Lex Parsimoniae (3/6)

[myths_by_kynx]

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Tim hugs him back at first, tentatively, fingertips skim lightly down his back and he gives a shaky laugh. Tickles, and Jared arches away from the feeling, doesn't matter that away, means closer to Tim. Maybe it's better this way and he clings tighter.

Fuck. Tim. Alive. Standing in his hall, in his arms and Jared can't remember ever feeling so relieved. He was so sure something bad had happened, freaking out after finding Tim's clothes and phone, unable to get hold of Tim and...Tim being alive and here doesn't make it any less confusing or fucking weird. Makes it even more so, if at all possible because...because...

Anger flares suddenly and he shoves away from Tim, it's easy enough to break the loose grip, and push Tim viciously, "Fuck you, I thought you were fucking dead, asshole."

Now Jared's able to take in more than Tim's alive, he starts noticing the smaller things. He's not naked, for a start. Jared can't be positive but he's pretty sure Tim's wearing the clothes that were piled at the side of the house last night. Maybe.

Tim stares at him open-mouthed, arms dropping to his sides, "The fuck? I spoke to you like, four hours ago, how the fuck d'you figure I might be dead from...well, that?"

How the fuck...

Jared can't quite wrap his head around that, how Tim can't know, or think Jared doesn't. He narrows his eyes and takes another step back, trying to read the expression on Tim's face. Tim's shit at lying at the best of times, and he hasn't looked Jared in the eye so far, his voice isn't quite right either. Jared can't put his finger on it, but it's not normal.

Tim hasn't mentioned his phone and...how can he not know. Unless it's not Tim's phone, but that's bullshit, has to be, can't possibly not be. Unless he's even crazier than he thinks, hallucinating in 3D with surround sound which means Tim might not be here at all. Holy fuck, that's so not a thought-trail he wants to follow.

It's easier, and better, if he believes Tim is really here, the proof is right in front of him and kind of hard to deny. Tim not mentioning the phone only adds to his list of what the fuck from the previous night and makes him suspicious. Even with a fucking concussion, Jared can out think Tim, so if Tim wants to play it that way, then fine.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asks, shorter and blunter than he means to.

Tim stands his ground, or at least, doesn't move from where he is; fists clenched at his sides making the muscles in his arms stand out, "Came back to check you hadn't been murdered in your sleep, 'scuse the fuck outta me for giving a damn about your ass."

Oh fuck him, no way is he guilt tripping Jared. "I'm fine," he snarls back.

"Yeah?" Tim lifts his eyebrows, actually looks at Jared rather than everywhere but, although he's still not meeting his eyes, barely a glance above the shoulders, "You look like shit."

It hurts, somewhere inside that doesn't have a name, too well-hidden to ever need naming, either. Might be the unsympathetic way Tim states the obvious, and part of Jared wants Tim to care that he looks like shit, or see past the blatant lie of how fine he's not. Or maybe he doesn't want Tim seeing him when he looks like shit, although it's a bit fucking late for that.

"Don't look much better yourself." It's a weak come-back at best but not necessarily untrue. Tim does look like shit, probably not half as bad as Jared, but lack of sleep is obvious. He's feeling better, though, sharper, clearer and steadier.

"Yeah, well, I haven't slept yet 'cause someone called me in the middle of the fucking night, not to mention this is the third time I've been here in six hours."

Jared didn't expect Tim to admit he came back, and he rocks back on his heels in surprise. He covers it quickly, although how quickly is debatable, and folds his arms across his chest. He expects Tim to lie his ass off, backtrack maybe. "Third time?"

Tim goes from dead-pan, could almost be teasing, to pissed, quicker than snow off a tin roof. "Yeah, asshole. Swung by again pretty much as soon as I'd left. Kept thinking that maybe I'd missed something and spent a good half hour traipsing through the overgrown rainforest you call a yard."

Ok. That's a surprise admission and there's a sharp stab of pain in his temple as he frowns, something doesn't fit, doesn't make sense, and if he can get rid of the goddamn pain long enough, he might have half a chance of figuring it out. He rubs his hand over his eyes, before he pads back into the kitchen without waiting to see if Tim follows him.

"I need some fucking painkillers. Don't...go anywhere." Tim doesn't follow him into the kitchen, so maybe he's actually listening.

Jared opens the cabinet where they keep medicine and first aid things, ninety percent of it is likely out of date but he figures the painkillers should be ok and swallows two dry. Bad fucking idea, he realizes, as they lodge in his throat; he grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator, downs half of it just to unstick the pills. Swirls the next mouthful from side to side and spits it into the sink. He pulls out a bottled smoothie next and sips it slower than the water, needing something to take away the lingering bad taste in his mouth.

Tim hasn't come after him, that much is obvious from the complete lack of Tim in the kitchen, but it gives him a little space to think. He adds up the times in his head, how long it would have taken Tim to come back, how long he spent searching for the bat and...it's bullshit. It can't have happened like that. Jared was in the yard the exact same time Tim says he was, fucking yelling for him, swinging around a day-bright flashlight. Even pissed off, Tim wouldn't have ignored him yelling and stumbling around in the dark. And what? Jared is supposed to believe Tim did all that naked, his clothes were way too fucking hot or just fell off?

Jared's sure at least half of his thought process plays out on his face and he's glad Tim's not here to see it. He pads back into the front room slowly, a little surprised that Tim really did listen, is still here. He's moved a little further into the room, couple of paces maybe but...loitering for lack of a better word, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumping and he looks damn uncomfortable.

He doesn't get any less uncomfortable as Jared steps closer. He shifts from foot to foot, looking caught out, almost, but not quite. Maybe, big fucking maybe, he's trying to hide something. "Pretty sure I dropped my phone somewhere, and you are so paying for a new one if it's gone for good."

Jared runs through as many scenarios in his head as he can think of and comes up with nothing that makes any kind of sense, or matches any of the details Tim is giving him. What Tim is saying doesn't make sense, not if Jared can believe his own eyes, and he's clinging to the delusion that he can right now. "You're lying."

Maybe he doesn't sound as serious as he feels, maybe Tim is trying to lighten the tone, whatever. He smiles anyway, tilts his head, "No...I'm pretty sure my phone's not on me or at mine or in the truck so―"

"I found your phone last night." Feels like he has a lump in his chest as he admits it and he has no idea what his voice sounds like, only that the words reverberate in his already noisy skull in the silence that follows.

"Then I'll let you off buying me a new one." Tim grins at him and Jared wants to punch him for being so flippant. If the painkillers kick in in the next ten seconds, he'll do it, too. They're starting to take the edge off his headache, or he thinks they are, but it's nowhere near enough.

"Aren't you gonna ask where I found it?" His voice shakes, although whether it's through unease or fear of the unknown, even Jared's not sure.

Tim opens his mouth and closes it again, expression turns serious, before he speaks, "Does it matter?"

"In your jeans. Which were on top of your sneakers and t-shirt." Jared watches Tim carefully, looking for any hint of...well, anything that'll give him away. There's nothing, almost like he's made of stone, and how the fuck is that any kind of helpful?

Tim stares at a spot on the wall above Jared's head.

Jared tries again, but he's tired, hurting in more ways than one and fast running out of patience, "Well?"

"I don't know what to tell you." Same bland, irritating as all out fuck tone.

"The truth'd be real good." Although that last statement is likely the most truth Tim has spoken so far.

Tim sighs, "I'm...I'm worried about you, Jared. I―"

"Fuck that." Jared's temper frays a little more and he's more worked up than he realized, "Why the fuck were your clothes in my yard last night? And where the fuck were you when I was calling out, fucking petrified that something happened to you?"

Any semblance of trying to keep his anger and frustration in check is well and truly lost. There's not much Jared hates worse than being lied to, but he's discovered something he hates worse; being lied to by Tim.

Tim looks uncomfortable, face kind of screws up, fucking stupid looking is what it is and Jared's in no mood to be lenient. "Dude, I know I told you to have a vodka to calm down but did you finish the whole bottle or―"

"Oh, fuck you, I am not drunk." Fucker is trying to derail him. He didn't even get as far as the fucking vodka, that much he's sure of...and Tim's clothes were in his yard, he saw them...touched them, lifted Tim's phone out of the pocket. He still has the phone so, yeah, proof right here. He feels sick again and this time the headspin isn't from being knocked out, Tim's messing with his fucking head. Tim hasn't answered the damn question either. Jared does it enough himself, interviewers, paps, fans sometimes, so it's not exactly difficult to spot.

Tim's expression softens as he steps closer, "What happened last night?"

He's close enough Jared can poke him in the chest and he doesn't even bother trying to suppress the urge to do so, "You fucking tell me."

"I told you what happened." Tim bats Jared's hand to the side, his tone changes, words shorter and harsher.

How fucking dare Tim get short with him, "I fucking went outside again after you'd gone. Freaked out and tried to call you, heard your damn phone ringing. Went looking and found your fucking phone and clothes...left outside and you weren't answering when I called out, got past the tree line and then..."

"And then?"

Tim waits for Jared to continue with a frown and it's going to start getting difficult now because he doesn't know what the fuck 'and then'. "I―something hit me...and I―"

"Shit, are you ok? What happened?" The words are short, sharp almost, and there's...concern, yeah, there's definitely concern there.

"Don't know," Jared says through almost clenched teeth.

"Don't know if you're ok or don't know what hit you?"

Jared rubs at his eyes with the heel of one hand, fingers of the other following the shape of the lump behind his ear and...well, yeah, "Neither, actually."

"So like, a tree branch, or a wall, or...what?" Tim steps closer again, he lifts his hand slightly but he's not quite touching Jared, "Concussion can fuck you up in weird ways, weird even for you."

Hell no, he's not twisting shit that way, "If you're gonna be like that then get the fuck out."

Tim put his hands in his pockets and backs away, nods before he looks over his shoulder at the door, hesitant, like he's unsure what he wants to do. Or should do. Or...fuck, he doesn't have the energy to figure out Tim's actions and reactions right now.

"So, which is it?"

"What do you want me to do?" Answering a question with a question and goddamn Tim for being such a quick learner.

"Tell me the fucking truth, I am not crazy or hallucinating." At least, he's mostly sure of that, covers up his lack of conviction with anger, and maybe, maybe, maybe he's not. If he tells himself enough, maybe it'll be true. He's close to screaming at Tim, voice breaking slightly even in frustration, so he probably isn't doing a great job of being convincing and he makes a conscious effort to dampen the hysteria. Suppress it, hide it away for a little while longer.

Tim swallows, "Give me my phone and I'll go."

"No, you're gonna stay and explain some shit." Jared slips his hand into his back pocket, fingers curling around the phone and making sure it's still there.

"Just give me my phone, Jared."

Jared tightens his grip, whole body tensing but not moving away yet, as long as he keeps hold of it he has something to bargain with and he starts closing Tim down, temper taking over. "What aren't you telling me? You haven't answered a fucking question since you got here."

Tim's eyes open wide, almost caught-out scared looking, but it's gone just as quickly, making Jared wonder if he's mistaken. He's sure though. Mostly sure. Doesn't have time to think on it as Tim strides closer and holds out his hand, "C'mon...where is it?"

He pulls the phone out of his pocket and takes a step back, holding it up but away from Tim, "No, nothing 'til you give me some answers."

Tim makes a sound in the back of his throat, "Jared..." Sounds like a warning, well, Tim can fuck off if he thinks Jared's paying any attention to fucking warnings.

Jared glares but backs off a couple of paces, further into the front room, giving himself more space, not a good idea to be so close when Tim has the longer reach. Maybe if he glares hard enough he can get the answers straight out of Tim's brain; uh-huh, and maybe they can sit and talk about this like adults, yeah fucking right.

Tim mirrors the way Jared moves. Jared steps back and Tim steps forward, in sync with every movement. He can tell Tim is really pissed off, unusual for sure and fucking typical that Tim picks today to find his temper. He doesn't give two shits though, Tim can be a pissed off liar then. Tim reaches for his arm again, but he twists out of the way and side-steps, they've not connected yet but it's not going to be long at this rate. Jared knows he's faster, even feeling like shit, he just has to stay one step ahead and wary. "Just fucking talk to me."

"Give me my fucking phone."

"Why? So you can tell me I imagined that too? Fuck you, no."

"Jared, don't be an ass."

"I'll stop being an ass when you stop lying and start answering me."

Tim lunges, quicker than he's moved so far and Jared's not quite fast enough. Tim's fingertips hook in the front pocket of the hoodie and break Jared's momentum. Thank fuck it's at least four sizes too big and easy enough to bend and twist out of before Tim gets a decent grip. He bounces back a step or two as soon as he's free, adrenaline making his heart race and his breath come quick and shallow as he leaves Tim cussing, holding the hoodie sans Jared.

One shuffling step, two, and Tim is watching him like a cat with a mouse. Jared feels like the proverbial mouse too, played and toyed with, stalked by something bigger and scarier. What's surprising is that Tim can make him feel like this. He has to put space between them, something else maybe too, and the sofa is the obvious and nearest choice. Tim moves as soon as Jared does, rumbled growl of sound as the tentative mirroring dance they're doing changes into something else. Jared might be faster, but Tim is right behind him and keeping up. It's a dead sprint and Jared scrambles straight over the sofa, one foot on the seat to gain the height he needs and a hand on the back of it for balance as he leaps over it, hoping like fuck that Tim still feels like too much of a guest to follow since it's not his sofa.

He has a split second of thinking time as Tim hesitates, and fuck, Tim has him pretty much cornered, or Jared has pretty much cornered himself, in fairness. He backs away from Tim. Tim doesn't follow, doesn't need to; Jared's still cornered and he's running out of options. Going back to the kitchen is pretty much the only choice he has unless he wants to try getting past Tim and upstairs which...is unlikely to happen. The kitchen also has the middle island, be easier to put that between them and more difficult to jump across. Another step and this time Tim moves closer to the sofa, sunlight from the window reflecting almost yellow in his irises as he glances down, tense, looks about ready to follow Jared over it.

Jared seizes the chance as soon as he sees it, legs and feet moving before he's thought about it. He darts down the side of the room and he almost skids on the polished floor in his haste to change direction. He puts his hand on the wall by the bookcase to push off of it without losing any speed, and fuck―

Something―Tim―slams into him from behind, knocks the breath from his lungs as he's crushed against the wall, arms trapped in front of him. He has enough presence of mind to change his grip on Tim's phone, tighten it and twist his wrist around so the bone isn't being ground against the wall. Tim has him pinned, squashed tightly so he can't move, and Tim tries to force his hand in front of Jared. He pushes back the shock that Tim's taking this so far and holds onto the phone for dear life. No way, nu-uh. Tim knows something about what the fuck is going on, wouldn't be half as...pissed, or desperate, or whatever, if he didn't, which makes Jared all the more sure that he wants to know.

Jared squirms as Tim gets one hand between his belly and wall, and he presses closer. It's almost amusing, the position they're in. Jared's spent so long wanting to feel Tim's body against him, but his fantasies tend to involve more nakedness and less fighting, so no, this isn't quite the way Jared wants Tim, breath on his neck and radiating heat, fucked up. Being in this position with Tim and trying to get out, no, it's never crossed his mind as any kind of possible. He misses the closeness, misses the way Tim touches him and this is a not-so-subtle and completely fucked up reminder of how much. Apparently all he had to do to get even a little taster is steal Tim's phone, who the fuck knew?

Tim uses his hips to keep Jared against the wall and grabs for the phone with his other hand, a thick guttural sound falling from his lips as Jared twists again, using every bit of the tiny space he has to his advantage. Tim is heavier than he looks, or when he wants to be maybe, and he's not giving Jared an inch without a fight.

"Finders keepers," Jared gasps, which only earns him another...sound. He can't tell if it's meant to be a grunt, or a response or what.

It pisses him off that he still wants Tim on some level. He wasn't thinking about it before, but it's impossible not to now. Makes him angrier still because he shouldn't be thinking in that direction, not when they're in the middle of a fucking argument. He wants to hate Tim, it'd make everything so much easier, because he can't help thinking about Tim holding him against the wall in varying stages of undress, and it's helping him fight Tim off not at fucking all.

Tim's weight shifts, and it's a startling realization there's more than Tim's hips pressing against his ass. Well, fuck...at least he's not the only one. He should probably worry that Tim is rock hard, maybe Tim gets off on arguing, or fighting, rather than being close to him, but Jared doesn't have any space left to worry about any-fucking-thing. Too much going on, too many questions and not enough answers as it is, and this, at least, is a chink in Tim's defenses and by fuck, Jared's going to exploit it.

Jared leans back, his ass rubs against Tim's crotch and it's entirely intentional rather than a consequence of keeping hold of the phone. Hasn't got a plan, with any luck Tim's as unprepared as he is, so he might have some breathing space before Tim makes a move. Instant tension and a low strained groan isn't exactly making a move. Tim's fingers dig into the skin under Jared's ribs and yeah, he knows exactly what's on Jared's mind.

"Don't..."

Don't what...? Don't turn him on? Fuck that, Tim's doing that all on his own, the fuck does he expect, pinning Jared to the wall like he is.

Jared has enough space to force one arm free and twist it behind and between them. Presses his palm flat over Tim's cock and curls his fingers. He follows the denim seam running between Tim's legs. The heat through Tim's jeans makes him press harder, there's nothing and no way he can get enough of this and he's got no idea why he's held off on pushing this point before because he wants, so fucking badly that it obliterates every other thought in his head. Tim's hard as hell and it's more than the contact, he wants Jared, he has to.

Jared's fingers clench tight around Tim's phone and his knuckles dig into his chest. He's not letting go, nu-uh, not now. Tim might be trying to trick Jared into giving up the phone, but he doesn't think so. Tim's utterly single-minded when he's getting off―hell, Jared's sucked Tim off in the same room Shannon and Tomo were sleeping in before; once they start, Tim doesn't care where they are―so as a method of distraction, handjobs have a proven success rate. Touching Tim, turning him on...is a secondary effect of the distraction, but no less desirable.

"Jared...please." Tim's voice is low, sounds almost sleep rough though Jared knows it's not, but the please is close to a whine and Tim shudders as he breathes out. He's not moving away, not moving at all, so whether Tim means please, more or please, no, Jared doesn't much fucking care unless Tim does something about it. Jared's certain Tim wants him, or wants to get off, so who gives a fuck if he twists the situation so they both get what they want?

Vivid memories of the last time they were together interrupt his thoughts in snatches and flashes―it's been masturbation material for weeks―Tim's hands, feather light on the inside of his thighs. Tim's mouth, hot and slick, wicked tongue driving him out of his mind and fucking leaving him there, because there was no time for anything else. They've got time enough now, just so long as he's got Tim's interest, and yeah, he's fucking sure he has.

Tim groans, slams his hand against the wall above Jared's shoulder and licks, tongue wide and flat, towards Jared's ear. Jared stretches his neck as warm breath huffs against damp skin, tickles and makes him shiver. Tim's other hand smooths down Jared's arm, side, and settles on his waist, fingers squeezing tight but Jared doesn't care as long as he can feel. Licking turns into kisses following the same path, turns into teeth scraping the shell of his ear. Fingers, teeth, lips, each change in tact makes Jared shudder.

The phone digs into the middle of his chest when he shifts his weight and it's annoying now, he wants to let it go so he doesn't have to think about it. Tim moves closer, and Jared tries to remember it's not about getting off, not completely. He grinds his teeth against how much he wants as the tip of Tim's tongue slides over his pulse almost delicately, breath hot and audible. Goddamn, Tim's making it difficult to think in straight lines about anything, and it's nearly embarrassing how much Tim turns him on.

Jared's arm aches with the way he's twisting it, but he's not stopping, nu-uh, not when Tim's letting him touch, hard and smooth through his jeans and he wants more, wants to see his fingers around Tim's cock. He squeezes and Tim's hips snap, pushing Jared closer to the wall. Fuck, he's ridiculously hard already just from touching and he blames Tim for not putting out in so damn long. Realistically, fuck, Jared just wants him this much, and Tim's mouth on his neck is reminding him exactly how much, and how long he's been waiting.

Tim catches the lobe of Jared's ear between his lips and the groan―growl―starts deep in Tim's chest. Jared feels it in his spine before he hears it. Tim's almost shaking, fingers clenched on Jared's waist and breath stuttering on his neck. Everything, this, what they're doing, feels so much more intense than it should. But then, he's got no idea how it should feel. It's like Tim's tripped a wire, every cell and nerve ending fizzles and short-circuits with how much he wants this. He has an inkling how gone he is on Tim because it's so much more than physical and it's scary to think how far it goes, how far he's let it go. When the fuck did this even happen?

Tim pulls back, both hands on Jared's waist holding him in place still and he whines in frustration, wanting Tim's mouth on his neck again, even though it's not enough. Tim doesn't need to hold him still, Jared doesn't want to be anywhere else. It's different from how they usually are―getting off as quickly as possible―softer, harder, hotter, can't stop now.

Jared wants Tim, wants him covering and holding him against the wall, and now Tim's a lying cockteasing asshole. Jared gets a second to finish that thought before Tim spins him around and slams his shoulders to the wall. Jared's eyes are wide and he freezes, knowing what Tim's going to do, but not believing it until it happens; Tim's kissing him, almost brutally hard, one hand on his side, under his t-shirt and touching skin. Tim's other hand is on his neck, thumb pressing against Jared's throat.

His head's spinning, but he has no inclination to organize his thoughts and join them together, because Tim's kissing him and everything else can go to fuck, he doesn't need to think, not when Tim's owning his senses. Opens his mouth and their lips moving together is all the encouragement Tim seems to need before he's licking the inside of Jared's mouth and teasing Jared's tongue to lick back. Tastes like toothpaste underneath cigarettes, familiar even though it's their first kiss. He's imagined how Tim tastes and this, exactly this. The thoughts don't last long, overshadowed by the fact that Tim's kissing him, period. Desperate and heated, bruising force on his lips that he can't help but answer like for like. Fucking hell, Tim picks this moment to change the rules and boundaries of their not-so-much-of-a-relationship.

Jared moans―whimpers―into Tim's mouth, kisses back so hard it hurts, but it's the good kind of pain and all he wants to do is sink further into it, kiss harder and feel it deeper. Tim's holding him up more than he was earlier, body full length against him and his back's to the wall. It's a struggle to remember why he's clinging to Tim's phone just as tightly as he's clinging to Tim. He won't be fooled, not forgetting he's distracting Tim.

Tim hasn't mentioned his phone since Jared ground his ass against Tim's groin, so maybe his plan worked already? He's past caring, Tim flexes his hips and the rough drag simmers low in his stomach, making him groan into Tim's mouth. Tim separates Jared's legs with his thigh and there's not enough space to get his hand on Tim's cock, so he settles for squeezing Tim's ass and pulling him closer, can't get enough of that, either. It's far away yet, they're hardly touching through two layers of denim, but the edge is close enough for him to chase.

Needs more, needs out of his jeans, skin on skin, because the light friction of Tim's steadily moving hips isn't enough. Despite all the times they've used their hands or their mouths to get each other off, they've never kissed. Fuck yes, they should have been kissing all along and he can't quite believe all the opportunities he's missed. Kissing seemed so definite though, still does, like a decision's been made but he's not even sure what the choices were.

Tim's teeth nip his bottom lip between one kiss and the next, never quite stopping and it's addictive as sin. Tim kisses the same way he does everything, completely focused, nothing matters except this, loses himself in it and Jared doesn't doubt Tim can and would―given the chance―kiss him until they're both aching with the need to come. He wants that, wants to do that one day but not now, now he wants more before his legs give out or the painkillers wear off and reality kicks in.

Kissing is still new, every moan, every lick making his stomach flip; breaking and re-meeting of their lips sending butterflies and moths thrumming their lazy wings inside him, excitement and nerves, lost in the now and anticipation of what's coming. He pushes Tim back so he can get at his own jeans, way too tight already, and fuck, yeah, better as soon as they're open. He pushes them down and kicks them off, Tim's hand slides down his side, hip, thigh, following his jeans. Calloused pads of Tim's fingers skimming lightly and tingling under his skin. He grabs the side of Tim's t-shirt and pulls it up, lying addictive bastard can sort out his own jeans if they're bothering him, Jared just wants to touch skin.

Tim does the growl from his chest again but it doesn't mean so much when Jared's tongue is in his mouth and he's trying to make the same noises back. Tim shoves Jared's wrists away and holds them against the wall, body pressing against him to hold him in place. Tim starts kissing open-mouthed down Jared's neck and keeps moving lower, kissing his chest through his t-shirt. Jared lets his head tilt back to rest against the wall, exhaling heavily and blinking in lust-drunk surprise at the ceiling. Tim lets go of his wrists to smooth his hands up under the material of Jared's shirt, bunching it up as fingers brush over his nipples, sending shudders through him, and Tim sinks to his knees. Tim lifts his head to look at Jared and lets his bottom lip drag against his stomach, in that second it's the hottest thing Jared's seen in his life. Holy...yeah, he's saving this memory.

He shivers, wonders if Tim can feel the way his stomach keeps flipping. Stares into Tim's half-lidded eyes and stifles a groan when Tim licks sideways and scrapes his teeth over Jared's hip bone. Jared clutches the back of Tim's head, fingers tangling in his hair in case he gets any ideas about moving. He doesn't. Runs his hands up Jared's chest, touch light but sure, pushing his t-shirt up further. His whine sounds like frustration, it's followed by a low growl, the only warning before Tim's hands are gone. He catches the bottom of Jared's t-shirt as it falls, twists the material in his fists and uses both hands to rip it right up the middle with barely any effort at all. It's kind of threadbare and hanging off of him to begin with, but...

"Fuck," comes out shakier than Jared intends as he stares down at Tim. Feels like Tim's mouth and hands are touching everywhere, lips, teeth, nips and kisses, rougher, harder, fingers press and pull. His t-shirt's reduced to cleaning rags and he lets it drop down his arms. Tim helps, groans when Jared's naked and just looks at him for a few seconds, licking his lips. The sounds Tim makes turn Jared on more, because Tim wanting him is fantasy stuff already, it's a rush, exhilarating and warming, he fucking loves knowing Tim thinks he's hot and there's nothing else that look can mean.

He's mostly stunned that it's happening at all, weeks of nothing to now and not once did he expect this. Doesn't mean he's not good with it and loving every second, even the shirt ripping. Hell, he's had shirts ripped off for less and without the promise he feels in Tim's hands and mouth. He reaches for Tim's shirt again, far too many fucking clothes, but he doesn't get a decent grip before Tim's pulling away. Reality spins. Pressure on his hips a command rather than suggestion, and suddenly he's face-first against the wall before he even thinks about stopping it. He doesn't register the how and what, let alone the why and his forearms slam against the wall, bracing as an instinct without any thought.

He's pretty sure time's moving backwards, away from him and out of reach. Tim's mouth is on the small of his back, open mouthed and moving lower, stubble grazes the base of his spine. Tim rubs his cheek against Jared's ass and the prickly sensation goes straight to Jared's cock. His breath catches and he tries so hard to keep still, let Tim do whatever he wants, but waiting to find out what is a crucifying kind of thrill; thoughts turning over and turning him on even as his world narrows down to what Tim's doing to him.

His brain is working against him, has to be. Almost feels like Tim's going to...fuck, he is. Does. Keeps doing. Tim's fingers are going to leave bruises but it's peripheral to his tongue; kitten licks trailing hot and wet between the crease of his ass that make him shudder and moan. Surprise and pleasure colliding and crashing over each other until the only thing other than Tim that he's aware of is the wall holding him up.

Tim's never...hell, they've never done anything like this, never gone this far, always stuck to quick and perfunctory. Hands and grinding, getting off and nothing more. This is so far over the invisible line they set themselves that all Jared can think is why now? Doesn't know if the headspin is concussion, or anticipation of Tim fucking him with his tongue. He's thought about it in abstract and vague terms, but this is so removed from the direction his fantasies take. Reality is far better than anything he's imagined; bites down on his forearm and tries not to verbalize every little thing running through his head―filthy fantasies and dirty encouragement about how good this feels―or push back into Tim's face.

He's still clutching Tim's phone but he doesn't really know why he's bothering. Doesn't care if Tim wants it back, if he's lying, or omitting, as long as Tim carries on licking, circling and squeezing. There's a light pressure before he pulls back, breath cool on Jared's over-hot and spit-slick skin. Tim pushes closer, stubble scratches oddly because his face is between the fingers he's using to hold Jared open, so fucking good. Tim's tongue flicks over his hole once before pressing inside and Jared sees fucking stars behind his closed eyelids. He bows his head and he can feel his own breath rebounding from the wall, hot and damp. Reality is closing in on him, he's heating up from the middle out, everything narrowing down, centering, focusing on Tim's tongue. Feeling and wanting, incapable of anything else.

Tim gives another rumble-growl-goddamn-sound that reverberates through him. His legs are shaking so bad that even flexing his hips is impossible. Can't do anything but let Tim take control and goddamn it, Tim is taking control, making Jared whine with pleasure, every lick lifting him higher, lips and tongue never letting up and he's so close to coming apart at the seams.

"Fuck, Tim...fuck," he gasps, barely aware of saying it outside his head and helpless to form anything more coherent.

Tim slides one hand forward, past his hip and curls his fingers around Jared's cock. Not stroking but he's so hard that even the pressure is a relief, less than he wants but it works for now.

"Oh god...please." Jared doesn't know what he's asking for, not consciously, but it's way too soon when Tim pulls back. Final lick and then he smooths his palms down the outside of Jared's shaking thighs.

Jared whines at the loss of just everything, he feels empty and he's aching to be touched, fucked, doesn't know, doesn't care what Tim wants to do to him so long as he doesn't stop touching him. It's way too cold without Tim's hand on his cock and he shivers before he can stop himself. Tim's mouth presses against him, teeth grazing lightly, but it's over a bruise and Jared moans. He turns his head to the side and presses his cheek against the wall. Tim's hands stay on Jared's hips but let go as soon as he's standing. Tim shifts his weight and the sound of his zipper being yanked down is overly loud to Jared's ears, by all rights he shouldn't hear it at all over his rasping breath. He swallows, licks his lips, still breathless, and Tim's hands are either side of him on the wall.

Jeans halfway down Tim's thighs, they have to be because the denim scrapes the back of Jared's legs and he can feel Tim's bare cock, hard against his ass. He's tingling, or possibly electrified, all over, unthinkingly letting his body respond and react as Tim grinds against him, holds him close and presses closer, lips on his shoulder, neck, teeth catching his earlobe. Awareness, reality, creeps in when the head of Tim's cock nudges his entrance on the next rolling thrust of his hips. Jared catches and holds his breath and Tim's teeth sink into his shoulder, muffling a moan.

Jared lets the phone fall, hopes like fuck it lands on his discarded clothes, but not enough to stop and check, before he reaches to the bookcase. He and Shannon use it as a dumping ground for things that don't have a set place, nail-polishes, pens, sun-lotion, hand-lotion, and about a hundred other things besides; has to be something they can use...

He nearly knocks everything off the shelf, fumbles, but manages to catch a plastic bottle, there. Hand-lotion, thank fuck, he's never teasing Shannon about his baby soft hands again. Tim snatches it from him an instant later, moves closer at the same time, not an inch of space between them as he crushes Jared to the wall. Tim strokes his sides, lips and tongue harsh on his neck, up to his ear and back, making him forget fucking everything except how good Tim feels, how good Tim makes him feel. Can't feel the pain in his head but he's unsure if that's good or bad, doesn't matter because he's not about to stop and find out, fuck, no, no stopping.

Jared hears Tim flip the cap and he kind of hopes it's not the thirty-five dollars a pop stuff, but whatever. Tim leans away from him and it's instinctive to try and follow, even though he knows what Tim's doing. He gasps at the chill of the lotion, sloppy and dripping down the lowest point of his back. A grunt before Tim's smoothing and spreading it, fingers rubbing around and over his hole. Too late for second thoughts, but as his heart pounds in his ears, he can't help it.

Tim pushes one finger into him, and the decision's already made. He wants this, wants Tim. Fingertips curl against his prostate, heat and sparks driving him out of his mind with need for more. He's chasing Tim's hand with his hips when Tim pulls back. His fingers linger for just a second or two, stroking the skin between Jared's balls and his ass, makes Jared shudder and flex all over again. "More, c'mon...more." Doesn't care he's almost begging, only knows that he wants.

Tim leans closer, hand between them, and Jared doesn't get a chance to savor the pressure before Tim's pushing inside. Lotion eases the way, want and desire twist the burning-stinging-stretching into something better, sensation curls through him like cigarette smoke in a still room. He's too wound up, only dimly aware that hasty fingers and make-shift lube are nowhere near enough. Tim's taking it so damn slowly, pressed against him, hot breath that's more growled than not on his neck and sinking into him by increments meaning that it can't be anything but good. The lack of preparation isn't a problem, not really, Tim feels so hot inside him, Jared doesn't know if it's the burn of stretching, or if Tim's just warmer, and without any latex between them...

It's that half-thought that tosses him out of lust-drunk and back to reality. Gasps Tim's name in warning even as he pushes back, forcing Tim deeper because they've gone this far already, "You better be fucking clean."

"Can't―yeah." Tim's flush against him, hands on his waist and constantly moving-stroking. Lips drag across his shoulder to his neck, sucks hard on a patch of skin and grazes his teeth over it. Jared's stretches his neck, head back on Tim's shoulder because he wants this, wants to feel everything.

"Yeah. Clean." Tim kisses Jared's jaw, lips just as harsh and bruising as before, and fuck this, he twists his head and catches Tim's lips. Tim rocks his hips as they kiss and Jared whimpers, body writhing because still is not an option; he needs the movement to stave off the burning stretch that's lingering.

Tim said he's clean, and Jared doesn't care if he's telling the truth or not right now, about anything. It's been years since he's been monogamous enough to forgo condoms and the difference is noticeable, hotter in every sense of the word. To hell with the consequences, nothing else is important, it's too late to change anything and he wants this so much.

As much as kissing Tim is something he thinks he wants to do forever, his neck starts to hurt and he slows it down. Tim licks his mouth as they stop and there's something incredibly intimate about sharing the same air, having Tim this close to him that he feels every hitch of breath. It joins his new list of favorite things, memories he's desperate to hold onto and repeat.

Tim keeps touching, flexes and rolls his hips, teeth nip Jared's earlobe he licks, sucks and then bites again. His arms are around Jared's waist, holding him so damn tight, can't get closer. He hasn't been fucked for so long it's always going to hurt, even with Tim using his tongue first. It's not unwelcome pain―considering he knows what's gonna be on the other side―but the moment or two of slow rolling hips before Tim starts moving gives him a little time to adjust, get used to it and chase away the pain until it's something pleasurable.

When Tim finally starts moving, it's a slow easy grind, fingers tracing Jared's ribs, face pressed into the crook of Jared's neck, breathing each soft moan against his skin. Jared rocks his hips back, following Tim's movement, forearms on the wall to hold his weight, head leaning on his arms and it's too fucking slow. Tim's deliberately unhurried, barely pulls out as his hips flex against Jared's ass, hands and mouth playing his body like a six-string. Jared's near ready to scream at Tim to fuck him, blow his goddamn mind and make him come hard enough he forgets the shitty fucking situation and weeks―months―of waiting and wanting.

One of Tim's hands moves lower, tickles his belly with how light the touch is before skimming the length of his cock and in the instant it happens, Jared can't move, automatic reaction stalls, stuck between pushing back or thrusting forward. He moans, and there may be words, more, and please, and fuck me. It's too much, he's desperate and he needs Tim now, or he really will scream because every nerve ending is overloaded already.

Tim releases a shaky breath across Jared's neck and it's like something breaks and releases inside him. The next thrust forces Jared flat against the wall and he barely has time to wonder if he's broken Tim's wrist before Tim does it again and again. The pace switches to unrelenting, bone-jarringly hard and fast and Jared's arms shake with the strain of holding them off the wall. Barest stretch and even with the amount of lube it still aches, not-quite-pain twisting into pleasure with every thrust of Tim's hips and by the time he registers it, he's already reacting to the way it feels.

His breath hitches, jolts out of him in little hiccuping sounds he'll be embarrassed about later, unable to keep up with the way Tim pounds into him, barely able to breath past the depth of it, let alone the pace. Thrust after thrust reverberates up his spine, fuck, swears he can feel it in his fingers and toes. Every inch of him buzzes with pleasure, pulse beating through him in waves as Tim's cock slides over his prostate, unintentional maybe. Doesn't fucking matter how and when because it's happening. He already thought it couldn't get any better and now...now...he doesn't know what to think, if it gets better he'll probably pass out.

Hands, fingers, moving on his torso, steadier, harder pressure now, Tim yanks him back occasionally, fingers digging in, making both of them grunt; whether in exertion or with the force of it, he's not sure it makes a difference. The kisses and nips to his neck and ear turn sloppier, harder, more like open mouthed moans than not. Teeth clamp on tender skin as Tim growls, and Jared bares his neck a little more each time. He's going to be bruised to fuck later and he wants all of it, wants to feel it, press his fingers against a bruise and keep the memory fresh as long as possible.

Short fingernails drag up the inside of his thigh, slow, hard and deliberate. Jared gasps sharply, pushes back and clenches around Tim's cock. Touch turns softer, fingertips skimming over his balls before Tim's hand wraps around his cock―goddamn, fucking yes―eases the ache before he has to open his mouth and ask for it. Might be lotion or his own pre-come, but the first stroke is slick and easy, chases any lingering resistance until the next thrust is nothing but pleasure coursing through him. He's moaning, eyelids flutter shut and he about melts into Tim, following every light touch.

One hand stroking Jared's cock, Tim drags the other up his chest to his neck and Jared tilts his head back at the first touch, too fucked-out-pliable not to. Fingers squeeze, not choking but a steady pressure that holds him in place, keeps his head high and on Tim's shoulder. It feels more restricting than it actually is, he can still breath, but his pulse thuds heavily against Tim's hand. The illusion of restriction holds him in place easier than actual and he shakes through the sensations building and wracking his body.

Closes his eyes and gasps out a moan as Tim's thrusts keep time with his hand on Jared's cock. Tim hits his prostate on every other thrust and Jared tenses a little more with each one. Pleasure jolts through him, sharp and hot, heavy with the promise of more. Tim's breath―ragged and erratic, ending in soft grunts and drawn-out moans―is loud against his ear and Jared is sure he can get off on the sounds alone. Loves the way Tim's steadily losing control, feels good because he lost it ages ago, but they're in the same place and time now.

He doesn't think Tim can get any deeper but there, there, there, right fucking there. Bites his lip as coiled warmth radiates through him, so fucking slowly and overloading that it's almost too much to stand and he's afraid to breathe or do anything that might stop it. There's a second or seven where he's not sure which side's going to win; if he drops back down he thinks he'll cry, please, wants it so much. The burning throb in his groin peaks, sets off unforced clench and release like an echo in reverse, building in intensity. He lets out a broken, throaty moan as he comes over Tim's fingers.

Tim holds him through it, hand on his cock slowing and drawing out the last of it, come slicking the way a little more with each stroke. Fingers press harder on his neck, tilting his head back further as teeth scrape, nip his skin. Dim awareness tells him that Tim's talking between kissing and biting, but he doesn't have a clue what he's saying. It's not the first time Tim's talked through coming so he doubts he's missing much. Doubts too that he has the ability left to decipher or register actual words and he's damn sure if Tim wasn't holding him up he'd be on the ground already.

The near stillness tells him Tim came, more than the unfamiliar heated, slick feeling, as one or the other of their hips flexes slightly. Could be his, or not; aftershocks still jarring his senses and he's got even less control right now.

Mind. Fucking. Blown.

Tim's cheek presses against his shoulder and Jared tries to breathe through whatever the fuck just happened, hold himself together before he breaks too far apart to be fixed. Tim helps, solid, steadying, real, holding him tight and still inside of him. What even...how the fuck did they get here?

It came out of nowhere, not so much of a distraction as the complete antithesis of Tim trying to get his phone back. Even as much as he wants Tim like this, it's difficult to wrap his head around how they got from arguing to full on sex. Even without the arguing, it's a fucking huge leap from the occasional handjob or head between gigs.

Seems all too soon when Tim pulls out, slowly enough that Jared moans from the continued sensation. He stays where he is, leaning on the wall as Tim steps away and there's a rustle of fabric, followed by the sound of a zipper. Jared doesn't give a shit about his lack of clothes, isn't the first time Tim's seen him naked and he hopes like hell it's not gonna be the last. He leans against the wall when he turns around because, yeah...no fucking way his legs are good for anything and he could've done with being held onto for a bit―a lot―longer. Bites his lip because he doesn't want to ask for it, doesn't count if he has to ask. Tastes blood and he must've bitten right through earlier. He pokes it with his tongue but it's just a little cut.

Tim's not touching him, isn't looking at him and it feels wrong. There's a tension between them there shouldn't be, and Jared can't figure out why. Tim hasn't said a word and it doesn't look like he's going to. He's shaking so bad that he's afraid it's noticeable and twice as scared that his legs will collapse under him. Jared slides down the wall to sit on the floor, limbs heavy and relaxed and it's an effort to move at all, but he'll deal. He pulls his legs up, arms around his knees, consciously covering and holding himself because Tim still hasn't acknowledged him. The atmosphere is only intensifying, uncomfortable and wrong; Tim looks ready to bolt any second.

"Hey, you ok?" Jared doesn't feel guilty and he's not going to start now, sure he let it happen but he didn't force Tim's cock into his ass. Doesn't think he should be the one asking Tim if he's ok, either.

Tim's head snaps up and he looks at Jared then, eyes a little...wild, "Really, really, not." He laughs but it sounds as fucking wrong as the atmosphere feels. Tim turns his back before Jared can ask and heads for the door.

What the fuck? "Wait, you're leaving?" He can't just go not after...Jared hasn't done anything wrong, hasn't had a chance to fuck up.

"Hell fucking yes," Tim mutters, barely looking over his shoulder.

What the fuck did he do now? Jared looks down, reaches for his clothes and...shit, he still has Tim's phone, "Without your cell?"

Jared leans on the wall as he forces himself up, and his head spins from the sudden change in height. Ok, so, possible-concussion still not completely gone, fucking awesome, maybe the cops could show up now and arrest him for indecent exposure? Or the house could fall down or...

Tim just...stops, doesn't even look like he's breathing, before turning on his heel and storming back across the room. Slams his hand against the wall beside Jared's head, face so close and Jared's completely pinned by his gaze. "Fuck the phone. Keep it and give it to the fucking bassist you hire to replace me because I'm gone. Fuck you, fuck your job, fuck fucking everything."

Jared's got nowhere to go to get out of the way, no escape from Tim's eyes, hate and anger radiating off of him and just...what the fuck? Tim's never looked at him like that, like he hates him, wants to hurt him, and Jared cowers on the inside. He blinks, hopes that his concussion is so bad that he's hallucinating and this isn't happening, he doesn't know what to do, what to say or how to make it better.

"I'm done getting fucked up over you."

His head's still fucked up, has to be, because Tim's across the room in barely a blink of an eye. Out of the front door and slamming it loudly behind him before Jared can string the words together to ask a question.

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