At this point, words were meaningless between them. There was too much there, hovering in the air around them, that they knew instinctively couldn't be put into words.
Traditions and habits and struggles and strife, the sacrifices they had both made for Bruce's beliefs and a bright red costume... It was all there, silent and oppressive like a cloud of suffocating gas thick in the room above them, choking out the ability to speak.
Besides, Drake hadn't been much for talking at all these days, let alone about his actual feelings.
Not to mention that Jason had always been a firm believer in the whole 'actions speak louder' thing. They did. A crow bar to the face or a knife to the throat said much more than any swear word ever could.
So they never talked.
Jason had said all he meant to that night.
He hadn't needed words.
Jason had proven who he was and where his loyalty lay with his fists. Drake had accepted it by adapting seemlessly to Jason fighting style and taking up position at his back.
After they had won, beaten, bruised, bloody and victorious, they had fallen into bed and spoke to each other in another language entirely.
Mouths and lips and tongues spoke of the desperate isolation they both felt but would never admit. Questing hands and writhing limbs spoke of a loneliness that was so deep and fixed within themselves that the festering wounds of insecurity could never be healed. Straining tendons and tensed muscles spoke of the overwhelming need to not think of anything. Of the life they lived, the mortality they came face to face with each and every night or how easy it was to slip into being the exact thing that you hated most.
So there were no 'I'm sorrys' between them, no 'I'm glad you're back', no 'I understand and I'm right there with you'. There were just harsh breaths, gasping groans and bitten off shouts fading out into the darkness of the room around them.
That was ok with Jason. Actual conversation was overrated.
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timeasmymeasure
Comment Fic: Actions Speak Louder; Jason/Tim, Rish
Date: 2010-09-10 10:43 am (UTC)They never talked afterwards.
At this point, words were meaningless between them. There was too much there, hovering in the air around them, that they knew instinctively couldn't be put into words.
Traditions and habits and struggles and strife, the sacrifices they had both made for Bruce's beliefs and a bright red costume... It was all there, silent and oppressive like a cloud of suffocating gas thick in the room above them, choking out the ability to speak.
Besides, Drake hadn't been much for talking at all these days, let alone about his actual feelings.
Not to mention that Jason had always been a firm believer in the whole 'actions speak louder' thing. They did. A crow bar to the face or a knife to the throat said much more than any swear word ever could.
So they never talked.
Jason had said all he meant to that night.
He hadn't needed words.
Jason had proven who he was and where his loyalty lay with his fists. Drake had accepted it by adapting seemlessly to Jason fighting style and taking up position at his back.
After they had won, beaten, bruised, bloody and victorious, they had fallen into bed and spoke to each other in another language entirely.
Mouths and lips and tongues spoke of the desperate isolation they both felt but would never admit. Questing hands and writhing limbs spoke of a loneliness that was so deep and fixed within themselves that the festering wounds of insecurity could never be healed. Straining tendons and tensed muscles spoke of the overwhelming need to not think of anything. Of the life they lived, the mortality they came face to face with each and every night or how easy it was to slip into being the exact thing that you hated most.
So there were no 'I'm sorrys' between them, no 'I'm glad you're back', no 'I understand and I'm right there with you'. There were just harsh breaths, gasping groans and bitten off shouts fading out into the darkness of the room around them.
That was ok with Jason. Actual conversation was overrated.
Actions speak louder, after all.