Disclaimers: Not mine. Still. *sigh*

Spoilers: Vague ones for the current run of Teen
Titans.

Summary: It still isn't about being easy.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: Sixth in the Black Sky series.
One more to go.

Acknowledgments: To Jack and Livia for
audiencing and many helpful suggestions.

*

Most of the time, Kon thinks he's got a pretty good
handle on the kinds of things that can happen when
you're a superhero. Killer robots with Kryptonite
power cells suck, but, hey, these things happen.

Ditto crazy assassins, and super-powered dogs, and
team-mates who you aren't *entirely* sure shouldn't
be cartoon characters.

He can take it. His life is weird, but his life has
*always* been weird. This is a function of being
artificially aged in a tube, and he's come to terms
with it. But...

Some things are just a bit much.

Like, say, watching your best friend make out with...
you.

Only not, because he's never worn a mask *or* a
uniform like that, a uniform that looks like the
unholy love child of his first suit and Robin's, and
that whole love child thing is a lot less funny than
it could be, because... Tim. Making out with another
guy. Who *isn't* another guy, because --

"Who *was* that, man?"

Okay, Tim isn't really answering so much as
crouching at the edge of the roof with his hands on
his face and looking like he really wants to start
rocking back and forth, or possibly just ripping his
hair out by the roots.

And you know, that's a *bad* thing, because, yeah,
people lose it and go into shock all the time -- this
is another part of the superhero gig, as far as *he*
can tell -- but 'people' does not include *Tim*. Tim
doesn't lose it, and he'd really like to maybe be
comforting him right now, or maybe strapping him
to a hospital bed and surrounding him with
frighteningly competent doctors, but first it would
really help to get a few things clear.

He crouches next to Tim, and Tim... flinches. Okay,
*bad*. "Tim, man, you really need to talk to me or,
like, not kill me when I call in the others to *fix*
you."

"I'm not broken."

"That's good. Now, you know, if you could just
*look* at me when you say that, and also explain
why you were... who *was* that?"

Tim starts scrubbing at his face with his hands, and
the words come out muffled, but... "You. From
another universe."

"Um."

And Tim *springs* up, folding his arms under his
cape and generally looking perfectly okay except
for the raw-looking color in his cheeks. "I need to
go... do some work."

"Wait, *what*? No... *what*?"

"I have to go." Flat, clear voice, just like Tim maybe
really *is* busy, instead of just...

"No way. No *way*. Why were you making out
with... me-from-another-universe? And *what*?"

"Kon..."

And he waits for it. He's willing to be patient,
because being friends with Tim means that you
wait for a *lot* of things. Not anything Tim might
think you *need* -- he's good about that -- but,
you know, a phone call. Or just some kind of...
reassurance or something.

And then Tim just turns around and starts walking
to the access door.

"What the *fuck*?"

And he's almost -- *almost* pissed enough to let
him go, or maybe just confused enough, but... no.
Not even.

He flies over and catches Tim's shoulder and gets
flipped for his trouble. He recovers enough to grab
Tim's ankle and *yank*, but Tim gets off about four
good kicks before Kon can get him down on the
roof. "I say again: what the *fuck*?"

And Tim just... looks at him. It's that blank, blank
look that usually means 'I'm thinking about all the
ways I can hurt you,' but...

"Why... why are we fighting? Tim, just tell me
something..."

And Tim turns his head, and says "please" in this
really quiet voice, but when Kon leans in Tim
*bucks* under him, and he has just enough time
to think "what?" -- *again* -- before Tim pulls his
knees up between them and *shoves* Kon off.

And Kon is starting to wish he *was* pissed off,
but... all he can manage is scared. He stares up at
Tim, who is doing a weirdly bad job of brushing
the grit off his cape.

"I can't do this," Tim says, and he's looking at a
point somewhere past the top of Kon's head.

"*Okay*, but I don't even know what we're not
doing."

Tim tenses up, all over at once. "Don't you?"

Which is. A little close. Can he even say that?
Everything *neither* of them have been saying,
and everything they haven't been doing, even
though Tim comes to his room at night sometimes
and they don't even talk, even though Tim had
*called* him and said he just wanted to hear his
voice, and... "I --"

But Tim leaves.

Leaves him there.

Okay, regroup. They're on an island. Tim's not
going anywhere without firing up one of the
Titans' vehicles or calling one of those crazy remote
Bat-vehicles which he probably has stashed in
hermetically-sealed garages under the Bay or
something. And Kon would *hear* that.

So Tim is stuck here, at least for a little while, and
if he does too good a job of hiding, Kon will go
get Krypto the fucking Superdog and go bird-hunting.

Which is a *damned* satisfying thought, because,
really, what the fuck?

Kon sits up and forces himself to breathe, not-thinking
really damned strenuously about *who* had taught
him the technique. It works. Of course it works. He
has to think.

Point one -- Tim making out with... the alternate
universe version of *him*, and really, what he needs
more than anything else right now is three sentences
of small words that tell him why he was *here* and
how he's leaving now, because... Jesus *Christ*,
that's fucked up.

He doesn't want to know *how* he -- the guy who --
*he* got here, and he doesn't really care. He doesn't
want to know.

Point two -- no, fuck it, there *is* no point two,
because, yeah. He *does* know.

Talk about answering all those questions he wasn't
actually asking. He *would* have asked. One day.
When he could be sure he could at least *look* all
casual and cool about the fact that he really wanted
to make out with his best friend, and maybe they
could pretend Kon really wouldn't be fucking
depressed if -- when. No *if* -- Tim said no.

Which he wouldn't.

Or... was he supposed to not ask questions and
just pick up where... that *guy* left off?

Was he allowed to go *insane* now, really, because
that's fucked up. And why *couldn't* Tim 'do this,'
anyway? And... was that permanent? Was he
*dating*... that *guy*. That *fucking* *guy*.

No, that *guy* isn't here. He is. And so is Tim.
Somewhere.

He'll just... he needs a plan. Find Tim, one. Either
punch him or kiss him, two. Then... he has no idea
about then. But... maybe Tim will feel like talking
if he hits him hard enough. Or kisses him hard
enough. Or both.

Or...

Fuck this.

Kon stands up and yanks open the door and...
walks right into Tim.

"You were coming back. Wait. Were you?"

"I never left."

The image of Tim standing there and just kind of
*glaring* at the door is weirdly plausible. And... okay,
it's one thing for Tim to stare anywhere and
everywhere but at *him* when they're somewhere
with *lights*, but this shadow-on-shadow thing really
needs to stop. He reaches for Tim's arm and hits
cape and... body. Under the cape. "Wait. Are you
going to try to hit me again?"

"No."

"Come back out here with me."

Tim nods and does it, brushing past Kon and making
him... no, he needs a new plan. Agreeable, reasonably
*here* Tim doesn't get punched. Maybe still gets
kissed. Or... touched. Or.

"Shit."

*That* makes Tim look at him. And... it's a searching
look. And he really isn't sure if he wants to know
what Tim's looking *for*.

It's not a relief when Tim looks away again, either.

"I'm sorry," Tim says.

"Okay... um."

"I don't know what I'm doing."

That sounds like talking. He can do talking. Really.
"We can... figure it out?"

"I'm a liar."

Kon frowns. "Um..."

"He said it wouldn't matter to you. That I'm a
fucked-up liar."

"And by 'he' we're talking about..."

"You. From --"

"The alternate universe." Tim looks up again. He
looks... really tired.

"Can we..." Back up? Go back to where you had
sorta kinda started making sense to me? Kon reaches
out and he only means to rest his hand on Tim's
shoulder, because they *do* that, it's safe and all...
Tim would probably use a word like deniable.

Except that maybe he wouldn't, because he catches
Kon's wrist and turns it until he can press his cheek
against Kon's palm. That isn't. He can't...

He strokes Tim's cheek, and wonders if he's doing
it right. If he's supposed to do it harder, or if he's
supposed to just hold it there or... "I never
thought... um. Help?"

Tim smiles, and since it's Tim, he turns his head do
it, which puts his mouth against Kon's palm.

"Tim..."

"I don't know how to help," he says, and he's still
smiling.

"So... you don't know how to do this, and *I* don't
know how to do this -- or even really what we're
doing --"

Tim laughs. *Laughs*. "I don't know that, either."

"Then maybe we should... uh."

Tim presses his face against Kon's hand a little
harder before turning to look up at him. The mask --
as ever -- makes his expression hard to read, but
there's something a little softer about it. Something
about the way his jaw *isn't* set, and his mouth is
kind of... not a grim Robin line. "You have a
suggestion?"

"Not really." Kon leans in and kisses him, meaning to
keep his mouth closed, to keep it careful, because it's
Tim, and because... he doesn't know 'because,'
because Tim slips his tongue in Kon's mouth and Kon
can't tell if Tim's eyes are open or closed, except that
he can guess, because when he closes *his* eyes,
Tim shudders and kisses him harder.

He tastes... weirdly like blueberries. A little, and he
brings his hands up between them, and Kon tries to
gear himself up to stop licking Tim's tongue and back
off, but Tim just... pets him.

Pets his chest through the t-shirt, and then it's too
hard to be petting, because Tim's fingers are
reminding him of every muscle he *has*, and he
can't help moaning into Tim's mouth.

And Tim sucks his *tongue* and makes this soft
little humming sound and Kon can't decide which is
sexier. He pushes one hand into Tim's hair and
slides the other up over Tim's glove until he can
touch skin, and it's just... it's stupid. Touching Tim's
arm and Tim's hair shouldn't be this hot, shouldn't
feel this *huge*, but it does.

Because it's Tim, and because Tim isn't stopping
him or pushing him, and unless there are some
important bundles of nerves in his pecs that will
knock him unconscious if Tim pokes them, Tim is
*going* for it.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to take a
deep breath and moves back in again, and Tim
makes another one of those sounds and slides his
hands to Kon's nipples, rubbing them through the
shirt until they feel as hard... fuck. As the rest of
him.

"Tim --"

"Say something. Just... say something so I
know..."

"I don't know what you want me to say, man, but
pretty soon I'm not going to have anything left
but noises. I --"

Tim kisses him again, which means it was either
the right answer or the wrong one, and he always
thought this would make more *sense*, but he
also doesn't care. He slips his hand under the
loose sleeve of Tim's shirt and Tim jerks.

"Sorry --"

"No, just tickles."

"Oh." And for a moment it seems really fucking
bizarre that he hadn't known Tim was ticklish
there, but then... he'd worked really hard *not*
to try to get Tim's clothes off. He'd spent... a
really long time working on that. "Uh..."

"Is this... are you okay?"

I want to talk. I want to know if Batman is going
to show up and throw me like Wonder Woman
had. I want to know what you *did* -- "Tim, I --"

"He seemed so *sure* --"

"I want you to stop thinking about *him*."

Tim jerks again, and yeah, that came out louder
and harder than he'd meant it to, but it's... really
fucking true.

Tim backs off a step and reaches for his belt,
keeping one hand on Kon's chest, and pulls the
little spray bottle of solvent out. It takes about
a minute, and Kon just tries not to move, and
completely fails when the mask is off and Tim's
blinking from the sunlight and tucking the mask
*away*, like it's dark and they're somewhere
alone together and Tim's about to not-talk to him
about something serious.

Kon rubs at the paler, smoother skin under Tim's
eyes and Tim catches his wrist again. "I'm not...
I'm not thinking about him like that. I didn't... I
never took it off. Not even --"

"Don't finish that sentence."

Tim makes a sound like Kon had maybe *punched*
him, and loosens his grip on Kon's wrist. "I... I
don't know what I'm *doing*."

"I *get* that."

"No, you... he *knew* everything, because I'd
*died*, and he got the letter I wrote, and -- *fuck*,
do you know how *hard* this is?"

And Tim's looking at him, and his eyes are blue
and bleak and so *sad*, and Kon can't even wrap
his *head* around the idea that Tim was *dead*,
and he wants to just hold on or maybe kill whoever
had done it, or will do it, or would do it -- "Yeah.
*Yeah*, I know. So help me make it *easier*. What
did he know that I don't?"

And... it's the scariest thing he's ever seen. Tim's
face just *crumples*, and he doesn't cry, but it
looks like he *might*, and keeps looking like it and
it makes something big and sharp seize up inside
him, and he can't help reaching out. Can't *not*
pull Tim against him and just try and will him to
stop breathing like that.

"Tim, tell me how to make... how to make it
*better*."

Tim grabs his t-shirt in both fists and pants against
his neck.

"Tell me *something*, man, you're scaring me --"

"I don't want to scare you."

"What *do* you want?"

"I want..." Tim's breath comes out on a whine, cut
off sharply, and then Tim's *shaking*, but that's
cut off, too.

Kon squeezes him tighter anyway. "Tim... you have
to know. How I feel about you. I... I just want you
to be *okay*."

And Tim's laugh makes *him* shake, but maybe it's
just the feel of Tim's breath against his neck.

He pets Tim's hair and tries to figure out what *he*
should be doing, because Tim... isn't coping. First
thing: don't freak out about that. Or... try not to be
*obvious* about freaking out about that, or... "Is
this... is this what you didn't want to talk about
before? When you called?"

Tim nods against him and pulls a little at Kon's shirt.

"Okay. Um. You're *definitely* allowed to talk to
me when you're freaking out about people from
alternate universes where you *died* showing up."

Tim's laugh is a little better this time, and Kon takes
a deep breath.

"Did you... Tim, I *want* you. I --"

"I love you."

"What? I mean, you do? I mean... what?"

Tim... kisses his neck. Slow and soft and dry.

"Tim..."

"That's what he knows." And Tim pushes him back
and... doesn't look at him. Until he does, and Kon
*gets* it. Because he gets to *see* Tim without
the mask these days, sometimes, but... not like
this. It's that clear and open look that he wears all
the time when he's in disguise, only it isn't, because
this is *real*.

And when Kon reaches out this time, Tim doesn't
catch his wrist or turn into his touch; he just...
stands there. And lets Kon touch him. His face, and
the little bit of his throat Kon can get to with the
cape in the way, and his mouth. Tim's breath
against his fingers is just...

He forces himself to concentrate, and after a
moment it's more than just breath. It's heat and a
little damp and -- Tim flinches, but doesn't move.

"Your aura is down."

"Yeah, I... I wanted..." He presses against the
smooth softness of Tim's mouth, and Tim's eyes
flutter half-closed. And stay that way. "God, Tim.
I just thought... I don't know what I thought. I..."
He presses a little harder, and Tim shakes again.

"Kon."

"Is this what this is...? Is this --"

"Kon, please."

"You sound like you think I'll *hurt* you --"

And *now* Tim grabs him, grabs his wrist and
opens his mouth --

"Oh *fuck*, Tim --"

And bites his fingers and makes a sound -- it's
something between a growl and a scream and
he's using Kon's fingers to *muffle* it and it's
not working very well, but it's still --

He rips his hand away from Tim and replaces it
with his mouth, holding Tim's hand between
them, wet fingers slipping over Tim's knuckles
and Tim's mouth doesn't taste sweet at all anymore,
and everything is *sharp* and it has nothing to do
with the aura being down.

He breaks the kiss and pants against Tim's mouth.
"I don't -- I. I've never been in love before, Tim. I
don't know what this... how do you *know*?"

Tim cups his face with his free hand and pushes
until they're looking each other in the eye again.
"Does it make you want to hide?"

"It makes me want to hide with *you*."

And Tim *whimpers* and pulls him back in for
another kiss, wrapping his arm around Kon's neck
and *pulling*, and without the aura it makes him
stumble, or maybe Tim *meant* to make him
stumble. Either way, they're on their knees and
Tim's kissing him again, kissing him *hard* and
making wordless noise. Louder for a second when
Kon grabs his biceps and then... quiet. *Focused*.

There's a *rhythm* to the way he's kissing Kon, to
the way he strokes in and *in* with his tongue and
Kon holds on tighter and catches it, trying not to
suck Tim's tongue because he doesn't want it to
*stop*. The way he's almost... *fucking* Kon's
mouth, and the thought makes him groan.

He can't stay still, he has to pull Tim hard against
him, and *lift* him a little, and get his hands under
that damned cape and maybe claw at the tunic a
little. Tim grunts when Kon grabs his ass and...
stops.

Or... not really stops, just stops *kissing*. Tim
licks Kon's mouth and looks at him.

"I want you, too."

And Kon feels himself *flex*, all over, his dick
almost less important than everything else. He
squeezes Tim's ass and loses something huge
and unimportant to the way Tim's eyes slip
half-closed again.

And slides one hand around to cup Tim through the
tights. "Tim --"

"Yes."

Kon feels himself *wincing*, and it hurts, it hurts so
much he thinks he's going to come in his pants. He
grinds the heel of his palm against Tim's dick and
Tim spreads his legs, knees scraping against the
roof, and arches back and --

Fuck, he's *seen* the way Tim stretches and he
doesn't think he's ever going to stop seeing it like
*this*.

"Get this off. You have to --" He shakes his head
and grabs for the waistband of the shorts and tights
before Tim can move, pressing his other hand
against Tim's chest to *hold* him there, just like
that, and, okay, maybe this would be easier with
two hands, because Tim's suit is just as tight as
everyone else's, only fucking *armored*, but Tim
braces himself on one hand and *helps* him with
the other, pushing everything down and... God.

Right there, and just... it took him *weeks* to get
over seeing Tim in fucking *boxer* shorts and he's
just not ever going to deal with the slick head of
Tim's dick peeking out from under the tunic.

"Tim..."

"Please."

"God, I..." He wraps his fist around Tim's dick and
groans at Tim's gasp and strokes him, and he
wants to do it slow, wants to make it *good*, but
Tim *pumps* into his fist, and he's hot and *hard*,
hard for *him*, and he grabs Kon's shoulder with
his free hand and arches back even *further*
and --

"Tim, *fuck* --"

And the sound Tim makes might be a word, or
Kon's name, or just a *sound*, and Kon can't
keep himself from doing it harder, giving Tim's
dick a twist like he does for himself when he's
just trying to come *fast*. Tim squeezes his
shoulder and pants and *looks* at Kon and
he's...

"Oh, Tim..."

He looks so *hurt* and wild and turned on and
Kon feels himself shooting pre-come into his
shorts when Tim bites his lip. More when he
whimpers.

"You're gonna make me *come*, Tim --"

And Tim's mouth falls open on this shocky little
gasp and it's too much. Kon yanks Tim close,
half-falling over and shifting until he's on his
back, until Tim's straddling him, and Tim groans
and *clutches* him and works Kon's pants
open --

"*Tim* --"

And *squeezes* them together, twining their
hands around both of them and Tim cries out
on every stroke, now, high and quiet and *hot*,
and Kon holds on and holds on and jerks and
comes, all over his own stomach and their hands,
and he thinks "that's my come making us slick"
and his dick twitches and it *hurts* and Tim
leans in and kisses him again.

And comes all over them both with a long, low
groan.

Kon licks Tim's tongue and listens to his heart
pound and the sound of Tim's ragged breaths.

He can't figure out how to make his hand work
well enough to let go, so he uses his *other*
hand to stroke Tim's back and pull them closer.
After a moment, all the tension leaves Tim's body
and he just... collapses on Kon.

It's awkward and sticky and perfect.

"Oh, fuck," Tim says.

Kon thinks about it. "The last time you said that, you
were about to freak out."

"I'm not."

"Really?"

"Maybe?"

"I'm just going to hold on until you stop. You know
that, right?"

"Yeah, I..." Tim shakes his head, and his hair is
soft and a little damp against Kon's throat. "I'm
trying. You... Kon."

Kon snickers. "Yep. And you Tim."

Tim knees him in the thigh.

Kon wonders what it says about him that it feels
like an improvement.

"I'm not freaking out," Tim says into his shoulder.
"A lot."

"Are we... do you think maybe we could talk
about *why* you're freaking out?"

Tim squeezes them. Hard.

"Or we could fuck on the roof until someone turns
a fucking *fire hose* on us, Jesus Tim --"

Tim laughs quietly. "I missed you."

"I..." was right here, he doesn't say. He knows
that isn't what Tim is talking about. He strokes
Tim's back again. "You don't have to."

"I know," Tim says, and takes a shaky breath before
pushing up and detangling them and *looking* at
him.

"I just want --"

"Me to be okay. I know. I'm working on it."

Kon grins up at him. "You've got charts, don't you.
And, like, bar graphs."

Tim blinks. "Hunh."

"Oh, man, I was *kidding* --"

"So was I," and Tim gives him a sharp, lazy grin.

Kon thinks about *that*. "You so totally weren't."

Tim looks down for a moment, eyelashes a smudged
shadow on his cheeks, before *fixing* Kon with a
look.

"Uh --"

"Does it matter?"

"No."

Tim's smile is better this time, small and subtle and
just a little soft. "Okay," he says, and leans back in,
resting his mouth against Kon's throat.

And part of him really wants to wonder about what
he'd just agreed to, but... it's Tim. Sooner or later
he'll find out anyway, and if it's freakish and bizarre
and just a little disturbing...

Then it'll be just another part of his *life*.

He can deal with that.

end.