Disclaimers: Not at all mine.
Spoilers/Timeline: Really small ones for SUPERMAN/BATMAN
#8. Basically, it's that stretch of time when Clark is
Summary: "It's better when there's at least four people."
Ratings Note/Warnings: Sexual content, and then some.
Content some readers may find to be TIM/KON OMG.
Author's Note: About midway through writing this, it
occurred to me that I didn't think it would be possible for
me to work in *more* of the requests quite a number of
you made here. I'm kind of... okay, 'impressed' isn't the
Acknowledgments: To Jack and Jam for audiencing,
encouragement, and helpful suggestions.
"You -- you're actually cranky."
Dick sounds shocked -- and amused, of course. Tim glances
up from the controls and raises an eyebrow.
"It's not just Tim-is-being-serious. You're totally cranky."
That's almost awestruck. "Dick," Tim says, nice and steady
and 'we're-both-in-uniform, dammit.'
"Timmy," Dick says, and grins -- smirks. And takes the
jet into an entirely pointless -- and predictable -- loop.
Tim rolls his eyes. "Dickie."
Dick actually laughs, which -- yeah. Of course.
"Look, I just don't think this is even remotely close to the
best use of our time."
"I mean -- there's Kryptonite all over the place out there,
and I still haven't quite finished with my detector -- you
know the Geiger solution just isn't good enough --"
"For people smart enough to hide their stashes in lead,
mm-hmm, I get you --"
"And we could -- this could -- why is it *us*?"
Dick sort of... rolls his head on his neck, which turns his
smile into something lazy and annoyingly warm. "Because."
Tim narrows his eyes. "Because *why*?"
"Because..." Dick wrinkles his nose a little. "Because of the
wonderful things he does?"
The thing about being a Titan is that Tim's gotten a little
used to -- again -- being able to *quell* people with a look.
Which just makes the hair-ruffle he gets from *Dick* even
"Did you just make a little 'huff' noise?"
"Yeah you did. You really did."
"I do not -- I didn't huff."
Dick snickers. "Ooh, Timmy's losing his contractions. The
Enterprise is *doomed* --"
"I'm *not* losing my contractions -- and also it's the other
way around -- and also -- look, Clark's not even *sick* or
anything. He doesn't need company!"
"Yes, he does," the radio -- Bruce -- says.
Tim doesn't jump, but Dick doesn't jump *less*.
"Without it, the *rest* of us won't get anything done."
"We're on it, boss," Dick says, and makes the jet do a slinky
little airplane-intensive dance number.
"By 'the rest of us,' you mean 'you,' Batman."
"Yes," Bruce says. "I do. Batman out."
Dick snickers more. "You're thinking about flipping the radio off,
He flips Dick off instead.
The motion of the Fortress' hangar is far more reminiscent
of an eye than a gaping, hungry mouth, but that doesn't
do much of anything to alleviate the *feel* of it.
He's managed to go three *years* as Robin without being
here, in this place, and he was really hoping --
"Oh, thank God --"
He was really hoping to be able to get out of the jet without
anything mortifying happening, but, well, he's still
half-strapped in *and* partially pinned. By Kon.
"You've gotta get me *out* of here, man, I swear, I'll go
back to Smallville. I'll *stay* in Smallville --" Kon stops,
and looks up. "Hey, Nightwing."
"Hey, Superboy! Watch out, he's cranky."
"Dude, he always is. Anyway," Kon says, and kind of
squeezes and shakes Tim at the same time. "I will do
anything. I will owe you for life. I will -- he's trying to teach
"Anything interesting?" Tim asks, in Kryptonian.
"Dude, stop that *right now*."
"I --" Tim takes a breath and watches Dick exit from the
plane with a motion which seems to be something between
a flip and the pouring of a thick -- and possibly alcoholic --
Kon is warm.
The Fortress smells like... alien... things which are
probably moderately poisonous to humans. "Kon," he tries.
"First off -- why are you here? I thought you *were* in
It's enough to make Kon shift and fidget a bit -- enough for
Tim to be able to finish unhooking the restraints, anyway.
"I -- uh. I was just flying. A little! Barely a few hundred
"Mm-hmm," and actually getting out of the seat involves a
lot more shimmying than Tim tends to be comfortable with,
but he supposes that it would be even more difficult if Kon
didn't give those helpful pushes. "Flying."
"And I saw this... well, it was kind of a *glow*."
"And it was really *fascinating* -- and it totally wasn't
green! I'm not an idiot!"
Tim pinches the bridge of his nose and leaps down into the
hangar proper. "Not at all. There was a glow..."
"There was a glow and I... I kinda was a girl for about
twenty-four hours and it was terrifying but kinda hot and
that's why Aunt Martha and Uncle Jon shipped me here. Uh."
That's... well. Well. "That explains it, I suppose."
"I had a *fantastic* rack."
The cocoa is excellent. Suspiciously so, considering the fact
that the air *does* smell (and feel, and taste) different,
which would suggest that *food* should taste different.
Tim eyes his mug and ignores the way Clark winks at him.
And the way Dick is sort of... whispering into Kon's ear.
And the way Kon looks deeply attentive.
And then Clark brings out the Monopoly board.
To his credit, even Dick looks a bit bemused.
"It's better when there's at least four people," Clark says,
Kon nods seriously at him. "You're totally the bank all the
time, I bet, hunh, man?"
"I don't... we don't..."
Dick snorts. "Monopoly always got kind of... I mean, Oracle
was vicious about it. When she was *Batgirl*."
Tim blinks at Dick.
Dick shrugs. "I'm pretty sure she made *Jason* cry once.
And Alfred... Alfred always got hotels up on Boardwalk and
Park Place so *fast*. It never ended well."
Clark looks thoughtful for a moment. "Ma always says that
Monopoly was best when everyone was nice and... calm."
And then one of the AI's servos brings out egg nog.
"Dude," Kon says.
"I know it's not really the season for it, but..." Clark touches
the wall, and suddenly there's a perfect -- and intimidatingly
*large* -- view of the snowy wasteland outside.
Tim shudders internally. And deals out the money.
There's nothing suspect in the egg nog. He's...
He's almost sure there's nothing suspect in the egg nog.
Dick has been cheating outrageously, but, then again, so
There's -- it's really good egg nog.
There's almost certainly a reason why he's been playing
from Kon's lap for the past forty-two minutes.
The game doesn't end so much as... degenerate.
That really does seem to be the right word for a state of
being which is currently made up of Kon licking the back
of his neck while Clark smiles sort of *dreamily* at him, or
possibly just at the world in general, which isn't an
especially illogical thing to do, Tim thinks, if Dick is in the
process of going down on you.
"Dude, you totally taste like *human*," Kon says, and
"Just... man, I never even..."
Clark gasps, and it may or may not have anything to do
with the fact that Tim is bent back over Kon's shoulder and
thrusting into the fist Kon had shoved into Tim's tights.
Dick's tights are --
Tim has no idea where they are.
"Dick --" That was his own voice. "Jesus, *Dick* --"
"Oh, *yeah*, Rob, I've *got* your dick --"
"No, I -- damn, I -- oh *God*, I mean *Nightwing* --"
Or -- that may have been an entirely different question.
Much of it is muffled by Clark's erection, after all, and
there's a very important question he needs to ask, but
"Fuck, man, why aren't you *naked*?"
Mostly, Kon is licking him and petting him and his mouth
tastes like egg nog and *alien* and chocolate, and he's
reasonably sure Kon only has two hands, but that doesn't
really explain why there are hands on his hips *and* fingers
in his mouth --
"Oh, *Dick* -- *ah* --"
And Kon's thrusting against Tim's abdomen and Clark is
saying something impressively filthy in Kryptonian about
Dick's mouth, and then Dick is right *there*, smiling --
wetly -- down at him --
When had he made it to the floor?
Smiling and thrusting his fingers into Tim's mouth, and,
"You called, little brother?"
Tim feels his eyes roll back in his head.
"There is -- ah -- actually a *theory* about it."
Tim considers saying something to encourage Clark to
explain further, but that would involve either not continuing
to kiss Dick or not continuing to lick Kon's penis, neither of
which is really going to happen, especially since Clark is
doing something to Tim's ass which is making the very
concept of saying anything but variations on "ohnn" pretty
much a fantasy.
But Clark is an intelligent man. He understands -- Tim has
to know. "I... well. Kryptonians aren't really primates, of
course, but we're still very... mmm, you're tight, Tim --"
"Ohh fuck. You guys are... holy fuck, I'm gonna come if I
don't close my eyes. I totally and completely cannot close
Dick is doing a really outstanding job of kissing Tim and
teasing the head of Kon's penis simultaneously. He has a
very, very mobile... well, everything, but especially his
tongue just now.
"You're -- oh, *warm* inside, Tim --"
He's doing less well, but --
"I totally. Completely -- Jesus *fuck* --"
-- Kon doesn't seem to mind.
"I was saying -- I think I was saying something..." Clark
trails off, staring.
In his defense, Kon has one of Dick's legs bent *all* the
way up. Or he did, the last time Tim looked up.
Tim hums in what he hopes is a helpful manner around
Clark's penis, and then there are big hands in his hair, and
"*Harder*, God, harder, Kon -- *yes* --"
"Oh Christ oh God oh fuck oh *Jesus* --"
"Great *Rao*," Clark says, and it's a bit irritating, but, in
the end, Tim really has to agree.
Especially when Clark starts to thrust.
"You were saying something," Tim says, mostly into Clark's
mouth while -- mostly -- spread over his lap.
"Dude, you really need to stop speaking Kryptonian," Kon
says into his ear. His hands are on Tim's hips and the
squeeze is probably meant as emphasis, of some sort.
Kon's chest is warm and pressed against his back and warm
and not quite as warm as Clark's chest, and also pressing.
"You were --"
The yank on his hair is actually a little painful, but it leads
to kissing Dick --
"Man, I don't care if you guys *are* brothers, that's totally
"They're not blood relations, Conner," Clark says, and he's
not using his mouth for *anything*, which is --
Well, it seems frankly kind of tragic, but it's *also* an
opportunity. Tim pulls away from the kiss, and -- "You
had a *theory*, Clark."
"What? Oh... oh, yes, well, it's just that Kryptonians are
very social, and it's -- ah... I don't suppose you could give
me a moment to... oh, *Dick*," Clark says, and Dick says,
"Sorry, Tim, but... Clark's ass is so *hot*," and he's
grinning at Tim from over Clark's shoulder, and Kon says,
And it really doesn't take long at all before Kon is basically
*driving* Tim against Clark's body, which is, in turn, being
driven against Tim's own.
It does take a bit for them to synchronize, though.
He's just about to start worrying about dehydration when
several of the servos arrive with a large collection of
beverages and basic food choices.
He has peanut butter in his hair.
He no longer has peanut butter in his hair, and the pool's
filters seem quite excellent, which is good, because he's
reasonably sure the sounds Kon is making are indicative --
"God, Tim, don't stop, don't -- please don't -- you feel --"
"You feel incredible, Kon," he says, because he has to, just
like he has to keep thrusting, keep holding *on*, keep
*thrusting*, even though he's actually starting to feel a bit
pained, in a number of unexpected -- yet ultimately
predictable -- ways.
Kon reaches back to cup his hip, to pull him *in* --
"Kon -- *Kon* --"
"Oh God *fuck* --"
And Tim bites the back of Kon's neck just a little harder.
He drags Kon out of the pool and leaves him snoring --
gently -- on the floor material which is only 'tile' by the
loosest standards of the word. It's warm, and grips -- also
gently -- Tim's wet feet as he moves.
He finds Dick chained to a wall -- *with* the wall in
question -- near the world's only arboretum entirely stocked
with sentient trees.
He's not sure what the trees think of all of this, and he's
only a little tempted to ask the AI. For now, though...
"Clark, I could take care of... that for you for a few minutes,
if you don't mind. It would be conducive to you *talking*."
And also really hot.
"Ohh, Tim, don't *interrupt* him, really --"
Clark holds up a finger and continues having a very wet,
noisy, and distracting sort of --
Tim strips off his tights for the twelfth time in as many
hours and takes himself in hand.
Wall-intensive bondage is disturbingly comfortable when it
comes to the Fortress.
"It's just really kind of cute that you keep putting them
*on*, little brother."
"So, what I was saying about being social, Tim, is that I've
found some evidence that people with a certain amount of
Kryptonian -- or similar -- biological signatures tend to begin
exuding... well, pheromones isn't really the word for it,
quite, but --"
"-- event, when there's a distinct lack of social contact for
any extended period of --"
"Shut up and fuck me. Please."
"If you're sure."
"The more distracting you prove to be, the less likely I am
to remember how badly I want to hurt you, right now."
"Er... you're speaking in a non-sexual, manner, right?"
"Because the walls of the Fortress can be quite --"
Tim locks his legs around Clark's chest.
Tim's not entirely sure how Dick is managing to make
spooning with a tree root look comfortable, but he's willing
to accept that it's just one of those things which is unique
to the man.
He unwraps Clark's cape from around his waist -- he's no
longer sure where his tights are -- and covers Dick with it.
And part of the tree.
Another, smaller root tickles his ankle as he walks away,
but does it in a friendly enough manner for Tim to file
*that* into the part of his brain he's reserving for being in
He has no idea how long the five hundred dollar Monopoly
bill has been plastered to the back of his left thigh.
The Fortress gives him coffee when he asks -- and a
blessedly soft chair -- but, after an hour, Tim's forced to
give up on having it provide tights in any shades save red
or blue. The red works well enough, and the AI is much
better at providing a functioning communicator.
Though Tim's rather more accustomed to communicators
which don't try to cup quite that much of his face.
Still, there's a certain thematic rightness to it all.
"Robin to Batman."
"How long -- precisely -- are we supposed to keep the
"Hm. The clone is there."
Kon is, actually, dozing with his head on Clark's thigh.
His left hand is still wrapped loosely around Clark's
Clark, for his part, appears to be asleep -- truly asleep --
which is the sort of thing Tim would consider studying,
were he yet capable of taking a deep breath within
three feet of the man without... well.
"The clean-up operations are at approximately eighty-five
percent, Robin. You -- all of you -- should be free to go
within the next sixteen hours."
"Is there a problem?"
Dick is awake, present, and licking Tim's fingers. "Not as
such, no. Robin out."
The communicator isn't especially eager to be removed
from his face, but Dick and Clark are very helpful with
As is the tree.
Kon smiles at him a little dazedly.
Tim breathes deep.