Disclaimers: Not mine in any way, shape, or form.

Spoilers: Not a single, solitary one. Timeline: some
sort of future... thing. ::handwavey::

Summary: Kon has a good dream. Tim's in range.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: A certain aspect of Jamjar's story
"Visit" kind of lodged in my mind and proceeded
to make demands. Playing with Kon's powers =
yay.

Acknowledgments: To LC, Livia, and Jack for
audiencing and suggestions.

*

Tim wakes up out of the black of a dream his
subconscious doesn't see fit to share with the rest
of him, wakes up to rhythmic, ticklish pressure
and confusion.

Brief confusion. This isn't the first time he's been
forced to ignore his internal clock, and it won't
be the last. Certainly not *here*. He forces
himself to ignore the pressure (over his ribs,
pushing up his top) and pay attention.

His room is dark and quiet. His doors and
windows are closed. (light touch on his nipples
and he thinks 'harder,' and his stomach lurches
because there's no one *in* here and --) The
walls are *mostly* soundproofed, an imperfect
compromise between the need for security and
the need for the Titans to occasionally get a
full night's rest. If there was anything going on,
he would probably be able to (feel it, he can
feel --) hear it.

More than that, the 'wristwatch' he sleeps in would
be beeping with all of the *extra* alarms Tim has
planted around the Tower and grounds over the
past several weeks.

His body jerks forward against nothing, *from*
nothing, and stops.

Held.

If he was a superstitious person, he'd think
something about ghosts. But he isn't, and his
bedroom just happens to be within fifty yards of
the bedroom of a boy with telekinesis that is,
increasingly, not especially limited to the tactile.

His bedroom just happens to be within *range*.

Tim grins to himself and waits for the pressure
to ease again, enough for him to move. His
pajamas mostly straighten themselves out when
he's upright, and he takes a moment to fix the
collar. And yank the bottoms back up over his
hip.

Really, the only question at this point is how
*often* he's going to use this incident to --
gently -- torture Kon. Every weekend might be
a little much, and really, it's hard to imagine a
future in which he *won't* want to drag this
out every few months. It's one of the benefits
of having friends, as opposed to simply allies.

One of them.

He's halfway out the door before it hits again --
*it*. Kon's aura, and the touch is different this
time. Testing. Brushing over and over his face
like a blind man's hand, except there are no
'fingers.' Or perhaps too many. And it's...
interesting. The aura was *looking* for him,
and he looks back over his shoulder to see --
yes.

His sheets are far more rumpled than he'd left
them.

Interesting that Kon could do that silently, though Kon
was always better at using his powers when he
wasn't thinking consciously about it.

If he's even *remotely* awake now, Tim will wear
Dick's old Robin panties. In public.

He turns around and heads for Kon's room.

Correction: he *tries* to head for Kon's room,
because the aura is apparently satisfied that it's
found the right person -- the plausible deniability
Tim was willing to cede Kon given that Cassie's
bedroom is only a few doors down from his own
is *rapidly* eroding -- and has wrapped itself
around him again.

Like a hug from smoke, like dry water.

It isn't squeezing him very tightly, but...

The image in Tim's mind is of a massively thick
rope coiled around him from his throat to his
ankles. If he *wasn't* being held upright, it
would actually be profoundly difficult -- perhaps
impossible -- to keep his balance.

The other image in Tim's mind is of the time
(one of them) he'd done his rounds of the
sleeping Tower and found Kon curled around
his pillow, arms wrapped tight and knees pulled
up to do the same.

(Are you holding me like that? What are you
dreaming?)

He shakes it off -- the thoughts, at least -- and
takes a good look around. Nearly all the doors
are closed, save for Beast Boy's, whose room
has a familiarly empty resonance.

The fact that the bedrooms are actually rather
far away from Cyborg's lab and private quarters
has meant that they really don't *see* Gar at
night very often, save for those times when
Raven is having a difficult night, or for those
periodic occasions when Gar shows up to make
pointedly appreciative comments about Cassie's
or Starfire's chosen sleepwear.

Starfire's door is *also* open, but it's safe to
assume she's just as unconscious as everyone
else. She's made a point of being *available*
to them, but if she were awake, there'd be the
flickering light of candles, and the smell of
incense would be more pervasive than simply
lingering. Ghostly.

The pressure increases on his throat -- just a
little too much.

If he presses his 'watch' against his thigh, he
could probably set off one of the louder alarms.
Or he could simply yell.

He waits, instead, and the pressure eases,
shifts.

Rhythmic again. If he closed his eyes, he could
easily picture Kon's hand on his throat, fingers
resting lightly along the tendon while his thumb
strokes and strokes.

It isn't that difficult to imagine with his eyes
open, and there's a temptation...

There are too many temptations. He really
needs to wake Kon *up*. He forces his head
back down and flexes against the hold on him.
And gets squeezed harder, all over. There's no
longer any question that the only thing keeping
him upright is the aura.

He steadies his breathing and flexes harder,
*tenses* harder, holding himself that way.
Really, he doesn't have a plan so much as a
mostly wordless theory, but...

Yes.

Suddenly, there's nothing but air around him, and
Tim twists and lands, toes and fingers. The air
is only air, and everything is still. He pauses to
let his breathing steady and -- pressure.

Light, this time, moving ticklish down his spine.

*Tentative*.

He should move again. He should --

He holds still for it, instead. After a moment, the
pressure firms again, hard (sweet) against the
base of his spine. Tim breathes, and it becomes
diffuse, pressing to either side of his spine and
pushing *up*. Pushing his top up and.

Petting him.

Tim stands, cautiously, and the (hands) pressure
keep moving, over and over him, more diffuse,
far more than any two hands (even Kon's, which
are big, broad) could offer. He shivers and feels
his hips be forcibly stilled. And his shoulders.

And shivers again, because the (*hands*) are
back on his throat, stroking, pushing, sliding
down. He looks down and stares at his shirt,
and the way that it's seemingly pushing itself
away from his chest. It's loose -- he spends
enough of his life encased in armor that
loose clothing has never stopped feeling both
luxurious and a little wrong -- but apparently
not loose *enough*.

The top button pings off the wall and bounces
down the hall.

The next three scatter all over the floor.

The pressure is diffuse and hallucinatory
everywhere but over his sternum, where it's
hard (not wet), teasing --

"What do you *want*?"

It comes out before he can swallow it back, and
it comes out too loud. A *stage* whisper. Tim
freezes and listens and -- feels.

Nothing from the others, and the aura (hands,
tongue, God --) hasn't stopped. All over him,
and it's wrong, it's *wrong*.

Because there's no scent but the lingering traces
of Starfire's incense and the familiar smells of
plastic and metal and paint (Tower). Because it
isn't wet, and it's not --

If he went back to bed, and closed his door, he
could just... until Kon woke up.

He doesn't have any buttons left and his pajama
top is flapping in a breeze that doesn't, actually,
exist for anything in the universe but his own
body right now. And the touches on his
waistband are something between a fumble
and fingerless, formless tease.

It's not actually any sort of relief that a part of
him *sincerely* wants it to keep going because
he's honestly curious about just how... sensitive
the aura is. Just how much it can tell about
him.

How much it will be *able* to tell when --

"oh."

His knees try to buckle at the first squeeze, and
really, that's some kind of instinct right there.
Some...

He braces one hand on the wall and tries to --

Pressure on his wrist, circling, holding --

He fights against it and it's instantly gone. His
hands are free and he's standing in the middle of the
hallway with his pajama top spread open and his
pants around his thighs and his dick in a hand that
doesn't, actually, *exist*.

But he can walk.

He can... okay, it's more of a limp, but he's
moving, and possibly he should get someone else
to train with Kon when he's doing aura work. It
wouldn't take much to brief *any* of the others
on what he's doing, and he really didn't *have*
to be --

Pressure on his mouth, his lips, a messy kiss, a
dry *push*, holding his tongue down and he
can't hold back a muffled noise --

-- such a control freak about *this*, because
clearly -- *clearly* -- Kon's aura is just a little
too familiar with *him*.

(But that's a lie, that's an excuse, because it's
Kon, it's just Kon, even though --)

He doesn't so much walk into Kon's room as
stumble, and he isn't sure which of them closed
the door.

But it's closed, and he can hit the lights and --

"Oh."

Kon's mostly on his side, eyes closed but moving
rapidly, visibly behind the lids. The pillow looks
moderately abused and Kon is moaning softly,
constantly, and Tim watches (feels) Kon stroke
a path over the pillow with the flat of his hand
(on him), and Kon's fingers curl (around him
again) --

"Oh God, Kon --"

And the moans are louder, *deeper*, and Kon
turns over and Tim knows he was going to do
*something*, but suddenly his arms are above
his head, wrists crossed and *held*, and his
mouth is full and his dick --

He can't stop working his hips and --

"Tim," and Kon's voice is sleepy and rough and
*low* and --

-- noise. He can't stop making *noise*, and his
hips are snapping, moving. More, he wants
*more*, and he sucks hard on nothing and Kon
isn't wearing anything but shorts, and he can
see -- he can --

And *Kon's* working his hips, *pumping* them,
and Tim's pressed to the wall. His feet aren't
even *touching* the floor and Kon is all over
him, in him, *pushing* --

He hears himself groaning around nothing, biting
and sucking on *nothing*, but it isn't, because
Kon's windows are closed, too, and the room is
close and hot and Tim can *smell* him.

Sweat and formless heat, all around him --

"Want you, I *want* --"

And it isn't enough warning. There's nothing in
his mouth at all and "*Kon* --" comes out too
loud, too *much* and --

"Tim?"

Tim bites his lip and squeezes his eyes shut and
slams his head back against the wall. Once,
and --

Well, he was *going* to try for two, but the
aura has him.

And then it absolutely doesn't, and it's *only*
training that lets him land with anything
resembling grace.

"Oh *crap*."

"Kon."

"Oh... *crap*."

Tim looks up and Kon's flipped over again, sitting
up with the pillow... in his lap. Tim raises an
eyebrow and tries very, very hard not to think
about what he'd be feeling if Kon went back to
sleep.

Kon doesn't look like he'll be going back to sleep
before Christmas. Kon's looking *at* him, and
Tim winces, blushes, and yanks his pants back
up. Carefully.

He can't do anything about the shirt. Or about
the fact that the distinct lack of an armored jock
under his sleep pants is making things...
obvious.

They're probably going to have to talk.

"*Crap*."

Right. "You were dreaming."

"About... oh *man*." Kon has one hand *firmly*
holding the pillow over his own crotch while
the other covers his face. He's peeking through
his fingers like Tim is an especially good horror
movie.

Tim crosses his arms over his chest and smirks.
"Somehow, I can guess."

Kon winces.

"On the plus side, your distance-work with the
aura is showing marked improvement."

Kon flops back down and makes a small,
indecipherable noise. And presses the pillow
against his crotch a little harder.

And arches *up* just a little and Tim presses his
tongue against the backs of his teeth and
watches Kon tense and freeze. He's holding the
pillow so hard his knuckles are white.

"Jesus. I -- *crap*."

Tim takes a deep breath and... God. He's had a
lot of practice at talking -- *working* around
an erection that won't quit, and right about
now he's grateful for that. "I *was* going to
just come wake you up."

"Can I just start apologizing now? Because it's
going to take about six kinds of forever before
I'm *done* apologizing and --"

"But your aura *followed* me."

"I'm *so* sorry and -- fuck. Fuck. I dreamed
you were -- and that I had to *catch* you --"

"Mm. You're good at that." And I wasn't trying
very *hard* to get away.

Kon's fingers tighten on the pillow even more.
He could punch right through the fabric at any
moment. "Tim. I... I kind of need... um."

Alone-time. Because he's still hard under that
pillow. And he's... Tim forces himself to take a
breath, a *real* one as opposed to just tasting
the air.

"Tim...?"

He doesn't want to *give* Kon time alone right
now. "Yes," is what he manages to say, and
Kon... grunts. Softly.

His hand flexes on the pillow and Tim's moving,
because there's nothing holding him anymore,
because the air is weightless and cool and
maybe just a little maddening. He stops next to the
bed.

Kon slides his hand from over his face and looks
at him. Tim opens his mouth and closes it again.
And slowly, deliberately presses his own hand to
his stomach and slides it down. Kon's eyes follow
the movement, just like they should, and out of
the corner of *his* eye, Tim can see Kon's hand
flexing on the pillow again.

"Tim."

"You woke me up --"

"I'm sorry, man, I --"

"And then I was... amused." It's the easiest thing
in the world to slip his hand under the waistband
of his pants. More than that -- it feels
*necessary*. To the point where it seems almost
strange that it makes it harder to breathe evenly.

"Um."

"And then amused really wasn't... wasn't the
right word for it --"

"Hard. You're --" Kon gasps and there's
*movement*, and Tim turns and... stares.

Kon's moving the pillow up and down. Back and
forth. And his hips are --

"Tim..." And Kon's other hand is light, gentle on
his hip.

Right up until Tim curls his fingers around it and
squeezes. "The point is... I didn't mind. And I
still don't."

"Jesus, fuck, I --" And Kon's hand tightens on
his hip and a lot of *nothing* tightens around
the rest of him and Tim's moving. *Being*
moved until he's spread on top of Kon and --
the pillow is in the *way*.

Tim braces himself on one hand long enough
to rip it out from between them and tosses it.
Badly, because Kon is cupping his ass and
*squeezing*, and there's a part of his mind
that's fully aware that he just broke the lamp
Mrs. Kent sent from Smallville for Kon, but it's
small and terribly unimportant.

"God, Tim, you feel so good..."

"You don't remember how I felt when it was
your aura?"

"I... *what*?"

Kon's hands are hot, soft in the touch and hard
in the *feeling*. Squeezing his ass and sliding
up his back and Tim shrugs the shirt off
entirely. "When you were touching me. All
over..."

Kon groans and settles one hand back on Tim's
hip and *pulls* him down against him in a
rough grind. "I -- no. Just... it was a dream --"

Tim licks his teeth and rocks, and Kon's so
*warm*. So *hard* -- "It wasn't a dream -- for
me --"

"You were..." Kon exhales sharply and pulls
Tim's pants down further, *lifts* him until he
can get them past Tim's knees, and shoves
his own shorts out of the way before pulling
him back down. "You liked it --"

"Yes --"

"You wanted --"

"You," Tim says and grinds harder, faster,
fucking himself against Kon's dick and digging
his fingers into the mattress on either side of
Kon's head.

"Oh fuck -- *Tim* --"

And Kon's eyes are wide and *focused*. Full
and impossible to look at, to look away *from*.
Tim tries to say Kon's name and it comes out
whimpered, breathless, and Kon squeezes his
hips for just a second before stroking him.

Again. Petting him, sliding his hands up Tim's
back and around to his chest and up to his
mouth and all over, all over --

"Kon -- I --"

Thumb in his mouth, salty, hard. Strong, and
Kon *bucks* when Tim bites, streaking his
abdomen with pre-come, and Tim closes his
eyes and sucks and *thrusts*.

He can't keep himself from moaning around
Kon's thumb and he can't stop and --

"I did this -- in the dream. Oh *God*, Tim --"

Seized, held *again*, and Kon rolls them over
and slips his thumb out of Tim's mouth and --
"I just -- I have to --"

And his tongue is wet, *slick*, stabbing into
Tim's mouth and out again. Licking his cheek
and the mask and his throat.

"Tim --"

Tim wraps his legs around Kon's waist and
arches up as much as he can against Kon's
weight and that insistent *aura*. He can't move
his arms. It wants him down, held down
against Kon's bed. Kon wants him like this and
there are hands on his legs, his ankles and
ribs, hands in his hair and Tim doesn't know
they're real until he can feel their heat, feel
Kon tilting his head up for more kisses.

Deeper ones. And Kon just moans into his mouth
like he's trying to talk and kiss at the same time,
like he *needs* to. The way Tim needs to move,
and *can't*.

Except for his mouth.

Except for his hips.

Kon pulls back and pants, grunts with every
thrust and stares at him wide-eyed. Shocky and
*hungry*. "I feel you -- Tim, I can feel you in
my *skin* --"

And it's like (smoke) being buried, being rolled
and squeezed -- "All over --"

Drowning in Kon's groans and his touch --

"God, Kon, all over me --"

"*Yes*," and Kon buries his hands in Tim's hair
and holds his head tilted back and stares.
Just...

Watching him. Feeling --

And Tim's moan comes out choked and high
and desperate, louder when he feels himself
coming all over himself -- "*Tim* --"

-- both of them, and Kon dives in for another
kiss and sucks Tim's tongue, his wrists, hands
on him, lifting, and Tim has just enough brain
power to realize that he's not, technically, on
the *bed* anymore before Kon cries out into
his mouth and comes.

Tim feels him shuddering, and there's nothing
squeezing his knees, nothing digging into his
ass hard enough to leave bruises, and
absolutely nothing holding them approximately
three feet over the bed.

And then there's *nothing*, and they hit hard
enough to knock the breath out of his body --

"*Fuck*, sorry --"

Tim gasps and Kon rolls off and he can smell it
even more now, *taste* it, and Tim groans and
Kon strokes his chest --

"*Jesus*, I'm sorry --"

"It's okay --"

"I *used* to have -- fucking *control* --"

Tim's pretty much going to take that as a
compliment. He grins to himself and catches Kon's
hand, which seems to be trying to start a sort of
casual CPR. "It's okay."

"Tim --"

"I'm... really okay." The spots in his vision should
clear up reasonably quickly.

"Yeah?" Kon presses his thumb against Tim's
palm.

"Yeah." Now if he could just remember how to
blink, he'd be fine.

"Okay," Kon says, and twists his hand out of
Tim's grasp. And pets his chest in a much calmer
way. "Um."

"That must make masturbation interesting."

Kon pauses. Tim's pretty sure he can *feel* him
blinking. "Dude. I can't believe you just said
that."

Frankly, neither can he. He's going to blame the
oxygen deprivation. "Hmm."

"Uh. Mostly it's fine. I mean, *sometimes*... but
usually I'm not around breakable... um."

That makes sense. "Mm."

"So, I..." Kon rests his arm -- gently -- over Tim's
ribs. And curls his other arm up around Tim's
head.

He's more than a little surrounded, and Kon's
breath is a hot, damp tickle on his ear.

"You've probably figured out that I wanted this.
You."

For how long? "It seemed like a fair assumption
to make."

"Uh huh. *My* question is... uh. How much of
this is *you* wanting it and how much of it
is..."

"Your aura teasing me until I was too hard to
say 'no?'"

Kon throws his leg over Tim's thighs and
*rocks*. "Jesus yeah. I mean no. I mean..."

Tim turns his head enough to smirk at Kon. "I
*had* planned on just mocking you about this
for the next six or seven years."

"See, and I *told* Bart that you totally plan
things that far ahead, and he --"

"Kon."

"Yeah," and that arm slips under Tim's neck,
shifting until his head is supported rather
effectively and his hand is lightly cupping Tim's
far shoulder. "I..."

"This is better."

And Kon's grin is so real, so *close* that it's
really hard to see anything else. Or think.

Tim can't decide whether he's relieved or not
when Kon ducks and rests his head on Tim's
shoulder. And, at this point, he isn't so much
'surrounded' as 'pinned.'

Kon curls his foot under the back of Tim's knee.

*Effectively* pinned.

Kon hums against his chest softly, and his
breathing starts to even out extremely quickly,
considering.

Tim pets Kon's hair and focuses on just waiting
until Kon gets to sleep. He *should* be able to
get back to his own room...

... just as soon as the little coil of nothing
around his ankles relaxes. He flexes them
experimentally and... yeah.

Maybe he'll just sleep here.

end.