THEN AGAIN • TC ✔️

20. Ink

Timmy is vaguely aware of the film ending. At least, he knows that they've been there a while, because Clem has stopped playing with his hair. Her hand is draped under his arm and trapped between his chest and his knees.

(That was his doing. She'd only put her hand there to turn his necklace round the right way (that's what she'd said) and Timmy had clamped his knees against it, held it close to his heart. He liked it. It felt warm.)

Also, there's some kind of advert playing now, something about Christmas savings accounts. If Timmy nudges his head upwards ever so slightly, he knows he'll meet Clem's cheek, her chin. Knows that she'll probably laugh and fend him off very reluctantly. He doesn't want her to even try. Wants the two of them to stay like this for the whole evening. Well into the night.

But it seems she has other plans, plans that Timmy has not been made aware of.

"Come on, chuck. You need to go to bed," she tells him softly, and Timmy frowns initially at the nickname. Decides that he quite likes it. He shakes his head; burrows further into her collarbone. "You're going to be tired tomorrow," Clem continues, "and you're going to fall asleep in class." Timmy knows that. Knows that pretty much all of his students are exhausted at this point, too. (Also knows that the finals he's been grading have absolutely taken it out of them, and knows that tomorrow's lesson is going to be pretty relaxed, at least for the younger years. So like, maybe he can just put a video on; nod off in the corner of the room.)

"I'll put Monster in my coffee," he shrugs as best he can, and she laughs.

"No way you're doing that again. Your eye was twitching for like, three days straight."

Timmy smiles at the memory. Smiles at the fact that he actually wore dark glasses on their grocery run because he didn't want people to think he was winking at them. (Also, the light hurt his eyes.)

"Just let me stay here," he bargains. "I'll be good. I'll set you up with that new History teacher."

Clem doesn't say anything to that straight away. Just flicks his ear, tucks a strand of hair behind it.

"None of that, thank you. I can make do with just you for the time being," she laughs. (Timmy wants her to make do with him for eternity.) "I don't need some guy who wears cardigans and-"

"He's nice, I swear," he whines. "And he isn't old. He's twenty seven and he's- he's British and-"

"I'm fine, Timmy," she tells him firmly. "Honestly. Stop it."

Timmy doesn't say anything else but he slumps against her chest. (If she won't have him, he at least wants her to be with someone he respects, someone he likes. Someone who will actually treat her properly.)

"Come on. Bed," she insists, and he stretches his arms out slowly, shuddering a little, then slumping back down.

He grumbles something. Gets to his feet and-

Jesus, fuck. No.

It's not like Timmy's never gotten a boner in front of Clem. But just, usually, he has some way of hiding it. This is--

(Mortifying.)

--something that has never happened before. And he's not even...thinking of anything? He's not even horny, he's just...?

Timmy doesn't know quite what to do, only he knows that the semi he managed to disguise earlier is starting to strain against his jeans. Knows that Clem absolutely has to have seen it because she's literally at eye level with his crotch, knows that he won't be able to look her in the eye after this, knows that when he gets off, he'll be thinking about phantom noises on the other side of his bedroom wall.