[ it ought to be startling, the reveal of a stranger's face under something he'd accepted as a robin costume. the hair is different, the eyes are different, the height-- but it doesn't matter, and he cups a flushed cheek with something like tenderness, pleased that the cowl is out of the way. skin is what he wants. he brushes calloused fingers up over tim's cheekbone and then up into his hair, fisting there so he can hold him still and kiss him again deeply as a reward.

except tim is still trying to talk, and all of those are excellent reasons that jason doesn't give the slightest shit about right now, not when he can feel him starting to yield. he nips at his mouth gently, reproving. talking is not kissing.

You're safe with me, [he assures, mouthing along the contours of his jaw.] You're mine, they'll all know you're mine.

[ and he yanks tim's head back to bare his throat, sucking a mark there. the idea of taking tim somewhere more protected so he can take his time is also appealing, now that it's been mentioned... somewhere comfortable, where they can do this again and again without fear of interruption, where he can leave tim marked and sated and properly covered in his scent. ]