abrightboy | Voicemail (IC Contact Post) OLD

Not even the courtesy to let the boy slip through with blatant bullshit. For shame, Not A Cop.

Tim gives.

"I have... dinner. With a friend."

Because he assumes there will be food. Maybe. And the blush isn't leaving, it's turning more furious-- he kinda hates that.

"Oh. A friend. Well. We can't have you looking a mess for a friend." A beat. He smiles just a little bit. "Which friend?"

Plausible deniability--

"You might know them." Like, hell, it's not even a conscious decision to speak in riddles all the time. Tim fidgets with the jacket's zipper-- it's his now, he can do that.

"It's nothing serious." Like that can soothe his nerves somehow.

Malcolm’s smile ticks up a bit more. He’s seen just this fidget in someone else recently and he was there to see Tim.

“Is it Jeff?”

He doesn’t need Tim to answer verbally; he’ll read that yes right off his face.

Rude.

"Uhh."

That's a yes. If the return of the deer in headlights look isn't clue enough. It passes quickly thanks to no small effort on Tim's part to pull himself together.

"It's nothing big," he repeats. "We're just messing around."

--yikes.

His shoulders fall a little. "Is that bad?"

Help.

“No,” Malcolm assures him. “No, not if that’s what you’re looking for. It seems to be what Jeff does. Remember the night he stayed with Meredith?”

"Uh--"

Yeah? And

that might be a big part of why he figures this plan can't go wrong.

But he also knows that makes him sound like a total creep.

"She won't mind, right?"

“I don’t think she’ll mind if you’re not getting hurt,” Malcolm tells him. “But you could ask her, if you’re worried.”

That's a lot of Nope to process at the same time and Tim stammers. "I-- no--"

Hey Meredith you know I respect you and your decisions and anyway I just wanna know how you feel about me making a move on Jeff Calhoun because I happened to over hear he's a good lay and

"Why would I get hurt?"

Did Malcolm... hear him being dumb about Penny and her whips?

“You might get hurt if you wanted more than a good time and he didn’t, for example. Or the other way around. Sex is emotional gasoline and that gets dangerous if you’re already playing with fire,” Malcolm points out.

Shoot him.

"I--"

Help him.

"We--"

Well, Tim scrambles to reason, shooting him would be helping him. His ears are burning horribly. He's good at lying but this--

Sex.

"I-- I-- uhh." Jesus Christ. "I just thoughtI'dgetitoverwith." He clears his throat and, "It's fine."

Malcolm looks at him like he’s hieroglyphics that’s he’s trying to decipher.

“Get it over with? You’re dressing up,” he points out. “And when he brought that movie over, it seemed like he was… interested in you as a person.”

Way to make him feel bad. As a person. But this is where it hits him, where it really starts to sink in: sex. He's going to have sex.

It's no big deal, but it is, and Malcolm's scrutiny doesn't help fraying resolve and shoddy nerves.

Tim brings a hand up to run through his hair but he's gelled his hair he can't just ruin it and "Yeah?" he aborts the gesture to scratch at his elbow.

He's in uncharted waters.

"I... like him."

Not a lie.

"We made plans to hang out and..." he gestures, vaguely, at... nothing in particular he doesn't know what he's supposed to be doing. "We might-- I think--"

Imagine being a whole eighteen years old and pussyfooting around the word 'sex'.

"You know."

Kill him, Malcolm, do it. Put him down. Do them both the favor.

Oh, he’ll do worse than kill you, Tim. Martin isn’t the only Whitly with no mercy; he’ll make you talk about it. And not just sex. Feelings and stuff.

“You’re allowed to,” Malcolm points out, giving him a nudge with his elbow. “If that’s something you want. You’re a grown man.” He studies Tim’s stress reaction a moment. “You’ve never done it before, have you?”

There’s no judgement in the question. Just a statement of plain and simple fact. And he’s certain of it.

He's screaming on the inside. It's sirens overwhelming every possible coherent thought in his head. Tim squeaks-- honest to god, he opens his mouth to protest and all that comes out is a rush of hot air. Wide blue eyes track Malcolm after the bump.

He misses his brother.

But thank fuck that Richard John Grayson isn't here to witness this. His gaze lingers on a very interesting nightstand that Malcolm's got. Tim wonders if he'll ever not impersonate a tomato.

He's never... and not for lack of--

He wonders how transparent he really is, and how much he... would be better off, getting off his chest. Tim settles on shaking his head. "I've had girlfriends, and with my fiancee, we'd-- but no, I... haven't."

Wait.

"Ex-fiancee."

Fixed--

"It wasn't serious."

Judgement incoming in 3, 2...

At most, Malcolm looks faintly amused.

“It wasn’t serious? Just… a marriage of convenience?” he wonders.

"It was a widely reported misquote," Tim quickly explains away. Except no, it wasn't a misquote at all.

Damn it, Tam.

Hey, remember that time Lucius Fox wanted to flay him alive.

"Well. No. She did say we were engaged. And the media ran with it. But we-- weren't. We were... in Europe. And when we came back everyone had been wondering where we had been so it was the... the thing that... came to mind. For her."

Live fast. Die young.

“You were never actually a couple,” Malcolm gathers. “And… this is how you want your first time to go? Getting it over with?” Malcolm watches his face carefully. “You like him more than that.” Not an accusation; just another fact.

Tim makes a face, because despite the utter disaster that had been his ending the relationship with Tam, he had cared for her. Plenty. Were they ever a couple? He's not sure. He had held her in his apartment. They had shared-- space, in Iraq, in Russia. Tim doesn't want to explain it all.

He doesn't understand why he's feeling a touch lightheaded.

He shifts his weight, scopes out the door. He could make a break for it. (All dramatically.) "It's something that's bound to happen," Tim states. There's a finality there he doesn't want to entertain. He shrugs a shoulder to shake out the lack of feeling-- so much for romance. "And Jeff is a... friend." And Tim knows he can win and control that struggle for--

"So why not, right?"

"There's a lot of pressure on men to... be sexually active. Sexually dominant. Sexually... proficient," Malcolm acknowledges. "You don't want this because other people think you should, right?"

It's not that he doesn't love that s-word being thrown around as much as the next reasonably repressed guy but the mention of other people has Tim snap his attention back to the Not-A-Cop, like he's shocked he's voiced his thoughts somewhere along the line. But... no, Tim had stayed mum; working his jaw as a means to stall reveals the tension there.

Watch him throw a bone-

"Nah, it's-- no. It's not that."

-and promptly undo everything with an airy sort of self-conscious, disarming chuckle and no sense of urgency because why would it be urgent he's just-

"But I do know I can kick his ass. It's as good as it'll get."

Malcolm looks at him oddly.

“I thought you wanted to have sex with him.”

Why is th

Tim. falters. His voice is the first to go, and he swallows thickly in an attempt to make it all... make sense. "I-- that's the... plan. But I'm... comfortable. With him."

Words are. hard. The shame rolls through him, and Tim can't look anywhere but at the floor. "I know how to fight back and I don't think I'll have to. And that's. That'll be good. For me."

“You think you feel comfortable with him, but you’re still preparing for him to do something without your consent,” Malcolm notes, talking it through. “Because someone has before. That’s where the aversion comes from.” He pauses, considering Tim a moment, then corrects himself. “It’s not an aversion. It’s shame.” He cants his head slightly, his expression softening. “How old were you?”

He despises his stammering. "I just said he's not going to do... anything."

The 'unwanted' goes unsaid. Tim eyes that door again; it's a chore to breathe. Please don't let Meredith be listening in. It's the weeks of poor rest, Tim reasons, that's why he can't think straight and why he can't say the right thing-- which would be, nothing at all. "Uhh."

God, he doesn't want to think about this.

He waves a hand as if dismissing... the... "It's this... man." But every true word he says is a disgusting weight off his shoulders and he's selfish to want it all out and "He's been obsessed with me for... a while, now. And. I had to-- I needed his help. He was there. He always offered to... be there."

It's not like he'd been a horndog of a kid before, either. But he can't even begin to deny the-- overcompensation for--

"I think he thinks I owe him, for that."

And Malcolm's just there and Tim doesn't know whether to keep blabbing or make a break for it and let the awkwardness simmer, or whether he should take a pause if only to suck in air to his lungs. He feels a little dizzy. And pretty fucking selfish. And worse, he's dead certain his face is still splotched pinkish red. "It's fine. Nothing ever actually happened."

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cw from here onward: mentions of past SA

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cw mentions of grooming