Disclaimers: I want them I want them I -- ::smacks
Spoilers: None, really. Post Teen Titans #7.
Summary: Tim attempts to put things in perspective.
Ratings Note: NC-17.
Author's Note: I had a lingering porn image. Minotaur
*said* I didn't have to bother with a plot...
Acknowledgments: To Liv and Jack for audiencing
Feedback: Gives me a warm fuzzy. firstname.lastname@example.org
Once you decide on a course of action, there's just no
percentage in being wishy-washy about it.
Which is not to say you shouldn't always be open to
changing your mind, should such a change prove logical,
but, in general, if you *are* going to do something,
you might as well just *do* it. No matter what.
And decisiveness has its rewards, now and again.
Tim grins to himself and signs on. This 'buddy' filter
has exactly one name on it, other than his own, and
Kon doesn't make him wait long.
Supes93: *Finally*, dude. You haven't been on in
Supes93: Still more than one. ;-) What are you up to
CallMeAl06: Pretty much nothing. It's my night off.
Supes93: Oh, yeah...?
Kon isn't stupid. Not by a long road. Tim grins a little
CallMeAl06: I can't get to Smallville. You, however...
Supes93: I'm there. Just tell me where *there* is.
An address. Co-ordinates. Map. Something. Come on,
CallMeAl06: My house. Tim's new friend from school --
a certain Conner Kent -- is picking him up. They're
going to hang out, maybe see a movie.
Supes93: Maybe have a lot of sex.
CallMeAl06: *grin* Somehow, I don't think I'll be
mentioning that possibility to my Dad.
Supes93: Whoa. Remind me to never have that
conversation with Mr. Kent.
CallMeAl06: Uh-huh. I'm ready to go now, you know.
Kon doesn't bother saying good-bye, just signs off.
And he's not as fast as Bart, but he's fast *enough*.
Tim shuts down his computer and throws on a jacket,
double-checking to make sure he has everything he
Which isn't much, really. His wallet, his keys, and a
few things from *that* belt -- just in case.
Dana smiles at him when he gets down to the
kitchen. "I take it you're not planning on eating
before you leave?"
"Nah, Conner and I will probably grab some pizza
"Okay. And you'll be home --"
"By eleven, I know, it's a school night." He gives her
his best responsible-teenager grin. "Where's Dad?"
She winks at him. "In the living room, pretending to
read the paper, and also pretending not to be
absolutely thrilled that you've already made friends
at your new school. He was worried, you know."
It's not an effort to smile sheepishly. 'Make
comfortably casual, non-question asking friends at
the new school' is still firmly on his to-do list. "I'm
Dana ruffles his hair. "You always are. Parents
worry anyway. It's what... we do."
He doesn't miss the slight hesitation, and that's
another thing on the to-do list: Reassure the
stepmother that she's not intruding, or whatever
else she might be anxious about. Tim's actually
just fine with having Dana right where she is --
distracting his father -- and besides, she's nice.
He does an internal check of his expression and
makes it a little softer. "Yeah, I know."
He'd hug her, but the fact that he's been thinking
about Kon makes the prospect problematic at
Thankfully, he's already long since established
himself as being reserved, and the situation is
conveniently awkward. He ducks his head. "I,
"Go on, your friend will be here soon."
He checks his watch. Two minutes down, leaving
another two-to-three for his father, assuming Kon
doesn't run into any supervillains or Superman
doesn't decide to drop in for a heart-to-heart.
No way around either prospect, unfortunately.
He slips into the living room and settles on the
couch. Waits for it.
"So this... Conner, was it? Is he in many of your
"Hunh? Oh, just English." His worst subject. "He's on
the football team."
His father looks at him over the Times. "Not your
usual choice of friend...?"
He shrugs easily. "Jocks in public school aren't the
same as the jocks at Brentwood, as far as I can tell."
Which is entirely true.
"You know, I always thought you should try going
out for a team. Maybe swimming. Sports are a good
way to connect with your classmates."
Sometimes Tim wonders if he should've
manufactured some nice, normal teenaged-style
angst, just to keep his father from going on these
periodic fishing expeditions into his psyche. "Daaad,
they make those guys get up at, like, four."
His father chuckles. "Sunrise never hurt anyone, son.
Give it some thought."
A grunt, and his father turns back to the paper. Tim
knows he's still not actually reading it, but the ruse
helps eat up the clock.
Maybe he could get Nightwing to distract Superman
on these little... date nights. It's exactly the sort of
thing Dick would think was a good idea. Just one
more reason why Bruce's attitude is annoying, really,
because *he* would probably get a kick out of
thwarting Superman, too.
Maybe he could put it to him that way the next time
they tried and failed to have a reasonable
conversation on the subject.
"What movie are you planning to see?"
"Oh, we haven't decided yet. There isn't much good
playing right now, you know? We'll probably wind
up hanging out at the arcade or something." There.
Nice and vague.
"Well, remember that it's a school night."
"And try to avoid wandering into war zones."
Tim blinks. His Dad just made a *joke*. About No
Man's Land. He tries to keep the wariness off his
face. "I'll... uh... make an effort?"
His father gives him a wry look over the newspaper,
and it's... more than a little difficult to read. "I trust
you, son. I just wonder, sometimes..." He shakes
his head. "Well, we can talk about it later."
Tim nods slowly. Clearly, something else for his to-do
It's silent for a while, save for the noises Dana's
making in the kitchen, and interminably awkward.
And Tim thinks that could be the point. They don't
know him -- they *can't* know him.
All he can do is try to make sure that they don't
*realize* how little they know about him, but... it's
entirely possible he's fucking up with that. Or maybe
it's just one of those things parents are good at.
And really, who could he *ask*? Even Oracle... the
only question was *when* Jim Gordon had figured
it out. Maybe... maybe when he's eighteen and out
of the house he'll be able to tell them some part of
If he's lucky, they'll just think he's delusional and try
for a lengthy, involuntary commitment.
"So, what time --"
The doorbell rings and Tim doesn't *quite* manage to
jump off the couch.
His father just chuckles, though. Eager, thoughtless
teenager, right. To that end, he yanks the door open
much too hard and grins like an idiot. "Hey, man!"
Kon blinks at him for a second before recovering. "Uh...
He does his best to beam gratitude, eagerness, and
the general sense of *stress* at Kon before looking
back over his shoulder. "Well, we gotta --"
"Don't be silly, Tim." His father is folding the paper.
"Why don't you invite your friend in for a minute?"
'Stress' is rapidly becoming 'dread,' especially when
Dana walks in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on
a dishtowel. He's aware that he's technically blocking
the door, but he can't make himself stop.
"Now, Jack, the boys have *plans*." She tips him
another wink. "You go on. Remember to be back --"
"By eleven okay, bye!"
Kon waves at his stepmother. "Bye, Mrs. Drake!"
Tim closes the door behind them and forces himself
"We can't fly anywhere until we're out of sight."
"It isn't -- you just seem a little... wired?"
"A little." They turn the corner and Tim leads them
behind the house Bruce bought solely so Tim would
have a place in his neighborhood to stash things he
couldn't hide at his parents'.
Kon wraps his arm around Tim's waist, and it just...
kicks something off. Turns something on. It's hard to
describe, even just to himself. He puts his palm
against Kon's chest, warm, almost hot even through
Tim shoves him against the back wall of the house
and kisses him. There isn't even a pause; Kon melts
right into it, licking Tim's tongue into his mouth and
tightening his arm around his waist.
Kon groans and cups Tim's ass with his other hand,
squeezing and pulling him in, lifting him just enough
for them to grind against each other.
This is -- it doesn't feel anything like getting the suit
on, even his memories of the *first* time. He doesn't
get a hard-on for being Robin. And yet... it's *exactly*
the same. The same rush, the same sense of
*rightness*, of doing precisely what he should be
It should be ridiculous to feel this way when he's
humping Superboy against a wall. Maybe it would be,
if it wasn't so obvious that Kon... feels it, too. He
pushes away, making his motions small enough that
Kon's hold on him doesn't break so much as slide
into a different configuration.
"This why you're wired?"
It's tempting to let him think that. "Not entirely."
Kon squeezes his waist a little. "Wanna talk about it?"
"Not right now." He can feel himself smiling.
Wider when Kon digs his thumbs in and rubs hard
circles into the hollows of Tim's hips through his
"Is this where... uh. I mean are we supposed to be
breaking in or something?"
And Tim has a key, actually, but... not here. Bruce
Wayne bought this house and Batman owns it, and
while having sex with Kon here wouldn't be the same
as doing it in the Batcave... he shakes his head. "I
found another place. About a mile and half that way."
He points southeast.
Kon nods and pulls him close again, leaning down to
kiss him before lifting off. Tim's had time to get used
to the feeling of being carried by a flyer, the way
your stomach drops and air abruptly becomes more
solid and oxygen more important. He hasn't had --
enough -- time to get used to the kisses.
Kon pulls moans out of him effortlessly, making Tim
need to *see* him enjoying them. The fact that he
does -- obviously, vocally, physically -- makes it
Not actually easy, though. It's a distraction on top
of the pleasure; the effort he expends to hold on
to himself, to keep *control*, something that makes
him lose his other senses.
He'd told Kon that he hadn't been paying attention
to anything else when he'd kissed him the first time.
He hadn't meant to say it out loud, because there's
such a thing as too much truth. He isn't sure whether
it scares him more that Kon knew what he was
talking about, or that Tim *isn't* sure whether he
Because Batman had taught him *how* to pay
attention to everything around him, but he hadn't
needed to explain to him why it was important to do
Kon takes the world away.
He comes back to himself with one leg bent up and
around Kon's thigh and both hands balled into fists
in Kon's shirt. With Kon whimpering into his mouth,
clear and open and sweet and tempting -- lose
Sometimes he's not entirely sure who he *is*, and
Kon makes him wonder why that matters. He pulls
out of the kiss, gasping against Kon's throat and
forcing himself to focus on where they are. Kon has
taken them high enough that no one would be able
to, necessarily, *recognize* the two boys making
out in the sky, but he can still tell where he is with
a little effort.
"Are we close?"
Too, he doesn't say. "Hang east a little bit."
This was another part of dealing with flyers. Tim
has spent a lot of time flying over Gotham on his
own power, but the angle from *here* is different.
Finding your way is less about the angles and
gargoyles than it is about the shapes, colors, and
He'd done very careful measurements accordingly.
"There. The one with the white vents."
They touch down and Kon slips his hands into the
back pockets of Tim's jeans and nuzzles his throat.
"I planned on doing this inside, you know."
"Anywhere." Kon squeezes and sucks a kiss beneath
the collar of Tim's jacket before moving back to his
He means it. Anywhere. Kon doesn't lie, but he
*does* exaggerate -- but he isn't doing it right now.
Tim's pulse rate hasn't been normal since Kon rang
the doorbell, and the only thing that would steady it
right now is the kind of Bat-taught meditation that
makes Tim wonder if 'achieve nirvana' should be
somewhere on his to-do list.
There's a useless, needy voice in his head that
suggests other kinds of heaven. His body is...
He tells himself that its instinct, that he's spent years
honing and training his instincts to something like
animal perfection, and training himself to *trust* them.
That the fact that this feels so easy and natural and
addictive is just proof that he *should* go with it.
That, perhaps, it would be dangerous to *resist* it,
because after all, doesn't he *work* with the poster
child for the ill effects of sublimation?
And it *is* instinct, but it has nothing to do with the
carefully developed senses that tell him when the
bullets are about to start flying, or which gargoyles
will probably crumble if they get hit with a grapple.
This is body-lust and irrational hunger, an injury
foundation on which to add the insult of his...
"I love the way you say my *name*."
He ducks the next kiss, mainly by telling his body to
pretend it's being attacked and react accordingly. It's
a tactic with limited effectiveness, but it works this
time. Kon's mouth settles by his ear, hot, damp breath
making Tim shudder.
Which makes Kon hold him tighter. Tim wants to know
if Kon's trying to comfort him, or if he just wants to
feel the shudders better against his own skin. Both?
He wants to know what Kon thinks he's *doing*,
because this is...
Tim doesn't take risks. Not really. Risks are all about
thoughtlessness and willful ignorance. He knows
exactly how much he calculates, and if he sometimes
regrets that he can't be as spontaneous as Dick, he
also knows how much Dick *pays* for that spontaneity.
This is a risk, and it doesn't even have the kindness to
be about their ages, or their identities, or even their
*mentors*. It's about them, and the way Kon waits for
him to make the next move, to give the next
direction -- because he knows Tim won't make him
wait long, or ask for anything he doesn't want to give.
It's the way Tim knows Kon's absolutely right.
I want you, he doesn't say, because it's stupid and
obvious and true, and because he knows what he'd
sound like if he said it out loud.
It's what he sounds like in the dreams and fantasies
he'd had before Kon had kissed him. It's what he'll
sound like as soon as Kon starts touching him again.
It was so much easier when this was something that
wouldn't ever happen, when it was just an idle fantasy
to get him off when he couldn't sleep.
He curls his fingers over Kon's shoulders and pushes
as he takes a step back. Kon's grin is dazed, almost
drunk-looking, and he reaches up between them to
press on Tim's mouth with his thumb, wiping spit
"I was thinking about you last night. About those
sounds you make... you have no *idea* how many
times I jerked off waiting for you to sign on."
The image is startlingly vivid. Kon in Superman's
little farmhouse bedroom, sprawled in his chair with
his pants around his thighs and his hand around his
dick, stroking himself hard and slow.
"That turns you on?"
Tim raises an eyebrow.
"See, I can tell because you had an expression for
about three tenths of a second."
Tim snorts. "I *have* facial expressions."
"Not like that." And Kon's deadly serious. "At least,
not enough." He presses a little harder against Tim's
lip and adjusts himself in his jeans with his other
hand. "You turn me on so much I can't think."
"I know the feeling."
"I'm beginning to actually believe that."
Tim swallows around the sharply acid ball of feeling
at the back of his throat.
"So... get us inside or wherever we're going or let
me make you come right here."
Tim doesn't have words for that, and doesn't bother
pretending otherwise. He takes a step back and
turns, feeling Kon's eyes on him and wishing a little
for his cape. The access door isn't so much locked
as wedged back vaguely into the frame.
Kon catches it easily and sets it against the wall, and
Tim heads down the rickety stairs to the equally
"Don't lean on the railing; it's mostly rusted through."
"Got it. Uh... Tim?"
"Some low level dealers were using this place as a
squat until last night."
"You and Batman?"
Kon snickers. "And you, of course, *immediately*
thought 'hey, great place to get laid.'"
Tim smirks back over his shoulder. "Got a problem
"Not even *remotely."
Tim stops where the railing has broken off entirely
and reaches out. Kon slips next to him, wraps his arm
around Tim's waist and flies them down into the
warehouse proper. The place is a wreck, but since
most of the windows are broken, there isn't much
of a smell.
Tim stops in front of one of the few stacks of old
crates -- full of moldering ledgers -- they hadn't
knocked over during the fight and turns, setting his
back against it.
In answer, he reaches for his belt, more than a little
surprised that Kon *doesn't* just pounce. He bends
his head so he can watch Kon through the fall of his
hair and works his jeans open. Kon is...
It's not a leer, or not entirely. He's paying *attention*.
Maybe memorizing the way it looks when Tim's
stripping for him. It's just another thing to make Tim
breathe harder. He lets his pants fall and pushes down
his boxers, and Kon's swallow is audible. Just as
goading as this place, and his own nakedness.
"You want me, Kon?" And he rolls his jacket off his
shoulders but doesn't get it all the way off his arms
before Kon is on him, pushing him back against the
crates with one hand on his chest and cupping Tim's
balls with the other. Tim lets his head fall back and
gasps to keep from groaning.
"You -- I can't believe --" Kon bites his own lip and
shakes his head, hand sliding up over his chest and
brushing a nipple not-hard-enough before he cups
Tim's shoulder and pushes, *holding* him back
against the crate.
"I'm not going anywhere," he says, and it comes out
more seriously than he wants it to.
"I know. I just --" And Kon leans in and kisses him,
squeezing and rolling his balls in his palm and
moaning like Tim's the one doing the touching.
He knows that feeling, too.
It's a long, slow fondle. It's a *tease*, though Tim
isn't sure Kon's really aware of that. He spreads his
legs wider reflexively and jumps a little when he
realizes that his jeans won't let him do it as much as
he wants to.
Kon fucks his mouth with his tongue just as slowly
and it makes Tim grab and scratch at the crates
until he remembers that he *doesn't*, actually, want
splinters beneath his fingernails. He grabs at Kon
instead, and it makes Kon move, finally, giving Tim's
balls one last squeeze before he wraps his fingers
around Tim's dick.
He doesn't even see the whimper coming before it
spills into Kon's mouth, but it makes Kon stroke, and
that's... It's so good. Impossibly good, even though
it's slow. Maybe *because* it's slow. Control he
doesn't have and can't even fake.
And then Kon stops kissing him, leaning back and
*staring* at him. At his mouth and into his eyes and
at his working hand and back again.
Tim bites his lip and turns away, eyes rolling back in
his head at the feel of Kon's thumb circling the head
of his dick, again and again until he has to choose
between bleeding and opening his mouth.
He opens his mouth, and the moan comes out low
and loud and desperate.
"God, Tim..." And Kon starts to stroke faster, and
Tim's body wants him to know how *hard* Kon's
hands are, how warm and strong and *big* they
are, and how good it feels to whimper and curse
"Kon --" It's more of a gasp than a word.
"Look at me."
"Oh God --"
He can't say no to that. He can't even hesitate, rolling
his head on his neck and staring into Kon's eyes.
And Kon shoves him back harder against the crates
and jerks him fast and *hard*, hard enough that
every up-stroke makes him grunt, and Tim can feel
himself flushing -- *blushing* -- and he can smell his
own sweat and Kon licks his lips and doesn't stop.
*Won't* stop, and the thought makes him whimper
and arch, and his orgasm hits him before he can get
into a better position, twisting his hips up and out
and generally trying to make his spine feel optional.
He bends his knees and locks them until he has
something like balance back, and Kon helps him
back upright. And doesn't move his hand.
"Christ. Christ, Tim, I almost came in my *pants*."
He slides his hand off, making Tim jerk and shudder.
And brings his hand to his mouth, sniffing at his slick
fingers before very deliberately looking Tim in the
eye and... licking them.
*Sucking* them, and suddenly Tim can't remember
why he was waiting to do this. Why he was even
He reaches for Kon's jeans and opens them, hands
shaking too much to do it anything but awkwardly,
even after he tries to will them into submission. He
yanks them down roughly -- probably too roughly
for anyone who wasn't a superhero, but Kon just
moans and thrusts toward him.
And Tim drops to his knees, not letting himself hear
Kon's gasp as much as he wants to, as much as he
*needs* to, because he needs the few shreds of
control he has left more.
"Tim, you --"
"Let me," he says, and wraps his hand around the
base of Kon's dick.
"God, anything you *want*."
Kon starts to shake as soon as the head is in Tim's
mouth, hands cupping Tim's face more gently than
he's ever touched him before. He can't decide if it's
the feel or the taste that makes him moan, but
moaning makes Kon cry *out* and it's... it's like
freedom. Every sound Tim makes will make it that
much better for Kon.
It's the perfect excuse to groan about it, about the
slick pressure on his tongue and the stretch of his
lips. About how much he's *wanted* this, even
when Kon was just the frighteningly attractive
superhero Tim kept getting stuck with, as opposed
to his friend. The one he wants to protect, as
opposed to everyone he *has* to.
There's nothing here to protect Kon from, except
maybe himself, and that's not going to happen.
There's something comforting about the simple
fact of it, some small way to put it all into perspective:
the way Tim's pumping Kon's dick into his mouth and
tugging on his smooth, sweaty hip. The way Tim
sounds like Bart with a sundae, slurping and humming
like he can't get enough.
Kon's voice is high with desperation, *loud*, and
even when he tightens his hold on Tim's face his
hands don't stop shaking.
"Oh *God*, Tim, that's so *hot* --"
His hips jerk, and it's not really a thrust until Tim digs
his fingers in to Kon's hip and whimpers. It's not the
sound he *wanted* to make, but he *had* wanted
to make a sound, and it works. Encouragement.
"Oh fuck oh *fuck* you're so good, so hot, please
don't stop --"
He's hot all over, sweat prickling his skin, making
him itch and squirm, making him *hard* again, or
maybe that's just the jerky slide of Kon's dick into
his mouth, off-rhythm and maddening. His mouth
feels *used*, like maybe it was always supposed to
*be* used like this.
Tim can't concentrate on making noise, so every
sound is as raw and helpless as he feels, and the
fact that Kon's still trying to control himself is
something between horrible and hilarious.
Tim takes his hand off Kon's dick and settles it on
his other hip, instead. Kon pushes his hair off his
forehead, slow and not gentle, and Tim knows
what he wants. He looks up and gets lost.
Kon's face is flushed and his expression...
He almost looks *sad*, like this is *hurting* him,
and it makes something seize up inside him, makes
him dig his short nails into Kon's hips and slide his
lips back from his teeth --
"Oh *God* --"
And the first real thrust almost makes him gag --
"Oh God I can't stop --"
But he's ready for the next, gasping on a swallow,
and he can't keep his eyes open. It's so good, it's
so real, it's all over him and he can't get away.
Kon's hands holding him still and Kon's dick rocking
into his throat once, again, and Tim can feel him
shuddering, feel him *trying* to pull back without
hurting him, and he doesn't know whether to hold
on or let go.
And Kon comes in his mouth, and it's almost too
much, too *fast*, because his body needs to
swallow and his body *wants* to groan. Slick, he
thinks, *hot*, and then Kon grabs his shoulders
and *pushes*, rocking Tim back on his heels and
stumbling back, tripping on his loose jeans and
hitting the floor.
Kon's mouth is open, but the only sounds coming
out are gasps. Tim can't look away, can't stop
licking his lips until all he tastes is his own spit.
And Kon *crawls* back to him, wrapping his fists
around Tim's biceps and holding on and kissing
him, hard and seeking, pushing them until Tim's
on his back, floor cold and gritty and irrelevant
under his ass.
"Tim," and Kon kisses him again, stroking his arms,
stroking up under Tim's shirts.
"I'm here --"
"I *know*," and Kon sounds almost angry, touching
and petting him like he can't make himself stop.
He thinks he's going to come again. "Kon --"
"Sometimes I just... you make me feel -- and I have
to see --"
"I know," and he moves to wrap an arm around Kon,
but Kon catches it and pushes it back against the
"I just... wait a second, okay?"
Tim nods, and forces himself not to turn into Kon's
mouth. Kon's breathing hot and damp against Tim's
jaw, pressing his lips there over and over and rubbing
his thumb against Tim's wrist.
"I have to see it, you know? I *know* you do,
because sometimes it seems like you know
"I don't." He can't keep himself from moving under
"Am I hurting you? Should I --"
Kon moans against his face and ducks his head,
whispering against Tim's throat. "Good, because I
don't want to move. I want to keep you right
"Kon --" And he can't remember what he wanted to
say, because Kon's sucking on his throat, *licking*
his throat, and Tim's dick is wedged against Kon's
stomach and leaking. "Oh --" He bites his lip.
"Yeah. You..." Kon licks him harder, a wavering line
to his ear. "I thought about you sucking me, but I
couldn't even *imagine* it. Just the picture in my
mind would make me come so hard..."
He pushes against Kon's hold on his wrist, he can't
*not*, and Kon squeezes him.
"I love how turned on you get. I love seeing it on
your face. How much you want this."
Tim hears himself make a high sound in his throat
and there's not enough room for him to thrust
against Kon and he can't stop doing it *anyway*.
Because Kon knows him.
"God, Tim, I *need* you --" And Kon pulls back
just enough to find his mouth, kissing him hard and
fucking in with his tongue, stroking Tim's wrist and
Their eyes are open.
"That's the look. That's the one --"
And he *finally* lets go, but before Tim can grab him,
he's moving, sliding down Tim's body and pushing
his shirts up and kissing his navel like it's just another
mouth for a long, hot second before moving lower.
Tim's dick brushes Kon's cheek and the stubble makes
him jerk. "Please --"
Kon gasps like he's been gut-punched and grabs
Tim's dick, stroking it harder. A half-second pause
and then he's putting it in his mouth, wrapping his lips
around the head and sucking hard and clumsily,
harder for a second when Tim shouts. And pulls off.
"Please, Kon, please --"
"I don't know what I'm *doing* and I really don't
care. I just -- put your hands on my head?"
He can't -- he has to -- He slides his hands over the
soft fuzz of Kon's hair and holds on. And pulls him
"Oh God --" And Kon takes him deeper this time,
squeezing the base and licking him, sucking him.
Sucking him so *hard* and it almost hurts, it *does*
hurt a little and Tim spreads his legs and digs his
fingers into Kon's scalp to keep from shoving his fist
into his mouth. The sounds aren't even moans
anymore, just one gasped-out cry after another. He
can't hold them back, and every one digs him deeper,
splays him out for Kon to see.
For Kon to *have*. So close. Too close and too much
and Tim comes sobbing, too wrung out to push Kon
off or even warn him.
Kon coughs and groans and groans again and crawls
back up his body, kissing him slick and wet. Tim
tastes himself in Kon's mouth and tries to remember
where his mind is.
"Jesus, Tim. I think I want to do that every *day*."
He gives up and holds on, licking his come out of
Kon's mouth and letting Kon roll them over until Tim's
sprawled over his body.
"This, too," he says, cupping Tim's face and stroking
Language is impossible, but Kon's eyes are on his
own and Tim knows he's maybe saying enough just
"You feel..." And Kon shakes his head and grins. "So
how long before someone tracks us down?"
"I don't know."
Kon nods slowly and slides his other hand around
to cup Tim's ass, stroking and squeezing. "I still can't
believe you weren't going to *tell* me this."
"It didn't seem... important."
"Yeah, why don't you let *me* help make those
decisions from now on? Think of it as a team-building
Tim grins. "I'll think about it."
"Yeah, for a *year*. Come down here, man."
Tim does, deliberately resting his weight on Kon's
body, his cheek on Kon's chest. He's warm and solid
and half-hard under him, and Tim thinks about having
this in a bed. It's on the *other* to-do list.
Kon strokes his hair. "This is..."
Dangerous, addictive, so good. Bruce had
miscalculated. He should've told Tim off for
something entirely different than thinking with his
dick, and then maybe he would've been right enough
to listen to. Tim listens to Kon's heart beat and closes
"You feel it, too."
It's not a question, and he doesn't bother answering.
Kon laughs a little, and pushes his thumb against the
back of his neck, making him shiver. "It must really
fuck with your weird little head."
"I think it's supposed to."
"You could be right."
"That's the thing about you, man. You're all fucked-up
about this -- I can *tell* -- but you're doing it
"I want to."
Kon strokes his back with his other hand, absently
possessive. "Go with that."
Once, early in his training, Bruce had reminded Tim to
trust his instincts, and to trust *his* when he wasn't
sure, just as if Bruce was this solid, almost entirely
infallible thing instead of someone who needed a
partner less because Gotham is a mess than because
It was still good advice.
You made the best decision you could, and then you
went with it.
Kon is open and honest and young in a way Tim
barely remembers. And Kon is... his. He slides his
palm up Kon's chest and cups his shoulder.
.In Your Room.