Disclaimers: All belongs to DC. I'm just the fangirl.

Spoilers: Oh... really just none. The fact that the
Titans exist.

Summary: Tim works *and* plays.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: I wanted to write some gratuitous
porn. I did. :D

Acknowledgments: Thanks to Pearl-o and Weirdness
Magnet for keeping me company.

*

Kon makes a terrible stalker.

When he walks, his boots clump and thud along the
floor -- whether it's carpeted or not. When he flies,
anything loose tumbles and flaps in his wake.

The cologne he's wearing this weekend is nice -- which
almost certainly means someone else picked it out for
him, as Kon's tastes don't run toward the subtle -- but
it announces him as clearly as everything else. The
intangibles of his presence, the *feel* of him as he
moves into a room and takes over a large percentage
of it, solely by existing.

Perhaps it's the smile.

"*There* you are," Kon says.

"I --" and that's all Tim has time to say before Kon
pushes him against the nearest wall -- they only fly four
or five yards -- and kisses him, hard and thoroughly.

"Mmm," Kon says into his mouth, and as soon as he
lands them there's a thigh between Tim's own. Kon's
hands in Tim's hair seem trapped in a confusing -- and
very, very pleasant -- tangle of 'muss' and 'pet.'

Tim kisses him back, of course. But... not for long. He
slides his hands between them, over the hard, warm
planes of Kon's chest, so obvious even with the t-shirt
on, and pushes as he pulls out of the kiss.

"*Still*?"

"Still."

Kon rocks against him and growls, but it's a lot like
being barked at by a dog who's also wagging its tail.

"Soon," Tim says, and quietly drinks in the sight of Kon
licking his lips before ducking under Kon's arm and
leaving.

He gets nearly two hours this time. Long enough to
do a small, daylight check of the Tower's structure and
outer defenses, and make a good beginning on copying
several of Cyborg's more interesting files into his
laptop for later perusal.

The approach is much better this time. Everything is
firmly bolted down in the computer room, so Kon's
flight doesn't disturb anything. There's still the scent
of him, though. The presence.

The mouth on the back of Tim's neck and the hands
reaching around where's he's sitting in Cyborg's chair
to tug his cape open and stroke their way over the
tunic in hard, possessive circles.

Tim closes his eyes and *feels* it, the soft wetness
of Kon's mouth and the ticklish heat of his breath. But
he doesn't spread his legs when one of Kon's hands
slides below his waist.

"Nnnrgh," Kon says, or something like it.

"Soon," Tim says, and finishes downloading the files,
skin prickling at the weight of Kon's look even more
than the feel of his hands. "Not yet, though."

"I hate your work ethic, dude," Kon says, and moves
his hands. Slowly.

Tim smiles to himself and listens to Kon walk out of
the room. And waits.

When he's sure Kon has wandered off, he shuts
down his laptop and makes his own exit.

He gets *more* than two hours this time -- nearly two
and half -- and it would be worrying if Tim wasn't
busily planting booby traps in the Tower's heating
ducts. (You never *really* knew when such things
would come in handy, and Oracle had some fascinating
ideas.)

He's planting a pressure bomb when the panel three
feet in front of the one he's resting on abruptly drops
away and Kon's head appears.

"Dangerously accurate," Tim says, and points to the
mine six inches from Kon's left ear.

"*Jesus*, you're creepy," Kon says, and reaches in.

Tim checks to make sure the detonator isn't active and
lets himself be kissed. Kon musses his hair again, and
shifts on the air until they're in a good, *good*
position. Tim licks Kon's tongue, sucks it and lets
himself groan, and Kon slides two fingertips beneath
the collar of the cape.

It's hard to breathe, harder when Kon bends his fingers
and his knuckles dig into Tim's throat almost painfully.

Tim gasps and pushes against it and pulls free.

"Tim."

He pushes his erection against the cold metal beneath
him and doesn't bite his lip. "Soon. Put the panel
back -- I need it."

"Uh, huh. Dinner in an hour."

"'kay."

Tim listens to Kon replace the screws. When the last one
is in, he bangs twice, lightly, and Tim continues
working.

They eat around the kitchen table, since neither Cyborg
nor Beast Boy are joining them.

Kory tells Bart a long, involved story about Tamaranian
dating customs -- apparently something far different
and more rare than *mating* customs. Bart had asked
about gardening. Tim's almost sure there's a
connection.

Kon and Cassie are talking about... something.
Definitely something.

Kon is eating with one hand and massaging Tim's inner
thigh with the other. Tim thinks the flex of Kon's
shoulder muscles have to be obvious. And they would
be, if anyone else were at the table. Or if anyone really
cared.

Tim eats, slowly and carefully, and manages not to
choke when Kon slides his hand up and cups him
gently. Not the first four times, anyway.

The fifth time happens when Tim is eating a roll, and
he has to close his eyes for a moment and focus on
not coming in his pants.

When he opens them, Cassie is giving him a
questioning look.

"Just thinking," he says, and he can feel Kon looking
at him.

When Cassie turns to ask Bart about The Grapes of
Wrath for a report she has due, Tim looks at Kon.

'Now,' he says, as clearly and distinctly as he can with
his expression, and the smallest thrust into Kon's
palm.

Kon raises an eyebrow.

'*Now*,' he says again, and turns back to the others.
"Excuse me," he says aloud, and stands carefully. The
cape falls around him the way it should, even though
he has to hold his plate in an awkward position to
*keep* it closed.

He scrapes it, dumps it in the dishwasher, and heads
toward his bedroom.

Kon doesn't show up for another five minutes, and
Tim could compliment the subtlety, but mostly he's
just glad he can stop gritting his teeth and thinking
about the Mad Hatter naked.

"Why aren't you *naked*," Kon says, but doesn't
give Tim time to answer before he's kissing him
again, petting and stroking and *groping* him, and
Tim pulls back long enough to unhook the cape and
kisses Kon.

And pulls back long enough to drop the belt, and
bites Kon's lip and pushes Kon's t-shirt up, rubs
Kon's nipples with the carefully textured fingertips
of the gauntlets.

And pulls back long enough to pull his own tunic up
halfway, and then Kon yanks down Tim's shorts and
tights and jockeys and jerks him once, twice --
*hard* --

"Kon --"

"Yeah," he says, and shoves Tim, walks them both
back to the bed. Tim sits down and Kon drops to his
knees and tugs Tim's tights and everything else down
past his knees. "I like you like this," he says. "All
messed up and slutty."

Tim smirks.

"Turn over."

He does, somewhat awkwardly considering the tangle
of his clothes, and Kon grabs his ass and pushes him
further up on the bed. "Kon."

"I could -- I could --"

"Yes," he says, and Kon exhales sharply and spreads
him open and shoves his tongue in.

Tim winces in nothing like pain and gasps. And moans.
And whimpers and fists his hands in the sheets and
doesn't try, doesn't think. Kon's tongue is wet,
*slick*. Hot and strong as the rest of him, and Tim
feels himself writhing.

"Kon. Kon --"

"I'm gonna fuck you," Kon breathes against his hole.

Tim reaches for the lotion he'd left on the night table
this morning and tosses it back in Kon's general
direction. Kon pulls him back down to his knees and
Tim holds on to the edge of the bed.

Pants as quietly as he can, and listens to Kon breathe,
listens to the slick, sliding slap of Kon's fist on his own
dick, and *flexes* at the small, high sound Kon makes.
And then Kon slides two fingers in, perfunctory and
rough, and Tim forces himself to focus enough to be
able to mean it when he says,

"Now."

Kon pulls out and pushes in, one slow, steady push
that makes Tim's eyes widen, makes him fist the
blankets harder, makes him say,

"*Please*," even though he's getting it, even though
Kon has him by the hips and is *pulling* him back on
his dick.

"Bend -- bend your head, Tim."

He does, resting his head against the mattress, and
Kon bites the back of his neck and fucks him hard.

"Made me *wait*," he says.

Tim groans and rubs his face against the blankets,
squeezes his fists tighter.

"Knew you wanted this, wanted me to do you --"

"Hard --"

Kon bites his neck again and goes faster, harder,
*riding* him, and the only reason Tim's not moving
is that Kon's holding on. Making him take it.

He whimpers and tenses, but that just makes him
feel it more. He knew it would. It always does.

"*Tim* --"

"Don't stop --"

"Say 'please' again," and Kon's laugh is choked and
honest. "Maybe if you... if you're good oh
*fuck* --"

And Tim flexes around Kon again and whimpers
*again*, and over and over because Kon's
*slamming* in, like he's trying to fuck Tim back
onto the bed, or maybe just *through* it.

"Fight me. Say no. Tell me you don't love this,
Tim --"

"I *can't* --"

"I *know*. You love it. You want it."

"Yes."

And Kon growls and grabs Tim's dick and *squeezes*.

"Oh fuck. Fuck, jerk me off, make me come --"

Kon gasps and shudders and comes in him, holding
on tight. Tim bites the blankets to keep from
screaming. And completely fails when Kon pulls out
fast. But then he spins Tim around and lifts him and
*drops* him on the bed, swallowing Tim's dick and
groaning around him.

Tim grabs Kon's head and fucks his throat, squeezing
his eyes shut and biting his lip.

Kon's next groan rips the orgasm out of him, makes
him shout and tense and curl up on himself. Kon
sucks him until Tim whimpers, and then a little more.
When he pulls off, Tim can't make himself relax until
Kon pushes his shoulders down. Until he crawls up on
the bed and holds Tim down with his body.

Tim pants and stares at the ceiling, and Kon mouths
his throat lazily.

Everything aches in the best possible way.

"Mm," Kon says.

"Yeah."

"So what did it this time? I mean, *was* it the
hand-job under the table with everyone there? 'cause
I can go with that."

Tim grins. "You slammed me against a wall."

Kon pulls back and braces himself on his elbows,
glaring down at him. "That was *hours* ago!"

"So?"

Kon narrows his eyes. "Next time I'm not going to
listen to you when you say 'stop.'"

"Mmm."

"Yeah, I'm just gonna... um. Wait. That's *really*
fucked up, Tim. I mean, even for you."

And Kon actually looks serious, so Tim reaches up
and cups his cheek. Strokes the thin skin under
Kon's eye until he stops frowning. "It's just playing,"
he says.

Kon's smile is a little troubled. "You've got a really
scary concept of the word 'game,' man."

Tim presses in hard with his thumb, just for a
moment. "Maybe."

"Tim --"

"Maybe you'll like it better when it's your turn."

Kon gasps like he's been punched, and Tim can feel
Kon's dick twitch between them.

Tim grins just as lazily as he can, right up until Kon
leans in and kisses him again.

And then he just *thinks* his grin.

end.