knows that Gar knows just how much he's getting to Tim.

He has to remind himself that Gar has been through this same quagmire of emotions, has suffered not only the loss of his biological parents, but of his adoptive parents, as well. Not to mention the growing list of fallen Titans with whom he'd been friends. And that's why Gar is here. He's Tim's friend, and he wants Tim to feel better because he knows exactly how much it hurts when someone you love dies.

With great deliberation, Tim walks over to the bed and unfolds his arms. Reaches one hand out, rests it lightly on top of Gar's head, between his pointed ears. A small part of his brain catalogues the difference in shades between the green of his gauntlets and the greens of Gar's fur. His Robin shade falls somewhat closer to Gar's darker stripes than to the lighter ones.

"Hey." Gar headbutts Tim's hand. "Petting is one of those things that involves movement, Teen Wonder."

Tim flexes and curls his fingers before pushing them firmly over Gar's head once, twice. He's seen the others do this before, casually, as if there's nothing unusual about petting and scratching a friend. He wonders, not for the first time, if Gar's fur is as soft to the skin as it looks, but taking off his gauntlet to find out would be uncomfortably intimate.

"Dude, have you ever handled small animals?" Gar rolls his eyes, and Tim withdraws his hand self-consciously. "Sit down and get comfy."

Tim has done stranger things than taking orders from a cat. He complies with the command, settling on the bed cross-legged, with his back against the headboard. Gar climbs up into his lap and plants his front feet on Tim's chest so they're roughly eye to eye.

"Now. Pet me."

And Tim does. He runs his right hand over Gar's head, down his back, along his tail. Does it again, slow and methodical. It gets easier with each repetition, becomes an odd but still soothing form of active meditation. After a few more strokes, Gar stretches out over Tim's legs. He isn't still for more than a moment, though. He twists and arches in Tim's lap, nuzzles at Tim's hand, purring the whole time. That restlessness reminds Tim of Bart.

He thinks they've been dancing around something, Gar and Bart. The two of them gravitate toward each other like—no. Not quite. They don't draw each other like magnets. If that were the case, they would've snapped together when the force of attraction became too great. No, they're more like binary stars, circling a common point without colliding.

Tim frowns as he realizes he doesn't know Gar well enough to agree. Bart is an open book, and Tim is confident that he understands how his friend works. Gar, on the other hand... He's a better actor than people seem to give him credit for. There's something under the brashness and jokes, under the self-consciousness, a vulnerable spot that Tim can't quite pin down. He should probably see what information he can extract from Dick about it.

Gar suddenly shifts back into his human form. The change leaves Gar sprawled awkwardly in his lap, Tim's hand pressed against his stomach.

"Sorry. I, um. Sorry," Gar stammers breathlessly.

Tim is nothing if not observant, and Gar is hard. Tim is anything but impulsive, but he shifts his hand down Gar's stomach to rest against the curve of his erection. It's a powerful feeling, and it sends a surge of lust through him. Tim feels disconnected from himself, or maybe more connected, or connected in a different way. His wires have been not just crossed, but entirely rearranged.

"Tim—." Gar scrambles off of him, tries to bolt. Tim catches his wrist and follows, tugs hard to swing him around so they're face to face. "Tim. Robin—"

"You want to," he says, stepping closer. He wants to bite the taut curve of Gar's neck.

Gar swallows hard. "We shouldn't."

"I can keep a secret," Tim murmurs, sliding his hand up Gar's arm. He wants to taste the sweat gathering on Gar's temple.

"Not here." Gar backs up a step. "Nothing stays secret for long around the tower."

Tim doesn't bother responding to that, just closes the gap between them and kisses him. Gar makes a helpless noise but doesn't try to get away. Tim allows himself the barest hint of a smile for it. He's hard now, too, and he presses forward, rocks against Gar's thigh.

When Gar says his name this time, it's almost a growl.

They're on each other so fast it might even impress Bart. Hands are going everywhere, stroking and groping and tugging, and Tim doesn't have the patience to take his gauntlets off. All he knows is that he wants this, needs this, *now.* He turns his groping into a controlled defensive move, throwing Gar against the side of the bed. Before Gar can catch his balance, Tim moves in behind him.

With a rough shove, Tim pushes his tights down just far enough to release his cock, and he presses himself against Gar's back. Kicks Gar's legs apart a little more, uses skin-safe lubricant from his belt to slick up his gauntlet, and shoves a hand down the front of Gar's pants. Gar whines high in his throat when Tim wraps that hand around his dick, again when Tim starts stroking. He thrusts into it, giving Tim not quite enough friction against the slickness of his costume, and his body is tense from trying to keep what balance he has.

Tim's rhythm is awkward at best, his movements hampered by fabric and a bad angle. His grip isn't firm enough, but the texturing on his gauntlet must make up for it because Gar is grunting and moaning and trembling. When Tim puts a little twist into his strokes, Gar gasps suddenly and comes hard. Tim pulls his hand out, wraps it around himself. Slicks Gar's come down his own dick. And the texturing is perfect, just perfect, and Tim shakes and swallows a moan and comes all over Gar's back.

He's still bringing his breath under control when Gar lets out a strangled laugh. "I have to. go," he says, and he shifts again. A jackrabbit, this time, darting around Tim and out the door.

The door that's partially open. Tim swallows and sinks to his knees beside the bed.

Gar was right. Nothing stays secret for long around the tower.

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