#they’re so jontim in the worst way is the thing

[givemeureyes]

this is sooo jaylex i’m adgkljvljfyjkgdi

[bluejayblueskies]

for the kiss prompts series? 67+jontim (or really Tim+anyone?) 🥺

67 - When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More

i stuck with jontim! takes place pre-canon when jon and tim worked together in research, featuring mutual pining <3

cw for alcohol

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“Okay, that was hands down the worst holiday party I’ve ever been to,” Tim says as soon as they’re outside the Institute, tugging on the tie around his neck to loosen it. It’s adorned with little reindeer and it lights up. As Tim had so eagerly demonstrated the moment he’d met up with Sasha and Jon.

 Jon doesn’t like parties in general, so he doesn’t think he’s the best judge of what makes a party good or bad. He takes a guess. “Because of the alcohol?”

 “More like the lack thereof,” Tim grumbles as they start toward the tube station. “I know it’s a work party, but come on. Not even spiked eggnog? Not even wine? What kind of person has a party without wine?”

 “Elias, apparently.”

 Tim groans. “Don’t know what I was expecting, really. The man looks like he’s never had fun in his life, ever.” Tim slings an arm around Jon’s shoulder and pulls him into his side as he walks, and Jon tries to pretend like his heart rate doesn’t skyrocket at the contact. He’s just glad it’s dark enough out that Tim can’t see the flush of heat across his cheeks. “So, then. Back to mine?”

 Jon’s heart rate has, apparently, not yet reached maximum speed. “What?” he manages to say, his pulse hammering in his ears. He’s just glad that the word comes out mostly normal, if a bit choked.

 “The night’s still young,” Tim says, oblivious to Jon’s internal turmoil, “and I’m still in need of a drink or three, especially after all of that. I’ve got a batch of eggnog in the fridge. I’ve also got a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon—that fancy brand you like.”

 Tim knows what brand of wine you like, one part of Jon’s mind supplies. The other part says, Of course he knows what you like; you’ve been friends for a year and a half. It doesn’t mean anything.

 “Oh,” Jon says. “Yes, I’d love to- er, that- that sounds… nice?”

 He barely holds back a wince. Very smooth, Jonathan.

 “Great!” Tim says, unbothered. He pulls Jon a little tighter against his side, and when Jon shivers, it’s not just from the chill of the night air.

 In the time it takes them to get to Tim’s house, Jon has relaxed a bit, settling into a comfortable rhythm of laughing at Tim’s jokes, offering his own awkward attempts in return, and letting the warmth of Tim’s laughter soak into him like the summer sun. It’s fine, he tells himself as Tim puts a hand on his shoulder, lingering just long enough that Jon can still feel the weight of it when Tim pulls away. It’s the same as always, he tells himself as Tim grabs his hand on their way off the tube, gently guiding him through the late-night crowds and into the bite of the open air. (Tim doesn’t let go until they get to his house, which Jon tries very hard not to have a minor crisis about.) It’s just Tim, he tells himself as Tim places a hand on the small of his back as he reaches around him to grab the glasses from his kitchen cabinet. (Jon almost drops the bottle of wine he’s holding. Which would have been quite embarrassing.)

 It’s not even like this is new. This tightness in his chest, the way his breath catches a bit every time Tim smiles at him, the way he sometimes finds himself staring at Tim’s lips and wondering if they’re as soft as they look. And Jon’s not naïve. As much as he despises the word itself, he knows that at some point, he’d developed quite a potent crush. He just tries very, very hard to ignore it.

 Because, well. He hasn’t been in a relationship since Georgie, and while their breakup had been unspectacular by most standards, it still ate a hole in his chest filled with a nagging certainty that if they’d remained just friends, he wouldn’t have had to go through the pain of falling slowly out of contact with her. And he doesn’t want that to happen with Tim. So it doesn’t matter how badly Jon wants to hold Tim’s hand and curl up into his side and kiss him. He’ll ignore it like he’s been doing for the past three months, and it’ll be fine.

 But it’s getting harder and harder. Especially at moments like this one, with Tim pressed up against Jon’s side on the couch and his voice right next to Jon’s ear as he points out his favorite parts in the movie they’d put on. Jon’s unsure if the heat in his cheeks is from the proximity or from the three glasses of wine he’s consumed, and he’s fairly certain that Tim’s on his fourth glass of eggnog. Tim’s glass is shaped like a little reindeer head, which he thinks Tim had said is a reference to something. He’d been too busy looking at the way Tim’s rolled-up shirt sleeves showed his forearms to process what, exactly, it was a reference to.

 “You know,” Tim says, cutting through Jon’s train of thought, “I never really understood the whole ‘love at first sight’ thing.”

 Jon’s heart jumps into his throat. “Sorry, what?”

 “You know,” Tim says, shifting from his position against Jon’s side so he can set his glass on the table before propping his feet up next to it. His socks have felt reindeer antlers on the sides of them. Jon’s beginning to notice a theme. “One person lays eyes on the other and boom. They’re in love.” He gestures toward the screen, which is currently displaying a quite detailed kissing scene. Jon looks away, face burning. “Do people really do that? Just know that they love someone with- without knowing anything about them? Feels a bit shallow, if you ask me. You’ve got to just go based on- on physical appearance or something.”

 At a loss, Jon says, slowly, “Yes, I… I suppose?”

 “Right.��� Tim nods once, like he’s settled something. “Me, though, I need to know somebody first, you know? Always used to get me in a bit of trouble in uni, falling in love with my best friends and all that. But isn’t that how it’s supposed to be? Your partner is your partner, yeah, but they’re also your friend.”

 “Right,” Jon says faintly. His heartbeat is hummingbird-fast, and he thinks his hands might be shaking just a bit. “Tim, what—?”

 “It just- it doesn’t make any sense!” Tim turns to face Jon then, his cheeks flushed and his hair a bit messy from where he’d tugged some of it free from its bun. “It’s like- like, I love the way you look, yeah, but also- also the way you laugh and the way you take your tea and the types of books you read as a child. You know, the things that make you you. I fall in love with all of the little things, piece by piece, and then I’m just- just in love. Full stop.”

 Jon thinks he might actually be dreaming right now. Or dying. One of the two. “Um,” he says, the word choked by the lump in his throat. “Are- are you using the universal ‘you,’ or…?”

 Tim is quiet for a moment. His eyes are heavy on Jon’s face, as if searching for something. Then, sounding very much like a man who’s just decided to jump off a cliff and hope that there’s something below to catch him, he says, “You, Jon. And I promise that it’s not the rum talking.”

 “Oh,” Jon says quietly. “I… I see.”

 He realizes a beat later, when Tim’s face has folded ever so slightly inward and he’s begun to move away, how dismissive that had sounded. Quickly, and a bit panicked, Jon reaches out and wraps a hand firmly around Tim’s upper arm, like if he doesn’t hold on tightly enough Tim will slip away. “No, it’s- I’m, sorry, I just- I didn’t—”

 Jon makes a noise of frustration, because of course, now that he needs them, the words won’t come easily. His eyes find Tim’s face—the gentle slope of his nose, the small birthmark by the corner of his eye, the five o’clock shadow across his jaw—before settling on his lips. And before Jon makes the conscious decision to do so, he leans forward and kisses him.

 Tim makes a surprised noise against Jon’s mouth, something low and breathy. After a moment, Tim pulls back, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “I’m sorry,” he says, more hesitantly than Jon’s ever heard him before. “Are- are you sure you—?”

 Yes, Jon wants to say. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I’m sure about this. I’m sure about you.

 Instead, he leans forward and captures the rest of Tim’s sentence with his lips. After a moment, Tim’s hands go to Jon’s waist, pulling him close, and Jon slips his hands up to the sides of Tim’s face, feeling the heat of Tim’s skin against his as he kisses him and kisses him and kisses him.

 At some point, weeks later, Tim will joke that they have Elias to thank for them finally putting an end to the mutual pining, and Jon will give a full-body shudder and say that he would rather not think of Elias when remembering their first kiss, thank you very much. But for now, Jon holds Tim close and kisses him and lets the light, giddy feeling in his chest overtake him until it feels like he’s weightless and floating, grounded only by the feeling of Tim’s hands on his hips and the way Tim smiles against his lips and whispers, softly and reverently, I love you.

 I love you too, Jon says, resting his head against Tim’s shoulder to hide his smile and to try to breathe around the affection blossoming in his chest. I love you, I love you, I love you.