Country Matters
by Te
September 19, 2009

Disclaimers: No one and nothing here is mine.

Spoilers/Timeline: Vague references to older storylines. Takes place not long after Tim's sixteenth birthday.

Summary: In which there's a Clark ex machina, and Te waves her hands in the air like she just don't care.

Ratings Note: Sexual content, sexual content, and, just when you think there could be a plot? Sexual content.

Author's Note: This one is totally Mildred's fault. I'm not sure what she did to get me to write it, but I know it must've been dastardly.

Acknowledgments: To Mildred, Pixie, and Jack for audiencing and encouragement -- and being just fine with waiting months for me to finish the thing. Blame Jack for the title. *g*

*

It's not a good day.

It's so far from being a good day that Tim has been tempted -- sorely -- to put this day on his list of *bad* days, despite the lack of poisoned relatives, near-death experiences, or horrible fights with Dick.

It's --

Well, the fact of the matter is that he'd woken up in a woman's body. That is, by far, the most difficult part of Tim's day. The lack of the penis he'd gotten to know very well over the years, the loss of the balance he'd *fought* for, the *breasts* currently swaying just enough to make their presence felt, even though all he's doing is pacing --

He's been pacing a great deal. A part of him has offered the -- weak -- suggestion that this can only help him get accustomed to this body, that the movement will make him more aware of his new center of gravity, that he'll be able to -- work.

Except that that's the *other* reason that today kind of -- deeply -- *sucks*.

("You're benched. Go home.")

Tim is aware that he's snarling. He's put a great deal of time and effort into always being aware of the image he's presenting to the world, and -- thankfully -- his face doesn't appear to have changed very much. His eyes are somewhat wider. His eyelashes are *shorter*. His mouth is --

He's not thinking about his mouth. He -- is not.

Except for how -- all right, he has to see. He closes his eyes and opens the closet door, opens them --

And still sees too much of his body before he can focus, and now the snarl, which had been somewhat *pouty* --

He's frowning. His eyes make it seem like he's *hurt*, like he needs someone to *protect* him --

Apparently, he has gender issues. Wonderful. Just --

He closes the closet and goes back to pacing. Perhaps Steph will punch him in his pretty, pretty mouth. Perhaps Barbara will do... something. It doesn't pay to try to predict the punishments she'll mete out. Ever.

It --

*Bruce*.

Bruce had taken one look at him when Tim had gotten off his bike, ordered him to a gurney, and done an exhaustive series of tests, taking blood and urine for good measure. All good, all fine. *Reasonable* things to do, really, for all that Bruce hadn't said a *word*.

Still fine, really -- Bruce is an uncommunicative *bastard*, and where the hell did he get *off* ordering Tim to --

Okay, okay. He's fine. He's not --

All right, he's *very* angry -- that much had been clear with that glimpse in the mirror. A very *attractive* flush if he does say so himself, and oh, *God*, what the hell is he supposed to *do*, here?

At the very least --

He can understand the benching. He *isn't* as steady on his feet as he'd become accustomed to being, and his body is... they'd have to come up with an entirely different uniform for him, and not just the tunic. He's *taller* than he was -- just under two inches, by his own eye. His legs are longer.

Shapelier.

Tim shudders and -- does not punch the wall, even though it's right there being solid and familiar and normal and everything he really isn't, right now.

At the *very* least, Bruce should've kept him there for observation. Sure, his father and Dana are off on the honeymoon they never got to have before, but --

What if something *else* goes wrong? Is he going to change color? Grow more? Get sick? Is he a little too warm, right now?

Would he notice under everything else?

What the hell was Bruce *thinking*?

Just -- he'd argued --

("Go home.")

And *fought* --

("There's nothing more you can do here. Wait for my call.")

And Bruce had turned away from him like maybe the past three *years* had been an hallucination and he was just the scrawny, untrained *child* who needed...

'The Discipline of Absence,' is what he'd called it then, within the privacy of his own mind. His parents had honed it to an art form without even trying, but Bruce always had *purpose* behind *his* actions.

If the child bleats too much, ignore it. It *will* learn to stop, and -- he's snarling again.

He could really *fucking* use some time on the bars or the pommel horse, maybe a lengthy interlude with the heavy bag --

("Go home.")

And *what*?

He's still Tim Drake, and that *should* mean that he's still Robin -- if a little off his game due to certain unforeseen *difficulties*.

Bruce is his *partner*. And yes, they've had some rough times -- *all* Bruce's fault -- but they'd worked around them where they couldn't work through. They're supposed to be able to talk about things, honestly and openly, supposed to *help* each other --

All right, he has to admit -- he'd be shocked *blind* if Bruce wasn't doing everything in his power to *fix* him, and to find out *why* Tim had woken up in this body. Robin has been some degree of neutralized, ergo Batman has to step in and step *up*. It's who Bruce is --

It's who *they* are, or who they're *supposed* to be --

Possibly he'd just growled. Possibly. He's not willing to try a definitive statement about that, because the sound was really very -- high.

He does not spin into a kick which would shatter the very nice lamp Dana had picked out for him when they were in the process of decorating this townhouse. His body is telling him --

This body is telling him that he *could* do it without falling on his ass -- which may in fact be somewhat bigger --

All right, that was more of a yell than a growl.

And he doesn't throw his keyboard through the window, but that's mostly because Superman is hovering outside with a worried look on his face.

Tim blinks.

Superman -- Clark waves.

Well. That.

Well. Tim walks over and opens the window, ushering Clark inside. The window is a somewhat tight fit for his shoulders, but Clark manages quickly enough. And then stands in the middle of Tim's bedroom with his hands folded together --

And then reaches out to touch Tim's face. The graze of his fingertips is light and warm enough that Tim decides that he's definitely *not* feverish, and -- yes, *well*.

"Is there something I can do for you, Clark?"

"Ah... I was going to ask you the same question," he says, and his smile is both the definition of rueful and far too gentle for Tim to deal with. His eyes aren't much better, and --

Tim turns and crosses his arms over his --

Tim brings his hands down to his sides and curls them into loose fists. At least his nails hadn't decided to grow.

Clark clears his throat quietly. "I noticed... ah. That is to say -- your frustration was somewhat... audible."

From how far away, exactly? No, he is *not* going to ask that question. It's enough that Clark is *here*, and it's Robin's job to deal with that. Tim takes a deep breath and turns back to face Clark. He has no idea what the smile on his face looks like --

It makes Clark wince. Deeply.

All right, no smile. "You can, of course, see what -- some of -- the problem is."

Clark narrows his eyes and folds his hands together. "I think... yes. At least, I've formulated a working theory."

His tone is an invitation to *joke*, which is -- well. Clark has always been friendly to Tim, even warm. It seems almost criminal to be as pissed-off as he is. Perhaps a bit like the emotional version of hissing at a cat who's trying to wind between your legs, or --

Something a bit less speciesist, perhaps.

Tim does his best to calm himself down -- Superman is here to *help*, and --

And Clark draws himself back, visibly.

Tim had taken too long --

"I'm sorry," Clark says. "There was an incident with red Kryptonite some years ago, and -- ah. I... empathize?"

Tim had read about the incident in question, of course, and -- he nods. "You don't -- you have nothing to apologize for, Clark."

Clark nods with perfect politeness and a rather small amount of actual *belief*.

What would it look like if *he* winced, right now?

"You said... ah. Some of the problem, Tim?"

Well, whatever it looks like, he's doing so *now*. He waves a hand. "It's not -- Bruce benched me."

Clark frowns. "Because you're... have you forgotten your training?"

"*No*, I haven't forgotten -- I haven't forgotten *anything*," Tim says, and there's that growl again, so fucking high-*pitched* --

"I'm sorry," Clark says again, and unfolds his hands to make what looks very much like a *soothing* gesture.

It makes Tim want to *growl* again, and -- is he hormonal? Is his uterus about to start sloughing its lining right into his currently ill-fitting jeans? He's going *commando*, because none of his underwear *fits* properly, anymore. Not even the *briefs* --

"Tim, I... I really would like to help," Clark says, and reaches out again. This time, his fingers don't actually touch Tim's face, as opposed to making a warm space just beyond his skin.

Is he really glaring? At *Clark*? Tim squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and pushes a hand back through his hair --

And freezes, because the motion makes his breasts sway in a new and *different* way, and --

("You'll learn, little brother. I love Bruce like no one in the *world*, but sometimes we *all* need someone a little Super to talk to.")

Tim -- puts his hands over his face, brushing Clark's fingers with his left and thinking seriously about just putting himself to sleep for a little while. He can do it -- it's just one of the many, many useful things he's picked *up* over the years --

"Or -- would you prefer that I go? Perhaps I could --"

"Clark," Tim says, and wonders, idly, if 'hopelessly muffled' is better or worse than 'painfully high-pitched.'

"I'm listening," Clark says, gentle and -- so very, very gentle.

Tim sighs and scrubs his hands down from his face. His smile must be a little better -- Clark doesn't wince, at all. "This --" Tim licks his lips. "This would all be a lot less difficult if Bruce hadn't kicked me out of the Cave."

Another frown. "He -- *why*?"

And Clark's tone is so honestly confused, so full of potential anger on his *behalf* -- it's a little breathtaking, to be honest, and also kind of... intimidating. Clark *isn't* his friend, for all that they've had a perfectly friendly working relationship over the years -- It's the first time Clark has ever made him think of Kon.

"I -- forgive me, Tim, but -- did he *give* a reason?"

"Other than me not being fit for anything at the moment -- no," Tim says, and catches himself making his own soothing gesture. "He... he told me that there was nothing more I could do in the Cave. After he ran several tests and took some fluids. I... I'm angry with him."

"Of course you are," Clark says, and rests a hand on Tim's shoulder. "Would you like -- would you *mind* if I talked to him?"

It isn't exactly like something Kon would say -- there's neither cursing nor offers of violence on his behalf, and there are so *many* reasons why Tim doesn't talk to Kon very much about his relationship with Bruce -- but there's still that edge to it, and that assumption of... care?

He isn't sure. It's still intimidating, but that has more to do with the source than with anything else, and yes, there is *nothing* but sincerity in Clark's eyes.

Tim smiles a little wider. "Let me... may I offer you something to drink? You've never been... here, before."

"Tim --"

"It would make me very uncomfortable if you were to talk to Bruce about this before I had a chance to make my own points, Clark."

Clark's frown deepens for a moment and he squeezes Tim's shoulder. "Would you tell me? If there's anything I can do?"

The fact that those were two entirely different questions is... entirely clear. He *could* ignore it, but really... Clark had come here to check on him, and to help, and -- and. "I don't know you all that well," he says, and pushes on Clark's hand until it's off his shoulder.

"Ah -- that's very true, Tim, but --"

"I suddenly have a lot of free time and -- not quite so suddenly -- mango-papaya juice in the refrigerator downstairs. Join me, please?"

"Oh, I --" Clark blinks and smiles *broadly*. "I would love to, Tim. Thank you."

*This* smile actually feels like it belongs on his face. "Save that 'thank you' until I've proven I can actually manage to be fit company, Clark. Please."

"You *do* understand that I hold you under no obligation to entertain me, don't you?"

("Please, call me Clark. And if I may call you Tim...?")

He's not sure why that's coming to mind, now, but -- the feel of it, face to 'S', and then looking up and up into clear blue eyes that held welcome, hope --

It had felt, then, a lot like suddenly being somewhere other than Gotham, or -- there'd been a sense of Clark as both gateway to and proof *of* a much wider world. Right now, with Clark walking behind him -- moving lightly in those bright red boots over carpeting, hardwood --

Should he be offering a tour? Giving Clark a chance to examine and comment on the few paintings his father had kept after that financial crash? They were his mother's favorites, he knows -- from memory rather than actual conversation *with* his father -- and as such, they've been something of a connection to a woman he can admit, now, that he'd never truly known.

He doesn't know Clark well enough for that, to *assume* that sort of desire for deeper knowledge --

Had he really been *that* obviously distressed? Why is Clark *here*?

Well, perhaps that will come out over juice and the fruit salad he'd made for himself last night after a grocery shopping trip that had made him feel both very adult and like an... alien in his own skin. Tim laughs quietly to himself --

"Hmm?"

Not quietly enough, of course. Tim smiles ruefully and looks back over his shoulder. "Forgive me, I'm -- having something of a bout of unintentional free-association in my mind. I was expecting to be alone for... quite some time."

"I'd be happy to... no, I'm sorry, I was about to lie to you."

Tim pauses at the steps and turns enough to let Clark see his raised eyebrow without having to use his powers.

Clark stops and seems to... fidget, a little.

After a moment, Tim realizes that Clark was reaching for a tie he is most emphatically not wearing, and raises his eyebrow higher.

"I'm rather... your parents are away?"

"For the next ten days," Tim says, and tries to look patient.

The attempt makes Clark smile wryly. "I'm afraid I was... going to say something about being happy to leave you in peace."

"But you wouldn't be? Happy, that is."

"Well..." Clark reaches out and pushes a lock of Tim's hair off his forehead, moving neither slowly nor hesitantly. Just -- doing it.

Tim blinks, and focuses for a moment on Clark's hand, on the fingers currently moving --

They're on his cheek, and Clark's expression manages to be both unimpeachably mild and openly admiring.

"Clark --"

"Ah. I'm sorry," he says, and moves his hand back to his side. "I'd much prefer spending time with you than... any number of other activities I could name. I'd like to know you, Tim."

And that was... matter of fact. Almost *bald*, though that word doesn't provide any room for the open friendliness, the openness in *general*, and the way it demands some measure of reciprocation. "Why now?"

Clark raises an eyebrow of his own. "You did mention having rather more free time than has become your usual, Tim."

So he had. All right... all right. Tim nods once and gestures at the steps, and Clark walks down beside him, looking around at the furnishings, or perhaps using his investigative-reporter mind to draw conclusions about Tim and his family...

Tim is struck, deeply, by a desire to ask Clark what he *does* see here in this place which is technically his home, but has always felt... well. The mansion he'd grown up in had been his home, but once he'd begun training to be Robin, the Cave had become far more home-like than any of the places Tim has actually lived.

It's where he'd sweated, cried, hurt, failed -- triumphed, again and again, over his own body and mind. It's the place he had run to, time and again, when there was trouble, even if the only thing Bruce had ever done to ease that trouble was give him new tasks to perform, new heights of perfection to *achieve*.

It's the *Cave*, and of course going there had been the first thing to come to mind when he'd woken up sore because his brand new breasts hadn't appreciated being slept on. And there he'd expected to stay, relieved that his father and Dana were elsewhere, that there'd be no one he'd have to lie to in order to stay in the right place, the *safe* place --

"Tim...?"

He hadn't quite managed to make the glass of juice overflow, but it was a very, very near thing. Tim snorts humorlessly and picks up the glass gingerly, watching the juice wobble and threaten to spill once, again, *again* -- "Surface tension," he says, "is a fascinating thing, Clark."

Clark's eyebrow is up. "I've always thought so. The way certain insects use it to walk on water, as an example."

"Capillary action, as well," Tim says, and sips juice from the glass until the danger of spillage has passed --

"Oh. One of my very favorite things," Clark says, smiling and reaching for the glass.

"I had been planning to get you another --"

"No need," and he takes it and drinks deeply. "Mm. I rarely saw mangoes when I was growing up. They still seem like a special treat, even though the fruit markets in Metropolis are wonderful places."

That... Tim shakes his head. "I have an image of you dragging your wife to a farmer's market. It isn't very pretty."

Clark takes another swallow, and -- the light in his eyes is rather sharp. "Good marriages are built on many compromises, Tim. And I've held Lois' purse through many, many hours of shoe shopping."

"I... I have to admit I never would've considered that Lois Lane *could* spend hours shopping for clothes."

"*Shoes*," Clark says, and hands the glass back to Tim, "are a very different sort of animal, as I've learned."

"Ah. I... see?" Tim looks at the glass, which is half-empty. Half-full. Covered in Kryptonian... cooties. Right. He drinks --

"There. In some cultures, we would've entered into a deep and spiritual contract, to offer each other no harm, to provide for each other's well-being... that sort of thing."

Heh. *Really*... "Are you telling me that we're 'going steady' now, Clark...?"

"Oh," and Clark's smile is dazzling, reminiscent of *Dick* -- "Would you like to?"

He has only ever had *one* response to smiles like that, and there's a paradoxical sort of comfort in knowing that he's blushing *just* as deeply as he would in his *male* body. And Clark --

Clark is studying him with an obviousness which must be built on a very peculiar sort of politesse -- he'd undoubtedly seen everything there was to see about the nuances of Tim's expression before Tim had even *registered* the fact that he was blushing, but -- he's letting Tim see the... process? The desire *to* read Tim that deeply? He isn't sure, and -- he can ask.

"Clark...?"

"You are... forgive me, but the differences are so *subtle* in terms of your features..."

"Ah... that."

*Clark* blushes. "I'm sorry, I was actually hoping to distract you from... this. If your feelings now are anything like my own were..."

Tim gives Clark his own sort of wry smile. "It only bothers me when I breathe."

Clark reaches out, once more, and -- stops, shaking his head. "How are you finding school, Tim?"

"Painfully dull. Pointless. Moderately intellect-destroying. Stressful. I -- I always admired your ability to maintain the character of someone lacking in physical... competence."

"It's not difficult when one has countless memories of an awkward childhood and adolescence to call on," Clark says, and looks toward the table with a question in his eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry -- yes, please sit," Tim says, and moves to join him -- starts to move, and realizes that his nipples have decided to find the chafe of his -- largest -- t-shirt... invigorating. "Oh... God."

Clark pauses half-into one of the chairs.

Tim waves a hand. "It's nothing. Just -- um. My body making itself... known."

The interesting thing is that Clark *lets* him see his gaze wander down to Tim's breasts and back up again, as if that's just another perfectly normal observational choice, and --

Yes, Tim is blushing harder --

"I'm sorry," Clark says, again. "I... perhaps. Your stepmother's undergarments?"

And harder *still*. "She's... larger through the chest than I am. I couldn't make any of her -- any of them fit."

"Of course you would've already tried. I -- hm." Clark sits down and pushes out the chair next to him.

Tim sits -- carefully enough that his breasts only sway a *little*. This close, Clark's scent is something of a tease in the air, and Tim remembers this from a handful of earlier encounters: Clark smells human *enough* that Tim catches himself, again and again, searching for hints of something his brain can only label as 'generic adult male' and not really finding it.

What's there is anything but unpleasant, though. There's something of a sense of power, of growing things melded with ozone --

And Clark is watching him with a smile on his face, because Tim is the one doing the studying. "I -- I'm sorry, Clark --"

"Will we continue to apologize to each other, do you think, Tim?"

"I... one hopes we'll eventually grow more comfortable in each other's presence."

"'One,' Tim? And... what were you going to say before I interrupted you?"

Tim smiles and traces a pattern of interlocking boxes on the surface of the table. "All right -- *I* hope. And I was going to apologize for studying you so obviously."

Clark raises his eyebrow again and hums, watching Tim's hand for a moment before turning back with a *shrewd* look in his eyes. "Are you apologizing for the studying or the obviousness? As you've almost certainly noticed, I'm not immune to the temptations of either."

Well, yes, Tim *had* noticed, but -- "Do you really... is it really a *temptation* toward obviousness? I mean, there *are* things I can imagine which are less pleasant, but..."

"You have always been a very private young man," Clark says, and expertly continues the invisible pattern of boxes Tim is drawing.

Of course he could *see* the pattern, and... and. "There's a desire toward disingenuousness in regards to that last statement --"

"Would it be forward of me to suggest that such a thing suits you very well?"

Clark is. Clark is *flirting* with him. Openly --

Clark traces a jagged line across their boxes to Tim's hand, covering it with warmth, *enveloping* it in warmth -- "Tim... you should feel free to study me, and to ask any questions which come to mind."

*Any* questions? That's -- that's very --

The smile on Clark's face is broad and noticeably older, if no less warm and welcoming than the others have been. "I've been friends with *Bruce* for quite some time, Tim. I -- shall we say that I doubt you'll ask anything more uncomfortable than he has, over the years?"

Well. "On the one hand, that sounded a lot like a *dare* --"

"Oh. Well, I suppose it *could* be taken that way, yes --"

"On the other hand, I'm curious as to how much Bruce had *asked*, as opposed to ordering, demanding, or ordering *while* demanding."

Clark laughs, softly. "You know him well, Tim. Surely you've discovered that he has... hm. Many different *ways* of asking questions?"

("Go home.")

Tim can't really keep the frown off his face entirely, and he turns away --

Clark squeezes Tim's hand -- gently. "I'm sorry --"

"Another apology, Clark...?"

"Look at me...?"

Tim closes his eyes for a moment and then does so, smiling ruefully again. "I think I... I'm rather more upset with Bruce than I'd like to be, at the moment."

"He's denied you your... other home?"

*Right* to the heart of things, and -- "You've been... dealing with Robins for a long time."

Clark squeezes Tim's hand again. "I'm sure he doesn't realize how important --"

"Clark. Let's... talk about other things. Please?"

The squeeze remains for another several seconds, and Tim wonders what eternity means to someone who has been forced to live at a speed nearly infinitely slower than what would be natural.

Bart had made several observations on the matter, and Bruce has any number of reports on Barry Allen and Wally West, but all of them live in touch with the Speed Force, which is something entirely other than what Clark seems to have at his disposal --

"Ask, please, Tim..."

Because he had absolutely been studying Clark again. This -- "I..." Tim snorts. "I've grown far too accustomed to being a Bat and a Titan. My family and friends all take my... observational habits for granted."

"They've had time to come to know you," Clark says, and turns Tim's hand palm up before sliding his thumb into the slight hollow there. "And yet... it's hard to imagine not being desperately curious about which aspects of myself you find... fascinating."

Tim raises an eyebrow -- and decides not to glance at the hand Clark is holding.

"Ah. Perhaps that sounded narcissistic."

Tim's laugh comes out hummed and rather satisfying. "I couldn't fault your taste."

Clark's eyes widen slightly, and his smile is dazzling again, *profound* again -- "Oh. Tim," and he strokes Tim's palm with his thumb, back and forth before settling into small circles that make Tim --

Well, he shivers, a little, and he's even *more* aware of his breasts, and -- yes, he'd been flirting back. Time to cut this off a little. Tim pulls his hand away from Clark's and deliberately looks away from those eyes --

"Tim?"

"Sorry, I..." It's a little difficult to pull on the polite and distant smile which should be on his face, but he manages. "I was going to ask you about speed. Your conception of time," he says, and tucks his hands under the table.

Clark's expression seems... not hurt. Not that. Disappointed, perhaps, though that...

Well, he'll leave soon enough, and *then* Tim can freak out, a little, about the fact that he'd been *flirting* with *Superman*. Until then, there's no reason not to be personable. "What I mean is... well, you're obviously quite skilled at timing your reactions -- duplicating them? -- so that they seem to happen at just the right time for a human to pick up."

Clark nods and glances at his own -- somewhat lonely-looking -- hand.

Another reaction designed to inform Tim, and to make their conversation seem as natural as possible, for all that they'd somehow managed to get themselves into --

("Ohhh, *Clark*. There's no one like Clark, little brother. No one who can *do* the things -- okay, okay, stop making that *face* at me.")

Something. It's a joke he'd like to share with someone, but he really isn't sure that Clark would appreciate it -- or would he? He seems *thoughtful* at the moment, and he's doing absolutely nothing to hide his open *examination* of Tim.

"Or -- perhaps I should be telling you to ask *me* questions...?"

Clark blinks and -- blushes, again so *timely* -- "I'm sorry -- again. You were wondering... well," Clark says, and his smile is bright and sincere and manages to seem false all the same.

Tim frowns and curls his fingers against his thigh -- he really doesn't want to be the one who makes *Clark* strive for some degree of dishonesty --

"At this point, Tim, it's second nature. I'm lucky enough to be able to spend the vast majority of my time with other heroes and people who know the truth about me, but I've been hiding my abilities since I was old enough to understand what my parents were telling me about the dangers of the world. Over and above *that*... is the fact that it's far more pleasant to converse with people than it is to speed beyond their comprehension."

Which makes perfect sense, but there's still that note, that *hint* in the tightness of Clark's smile -- "Clark, I've... offended?"

Another blink -- "Oh, no, Tim, not at all," and Clark reaches out to touch Tim's face again -- stops and drops his hand to the table, once more. "It's only that you seemed to prefer a greater degree of... formality?"

Politesse, even. And it's true. It's just that it's only *partially* true, and... how to explain that, exactly? He's *blushing* again. "We were... ah. Flirting."

Clark traces a square on the table which may very well be at the same place where Tim had traced the *first* square. "I must admit, I had hoped that was the case."

Hoped. Well.... well. He's suddenly a petite, black-haired, blue-eyed *woman* -- though if Lois blushed as much as he does, she would probably try to have some of the blood vessels in her cheek surgically removed --

"Tim. I don't want you to be uncomfortable with me --"

"But -- you're attracted."

"Oh. Very much," Clark says, and this time he *does* touch Tim, setting his fingers beneath Tim's chin and lifting his face until Tim can see Clark's smile, the open --

*Desire* is really the only word for it. Far more polite -- perhaps he means controlled -- than hunger, and far deeper than simple attraction. Tim has yet to test this body -- this *look* -- on the wider world, but... he has to admit that he makes a reasonably good-looking woman.

He looks a lot like his mother, and -- he's not thinking about that. He's really, *really* not thinking about that.

He closes his eyes for a moment --

"Tim..."

He opens them, and -- Clark. *Looking* at him with his lips parted and his pupils... distinctly wider than they'd been when Clark had arrived. Tim swallows. "I imagine I'm... sending signals."

Clark's smile is small and older, again. "Physically, you show all the signs of heightened arousal, but... you should know that I'm more than capable of ignoring that for the sake of this opportunity to come to know you, Tim."

"Was that what you were doing when you answered my question about time, Clark? Ignoring my signals?"

The smile on Clark's face twists, slightly -- "You'll note that I didn't say I was very good at that sort of thing."

*That* -- Tim laughs and Clark smiles at him, but -- "You *must* have had a great deal of practice."

"With people I've wanted to be close to? That I've had the chance -- the *right* -- to *become* close to? You must have very interesting ideas about what goes on at the Watchtower when we're not busy doing our jobs."

Images -- oh, *dear*, that's a lot of images. And far too many of them include Bruce glowering, glaring, and otherwise using his most stern expressions for purposes not... indicated.

*Clark* laughs. "Should I apologize? I... I must confess, Tim, that it's tempting to speak to you in the same ways I speak to Dick. You're both so very brilliant and funny."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "I'm -- really not used to being compared to Dick. The benefit of having come *third*, I think."

"Oh, but... have people told you that you're much like Jason?"

"Well, no, but -- he was the one I was expected to live up to. Or -- he was the one I felt I *had* to live up to."

Clark nods and -- cups Tim's cheek. Something else to be grateful for in terms of this change -- he really hadn't had very *much* facial hair to lose. And Clark strokes Tim's cheekbone with his thumb, which is --

Well, it's --

It feels good, and very warm, and while he's reasonably sure that he's not flirting with anything save his body -- *this* body --

Clark is definitely still flirting.

"Clark..."

"I think, perhaps..." Clark strokes Tim's cheekbone one more time and then drops his hand to the table again. "Would you tell me what sorts of things you like to do for fun?"

He blinks, but -- it's a getting-to-know-you question, and entirely appropriate, and there are entirely natural reasons why his cheek feels cold. Tim doesn't look at Clark's hand, and the fact that he's thinking about the Superman sheets he'd had for his bed until he'd had to pretend to have grown out of such things...

He'd done a lot of *things* on those sheets, and that's --

Clark's nostrils flare, once, and Tim's heart decides that it was time for a *skip* -- talk. And the *first* thing that comes to mind -- "Sometimes -- not often enough -- I get to play computer games with Barbara. I understand you helped her with her VR equipment...?"

Clark blinks once, twice -- smiles. "It was my pleasure. There's so much potentially dangerous technology at my disposal, thanks to my biological parents... It felt very good to have someone I could trust with it, someone who wouldn't use it for the wrong reasons."

Tim smiles ruefully. "All right, now I feel guilty for using it to play Barbara's mods of Star of Carnage and Demonquest."

"Believe me when I say that it's even more satisfying to know that people I care about are having *fun* with it, Tim."

People he... cares about. Tim nods and tries -- fails -- to fight back another blush. Clark doesn't *know* him -- yet. "I also enjoy just... moving through Gotham. In daylight, whenever possible."

Clark's gaze moves to Tim's cheek, which must be quite red, and quite noticeably pale *under* that. Or -- can Clark distinguish that sort of thing -- no, Clark can almost certainly *see* the vasodilation before the color-shift happens, without doing any more with his powers than *focusing*.

"Ah... well. I don't get to do it very often --"

"Why not now?"

"Oh -- *now*?"

"Yes," Clark says, standing up and offering his hand.

Tempting. Very -- how long has it *been* since he'd just taken a *walk*? He'd been able to give himself leave to go on runs through the city -- training never ends -- but... but. And but. "I'm supposed to wait for Bruce's call."

"If you took your communicator, he'd be able to reach you anywhere. And I could have you back to the Cave... well."

"Very, very quickly, yes. Hm. I..." Tim takes Clark's hand and stands. His shoes still fit perfectly, the t-shirt hides *much* of his shame, and these jeans -- while uncomfortably tight at the hips -- *had* been a little too long for him. They're the perfect length, now, and perhaps he's just an *androgynous*... girl.

He'll think of it as especially *deep* cover.

"All right, now," Tim says, and gestures at Clark's uniform --

"Oh, of course," he says, and there's a distinct *breeze*, but he hadn't felt Clark letting go of his hand in the time it took him to change into jeans, trainers, a white undershirt, and a plaid overshirt of the sort which tends to make Kon get very, very pained looks on his face whenever he finds a new one in his closet.

Tim ducks his head to hide his smile --

"Tell me?"

-- from exactly no one. "Ah -- your outfit. It made me think of some of the things Kon has said about Smallville."

Clark sighs. "I really do wish he could relax and enjoy himself more there. For all the awkwardness and fear, I had a very happy time there."

"Well... Kon sort of *imprinted* on cities, Clark. Honolulu, Metropolis. It's only natural for him to feel a little... stifled," Tim says, slipping his hand away from Clark's and walking toward the front door. He grabs his key ring from the basket --

"Spoken like a city boy, born and bred. I hardly spent all my time with the cows, Tim."

Tim hums and leads them out into the hall. "Despite their wonderful personalities...?"

"Oh, Bessie was a *termagant* to the other cows. And always lied about her milk production," Clark says, narrowing his eyes in a smile that seems designed to invite Tim *specifically*, as opposed to --

Well, he doesn't know. He laughs, locks up, and tucks the keys in his pocket. The elevator operator pays exactly no attention to either of them, which is the sort of consistency Tim can't help but find soothing.

The day is bright and sunny, and while Tim can't help noticing a distinct lack of bra-less women... well, he can keep things from moving *too* noticeably if he just walks slowly and takes smaller steps.

More feminine steps --

*Smaller* steps.

Clark takes a deep breath and frowns.

"I didn't think I would have to warn *you* about not doing that in the middle of a city, Clark."

"Hmm...? Oh, no, someone just put entirely too much lemongrass in their curry."

Something else he hasn't had in a while. "I don't know, I kind of like the astringency of a strong Thai curry."

"Yes? You don't find it takes away from the other flavors too much?"

Tim shakes his head. "Although -- I imagine it can be difficult for you to enjoy things which aren't flavored in more subtle ways."

"It's not that," Clark says, and allows a young couple who appear to have more piercings and tattoos than functional brain cells to push between them. "I enjoy any number of heavily spiced things. Just -- perhaps I don't allow lemongrass enough credit."

Tim smiles. "Yes, it told me last week that it thought you were being unfair."

"Was it very sad? I do hate upsetting my food."

"It will never, ever forgive you. I -- have another question."

Clark smiles down at him. "Please, ask."

That please seemed a little... perhaps a little *more* than... something. He's not sure. Clark isn't touching him, at the moment, and a part of Tim is only being watchful, waiting for the *next* moment of contact.

Perhaps a hand at the small of his back, as the very large and polite man leads the small girl through the mean streets of a dangerous city --

Yes, he's being ridiculous. "I think --" Tim shakes his head. "I always feel a little bit like I'm cheating at life when I do this."

"Surely that must be part of the pleasure of it...?"

"Well... yes and no? I've never really been especially rebellious by nature."

Another smile, though this one could be aimed as much at the city in general as at him. "Perhaps you could tell yourself that I'm leading you astray."

"Sharing juice, going out walking with strange men... oh, Clark, *please* tell me your intentions."

"Oh... on a public street, Tim? I'm shocked," Clark says, and there's actual *heat* in his eyes --

Tim doesn't stumble. "I was ah -- joking."

And Clark rests his hand on Tim's shoulder. "So was I."

"Ah --"

"Mostly. But -- your question?"

("The first time he took me flying I felt *drunk*. I was giggling like a loon, gaping at the clouds and the city far, far below... You kids today don't know how good you *have* it with all of these flyers available for random trips into the sky.")

Tim bites the inside of his cheek -- focuses. "You -- I know you see auras around all living things," he says, mouthing the words more than speaking them --

Clark nods. "Yours has always been so *contained*, more intense than broad... well. Yes?"

Tim blushes *again* -- "It's the primary reason for your vegetarianism?"

"Really, factory farming practices in this country would be *enough*, but -- yes."

"I really always wondered... I mean, don't you see the deaths of vegetables, too?"

Clark squeezes his shoulder. "I am only a man. I do have some guilt for... ah. Hierarchical thinking? But... so very *many* non-sentient things are delicious."

Tim laughs. "All right, a fair answer --"

"Will you let me take you out for a late lunch? An early dinner, perhaps?"

A date? Perhaps. If he allows it to be one. "There's actually a very good Indian place about three blocks from here... if you haven't been turned off curry entirely by my lemongrass-profligate neighbor."

Clark sighs and smiles *very* broadly. "I would suffer many things to be able to continue sharing your company, Tim," and Clark's fingers sort of *stray* to the back of Tim's neck.

"Ah -- that's somewhat... ticklish," Tim says, and resists the urge to try to rub the blush off his cheek.

"Oh... would a firmer touch be acceptable?" And Clark demonstrates, pressing with his thumb and stroking down once, again --

"Would you... you seem. Are you always this... touchy?"

They pause at a corner, surrounded by a milling throng of Gotham's daylight people. There's a Hudson campus nearby, and avoiding swinging backpacks is always a concern. Clark presses with his thumb again and Tim looks up --

And gets a little lost in trying to tease the warmth in Clark's eyes from the heat. The pleasure from the... other pleasure. There's a strange feeling in his genitals which Tim strongly suspects --

Clark's nostrils flare again. "You're very beautiful, Tim," and Clark pitches his voice expertly to carry easily only to Tim's ears. "You've always been so, to me, but there's a fascination to seeing you like this, so much yourself and yet so different. If I'm not making you uncomfortable, I would like to continue touching you in small ways."

The crowd around them begins to move, but Tim is having a hard time remembering how his legs -- how these legs work, and -- and. "I'm not... I wouldn't say that I was... uncomfortable."

Clark's smile is entirely unlike a blade, which makes it seem all the more unfair that Tim's starting to feel laid *open*. Or.

Perhaps that's just his brand new genitals making their presence felt. Tim shakes it off internally -- as much as he *can* -- "We should. Cross here."

Clark nods and stares into his eyes for another -- long -- moment, and really, if he were in Clark's position, faced with someone he *knew* was physically attracted to him --

All right, so in that position, Tim's response has -- generally -- been to *flee*, but -- yes. Crossing the street. They can do that. Tim turns and steps off the curb, and Clark keeps his hand right there, stroking him -- firmly -- and.

Tim's not sure whether to be grateful or not that there are too many other scents for him to be able to smell *Clark*. Just --

What does *Clark's* arousal smell like? What does Tim smell like to him, right now?

What --

And Tim realizes that he's moving pretty much on autopilot, and that if anyone (Bruce) asked, he wouldn't be able to describe *anything* about this particular block or any of the people on it. He can focus. He's --

He's *used* to working through arousal, and this kind doesn't even come with any pain from too-tight jeans or unforgiving jocks. There's a little discomfort -- he feels noticeably *damp* -- oh, but -- hm. "Clark..."

"Yes, Tim?"

"I'm not... er. You'd tell me if I suddenly started menstruating, right?"

Clark coughs, and it's very, very obvious that he's trying hard to fight back a laugh.

"It's not like I have *experience* with this sort of thing --"

"No, of course not, I -- I was only a woman for a little more than a day, and -- yes. In any event, you're definitely not. You are, however --"

"Wet. Yes. Um. Presumably this won't get extreme enough to require a change of clothes," Tim says, and rather hates that it actually *is* a question, but. It is.

"Ah. Not in my experience, no," Clark says. "Perhaps... would you tell me more about your relationship with Barbara?"

A blatant -- and welcome -- change of subject, designed to distract Tim from what is, definitively, incipient discomfort with the entire *situation*. This... how aroused *is* he? He's still thinking reasonably clearly, which could be considered equivalent to being half-hard, or could be --

("Come *here*, Boyfriend Wonder. I've been soaking my undies all damned *night*.")

-- something else entirely. If arousal had somehow hit him while he was alone, he would have, perhaps, *tested* the issue. Or he would've thrown himself into a cold shower and hoped for similar effects.

Or he would've just dredged up some of his most horrifying and disgusting memories -- the Gotham sewer system in high summer comes to mind --

He doesn't know. He'll find *out*, because Clark can't possibly have *that* much free time, and he *will* be alone with nothing to do but figure out this body. And it's not very much of a surprise that the prospect is daunting, at best. Tim sighs --

And Clark strokes the back of his neck again, harder this time. A call for attention? Tim looks, and there's open, honest curiosity on Clark's face, just as if he can't --

Well, no, he *can't* read thoughts. He can just read bodies even better than *Cassandra* can, and -- "Ah -- I'm curious. What is my body telling you, right now?"

Clark's smile is rueful and soft. "That you're aroused. That you're -- at least somewhat -- confused about something. That you're... hmm. Worried? I hope not about me."

Tim gives Clark his *own* rueful smile. "More about what I'm going to do with all of my free time once you have to return to your responsibilities and can't -- distract me, anymore."

Clark nods. "Perhaps I should take you to Bludhaven when you need me to go?"

When *he* needs Clark to go? "Um -- well. It *has* been a while since I've seen Dick."

Clark smiles again. "So he told me the last time we spoke. He cares for you a great deal, Tim. Though..." Clark sighs a little. "I confess that I often have the desire to fly you all into the Cave and *force* you to -- at the very least -- spend time *working* together."

Well... "You're uniquely situated to see how well we do and don't manage to deal with each other as a family."

Clark nods and edges them to one side of the sidewalk, so that a family with several children can pass.

So that he doesn't have to move his hand from the back of Tim's *neck* --

"It's why I'm curious about you and Barbara, Tim," he says, and guides them back toward the center. "While it's true that I've spent relatively small amounts of time with you and her, today was the first time I've ever heard either of you mention spending time just having *fun* together."

And that makes good sense, really, but -- "*Have* you had the chance to speak with Barbara... unofficially?"

Clark sighs again. "An exchange of pleasantries and a great deal of distance. I've always wished I could come to know her better -- she's a brilliant and strong woman."

And beautiful, as well? No. It's not like they're playing coy on the topic. "Are you attracted to her, as well?"

"Oh, yes," Clark says, and turns to raise an eyebrow at Tim. "Are you, Tim?"

He'd -- asked for *just* that. Really, it's good of Clark to give him these brief stretches of time when his blush can *fade*. "Ah. I've never really..." Thought about it? No, not *quite* that. "It's never seemed to be my... place. I think that's the most accurate answer I can give, anyway," Tim says, and guides them to the left, so that they can cross.

"Ah, here? I think I smell the place you're thinking of. It's quite wonderful," and Clark strokes his neck again. "Would you tell me more about this 'place' thought?"

"She's much older -- no, that doesn't really have anything to do with it. I... for some reason, Bruce decided that she couldn't know my identity. She figured it out on her own after a while, but there was that *distance* I couldn't really breach --"

"Bruce... he hid your identity from -- *Barbara*?"

Oracle, he was going to say. And -- yes. "It also didn't seem like my place, at the time, to ask him what his reasoning was, for that."

And Clark's frown is deep enough to be somewhat *worrying*, really --

"Clark, I -- the last thing I want is to spend our time together... bitching about Bruce --"

"Of course not. I'm sorry for dragging the conversation back there, however unwittingly --"

"No, I mean -- ah. He's your... closest friend?"

"Other than Lois, yes," Clark says, and some of the frown dissipates. "That doesn't mean that I'm blind to his very real *faults*, Tim. You shouldn't ever feel as though you need to censor yourself around me. Not for that and not, I hope, for any other reason."

Because there's nothing Tim can say to Clark which would be... too much. The smile on his face *feels* a bit twisted. "I begin to see why Dick speaks so highly of you, and of spending time with you."

"Oh... he's a wonderful man. A beautiful man," Clark says, and there's a question in his voice.

Tim laughs. "Are you asking me if I'm attracted to him, too, Clark? How *do* you think I spend my time with my family?"

"Mm. I can only say how *I've* longed to spend time with your family, Tim. And yourself."

The laugh becomes a little strangled, and there's a certain cheerful smugness to the expression on Clark's face. "Really, I -- all of... us?"

"The ability to hope is one of the many treasures allowed us, Tim. It would be *wrong* to deny it. Almost... hmm. Sinful."

"Well. We wouldn't want to commit any sins," Tim says, and walks them into the narrow entryway to the restaurant. It necessitates Clark moving behind him, again --

And Clark strokes his neck one last time, hooking his thumb *gently* into the collar of Tim's shirt before moving his hand away, entirely.

Small touches, right. Tim shakes his head and opens the door, and the scent of the place wakes him up all over. Something spicy today, he thinks, and they're early enough that the buffet is still open.

The hostess shows them to one of the tables near the window, and -- well, he's with *Clark*. If a random gunman appears to shoot the place up, they'll be *quite* all right.

"You'd prefer that table in the shadowy corner, perhaps?"

Of course Clark would know that. "I've decided to leave the responsibility of protecting us up to you, Clark."

Clark's smile is broader than the statement was worth, really, and -- "Thank you, Tim." That was very -- serious, and --

All right, so the last time they'd worked together, Bruce had urged him to take point, and Tim had done so even after Clark had joined them for a little action against Livewire and Harley Quinn, but -- still. Tim shakes his head --

Clark touches the back of Tim's hand lightly. "Ah... do you recommend the buffet?"

Safer territory. "I've only had it twice, but both times it's been excellent. Though we should absolutely get an order of the Peshwari naan."

"You make me want to take you to India, sometime."

Tim laughs and moves to the buffet. "I'll keep an eye on my schedule."

"Please do."

And there's something almost surreal about walking along the buffet with *Clark* behind him, especially as a change of clothes would lead to the restaurant staff bending over backwards to present him with whatever he wanted...

Well, no, Clark really wouldn't appreciate *that*, at all. Clark probably loathes that sort of thing, now that Tim thinks about it, just as Tim has always been a little uncomfortable with those -- few -- Gothamites who react to the sight of him with anything other than fear, derision, acts of extreme violence, or all of the above. There's just something *suspicious* about the positive ones --

Clark probably doesn't feel the same, at all. Tim shakes his head again and goes for the palak paneer and some bhindi masala, resisting the siren call of tandoori chicken. He's gotten his father and Dana to come here with him several times in the past, and there will be future opportunities to assuage his inner carnivore. Besides, he can *feel* Clark making note of his food choices, and -- attraction or no -- there's something of an undertone of 'authority figure who needs to be impressed.'

Robin should never, ever make Superman imagine the lonely, horrible death of a chicken, no matter how delicious the marinated and baked corpse. Mmm, corpse. And when Tim looks up, the smile Clark's giving him is just as sharp...

As the one on Tim's face. Heh.

They return to the table and order lassis and their naan, and for a while they only eat. Or... well. There's a certain degree of mutual observation. Clark eats precisely like someone who enjoys the *act* of eating as much as he enjoys individual dishes -- though it's clear that he approves of the meal.

Tim eats... well, undoubtedly Clark is learning something vastly important about Tim by the way he's eating. Additionally, he's *Clark*, and so it would be deeply pointless to try eating in any way save his usual.

As such, he allows Clark to rip the naan into pieces to save his fingers from as much of the clarified butter -- the amount is, as always, generous -- as possible. Clark smiles for that with his eyes -- a narrowly pleased look which seems like it could be one of Bruce's save for the greater *volume* -- and Tim decides to not let the blush make him look down, this time --

"This place is wonderful, Tim. Thank you for suggesting it."

Tim smiles and takes a sip of lassi. "Well, it's also busy enough that no one should take undue notice of me."

"Always a concern at... ah. Times like this?"

Tim spreads his hands.

Clark nods and pushes the last piece of naan towards Tim. "I have a question, though..."

"Yes?"

"Are you always... shy?"

He *hadn't* looked down -- he'd still been blushing. "I -- try not to be, when it seems as though something else is... desired."

"With your girlfriend, as an example."

Steph. Clark *had* asked about her after the last time they'd worked together, and Tim remembers finding it strange and a little... random. He'd been wearing Robin. Clark had... not been wearing Superman. It was something he'd *noticed*, but he hadn't really given himself leave to think about it. "Ah -- were you... you've hit on me, before."

Clark raises an eyebrow. "Well... yes?"

Just like that, as if it were nothing. Tim shakes his head. "I'm sorry, I'm having to look at past encounters in a different light."

"Ah," and Clark smiles in a way that can only be defined as 'fond.' "I'd always suspected that you were focused more on your work than on anything personal I might say."

That invitation to Metropolis... Tim blinks. "You might've... I. I don't know."

"Been more aggressive? I considered it," Clark says, and the fondness becomes the distance of memory. "I imagine Bruce would've enjoyed watching you cut me down for my impertinence -- and distinct lack of good timing."

"Impertinence? Is that what you're calling it, Clark?"

Clark pushes his plate to the side and grins, setting his elbows on the table and leaning in. "Well. If you *don't* consider it to be impertinent, then perhaps I should... ah. Intensify my attentions?"

And what, exactly, would that entail? "Clark..."

Clark lifts his hand and makes a sort of gentling gesture. "I would never want to be with you sexually if it wasn't something you wanted with more than just your body."

Tim snorts. "I -- forgive me, Clark, but it's a rather singular experience to be read this clearly by someone who is, actually, *interested*."

"Oh... interested is something of an understatement, but -- ah, no, I was about to bring up Bruce, again." And Clark's expression turns *deeply* rueful. "I promise, I'm not always this focused on the man."

Tim waves a hand -- "He's your friend --"

"And you are infinitely more important to me, at the moment --"

"Don't -- not that. Please," Tim says, and leans back.

Clark frowns. "Tim...?"

"I don't really..." Tim shakes his head and looks down -- and looks up again, because he's hiding this *frown* from no one. "Flirtation is fine, Clark -- vastly entertaining, as a matter of fact --"

"I'm glad --"

"But -- that sort of exaggeration is uncomfortable. I'm not -- *we're* not friends."

Clark nods solemnly. "What can I do to change that?"

"Ah -- forgive me, Clark, but I don't think we can build the foundation of a true friendship over dessert."

"I've been told that I'm a very fast -- some might even say efficient -- worker," Clark says, widening his eyes and speaking very slowly and with the sort of exaggerated sincerity that can't help remind Tim of *treacle*.

And Tim really can't -- he laughs, and winces because it's so high-*pitched* --

Clark smiles, pleased and, yes, a little smug about it. Kon has the same look when *he* manages to get Tim to laugh, and --

Honesty is a *kind* of dessert? "It's deeply disconcerting when something you do reminds me of Kon."

"Oh... I've certainly never felt anything of the kind," Clark says, *dryly*, and raises his eyebrows again.

Oh. Well... perhaps all the blushing will cause a blood clot and he can stroke out. It would cap the day nicely -- no, he really is having a lot more fun than he would've predicted possible, and --

"No, don't worry, Tim. I don't get to spend nearly enough time with Conner's... friends."

And that was an interesting tonal shift, reminiscent of the way he'd asked about *Dick* -- and the way Tim hadn't answered. "Would you have all of Kon's friends for your own, as well, Clark?"

"Does anyone ever truly have *enough* friends, Tim? I... I have another question."

Tim finishes his bhindi masala and pushes the plate aside. "Other than the one you just asked?"

"Humor me...?"

Tim smiles into Clark's eyes and leans back in his chair, crossing his legs -- recrossing his legs into the more gender-appropriate configuration --

Clark is absolutely looking through the table at Tim's legs.

Tim snorts again. "You're making me wish I'd shaved, Clark."

Clark blinks and chooses to continue looking through the table for a long moment before he looks up with another pleased smile. "Is it something you do often, Tim...?"

"No. But then, my legs have rarely proved to be so fascinating to another party."

"Fascinating," Clark says, and leans closer still, "is an excellent way to put it. Your hair is lovely."

The hair. On his *legs*. Tim shakes his head and kicks his foot a little --

Clark returns his attention to it.

"*Really*, Clark. You don't think this is a *little* over the top?"

"*Not* -- until it bothers you, Tim. You truly are --"

Tim holds up a hand. "A moratorium on compliments, please? You're giving me a complex."

Clark blinks. "By... appreciating the sight of you? And the memory of your skin, your scent..."

Tim pushes at the air in front of his hand. "Please, no *more*. Tell me -- you want us to be friends."

"Yes. Please."

"Then tell me..." Something. Clark looks positively *avid*, focused on Tim in a way that makes Tim wonder what he's *not* focused on, and... hmm. "What is it *like* to have to hold on to your reactions, to... do you memorize them and save them for when they're appropriate? Or is it more like a command decision to *not* react right away...?"

"Ah -- that." Clark folds his hands together and looks down at the table -- *not* at Tim's legs, though Tim supposes he might just be missing it.

It's another pause, another rather intimidating *effort* to keep the conversation at a speed he can handle --

"You -- my hesitation has far more to do with the fact that I'm not sure how to answer without bringing up Bruce *again* than with anything else. In case you were wondering," Clark says, looking up again and asking -- all but *begging* -- forgiveness with his eyes.

Tim shakes his head. "He's one of the most important people in your life --"

"And yours."

"And -- mine, yes," and Tim sighs and looks up at the ceiling. There's a sky painted on the ceiling, colors and shades that Tim's reasonably sure could never be found in Gotham, assuming they could be found at this latitude, at all. "The fact that I'm angry with him..." Tim looks back at Clark and waves his hand. "Go on, please. I'd like for you to answer as *completely* as you can."

"As you prefer --" Clark clears his throat.

The waiter is still well out of hearing range, but Tim appreciates the extra... security. He inclines his head to Clark and, when the waiter arrives, orders galub jamun for them both.

Clark gives him another pleased look, and it's probably Tim's imagination, but there's something *to* the look which is vastly reminiscent of being told -- in no uncertain terms -- that Clark intends to *try* to build a foundation for their as yet quite shallow relationship over the course of dessert. Tim smiles to himself --

"Yes?"

He waves his hand again. "You first."

"You know, Tim... I suspected that having a private conversation with you would be something like this, judging by the way I've seen you relate to your family and friends, but experiencing it is something quite beyond expectation."

("So you *do* have a personality in there under all the hero worship. Oh, little *brother*. We're going to have a *great* time.")

That hadn't been the *first* time Dick had called him 'little brother,' but it had been the first time it had felt nothing but *meant*, intentional and as powerful as any emotion, and -- yes. Intoxicating. But -- "I thought we were going for a compliment ceasefire, Clark."

"Oh -- you're right, of course. And I was going to answer your question: Bruce often seems to prefer that I... speed myself up. That I react with something closer to my natural speed, even if it leads to the conversation moving in a way that *must* seem uncomfortable, if not unnatural --"

"He's *Bruce*, Clark. To be honest, it's somewhat difficult for *me* to... hmm. Credit? Some of your responses."

Clark nods slowly, and never looks away from Tim's eyes. "I can only tell you that I've been honest with you, and that... well. It's *important* to me that you see what you do to me, what you make me *feel*. There's a connection between us -- small and fragile as it may be -- that I would very much like to strengthen. To deepen."

It would be very, very easy to get tangled up in *that*, if only to try to pick it apart into something which would make more sense, something... well. He *is* an attractive woman, at the moment. His hair could be better-styled, and a good bra would help a great deal, but...

He looks good, and that *should* be enough for any number of people with compatible sexualities. It's just that, save for a few very notable moments, Clark has been focused on his... intellect? Personality?

("Oh my God. You totally just made a *joke*. You -- like, without provocation or *anything*. Are you okay, boyfriend? Tell mama all about your secret boy-pain.")

Of course, Steph had been exaggerating wildly -- he tells jokes all the time. It's just that they're rarely especially funny, or, well. Noticeable. Loud? Something.

"You -- I'm flustered, Clark."

Clark nods slowly.

"You should... you didn't quite answer my question?"

"The mechanism of how I choose to relate to the people in my life, yes," Clark says, and unfolds and refolds his hands. "It's not something I give that much thought to, to be honest, Tim. I've been doing it -- to some degree or another -- since my powers began developing in earnest."

Before *Tim* had been born. But -- "Still. Humor me," Tim says, and turns his foot on his ankle, making a rough circle -- and regaining Clark's attention.

Clark's *obvious* attention, and Clark's smile is openly inviting, in that way which is more about seduction than anything else. "Was that a test, Tim?"

Well... "Not -- entirely -- consciously," Tim admits, and has another sip of his lassi before leaning back again.

"A fair answer," Clark says. "You know, it took years of being lovers before Dick began doing things... similar to that, with me."

Testing. Teasing? By some definitions -- yes, and what *had* been the thought behind that? A desire to see if Clark's appreciation of his -- current -- lower limbs went as deep as Clark had implied? Tim certainly doesn't remember thinking that deeply, and... "Well... Dick always implied that he was rather younger than I am now when the two of you... began your sexual relationship."

"Fourteen," Clark says, smiling again and presenting Tim with an utterly unassailable *nostalgia* in his eyes, as if Clark wants Tim to know, with all of himself, that he is, at this moment, *specifically* remembering sexual acts with Tim's *older brother*.

The images are... definitely images. That Zero Hour business had proven, beyond a reasonable doubt, that Dick had been smaller than *Tim* was when he'd started being Robin, and Clark is -- is. Is this where he asks Clark *specifically* about his tastes? Tim sets the glass down and runs a finger along its rim --

And Clark looks directly at it when he says, "It's second nature for me to hold on to the *feel* of my immediate reactions to the person with whom I'm conversing, to keep them to myself and for myself until it's time to share them."

Tim taps the glass with his finger --

Clark looks up and smiles at him -- just his eyes. "Does that answer your question, Tim?"

Yes and no, and also... also, Tim realizes, his body is telling him exactly how long it's been since Clark has touched him. Sitting opposite each other across a fairly sizable table has to be part of it -- especially since Tim *is* leaning back --

Cassandra would have given up on communicating with him -- again. Or possibly... possibly he's giving Clark more of a mixed series of messages than he gives *her* -- and Clark is looking at him very, very patiently.

"I -- well. If you tell me you're never tempted to *adjust* your initial reactions for the benefit of the other party --"

"You won't believe me? Tim..." Clark unfolds his hands and gestures in a way that seems to take in the whole of the world, of which this restaurant is a very, very small part. And then he lays his hands flat on the table, again, and raises his eyebrow. "Would you tell me what *possible* benefit there could be, for me, in that sort of dishonesty?"

Tim raises *both* of his eyebrows, and Clark raises his hands briefly.

"A serious question. An *honest* question. I -- why would I want to even *chance* guiding a conversation with someone I cared about away from that which *moved* me, Tim? I may be fast, but I've *never* felt I had enough time for *that* sort of thing."

"That's fair, but --"

"Only fair?"

Tim taps his glass again. "*Only* fair, yes, Clark, because just taking *our* conversation into account -- there've been any number of opportunities for you to exaggerate your interest and attraction --"

"And you honestly feel I've *taken* them?" Clark laughs and shakes his head. "I think I'd be offended if I wasn't currently beset with images and possibilities wherein I could -- with great and pleasurable effort -- change your mind."

That -- all right, yes, *images*, and he's never --

He's barely done anything with Steph, and that has a great deal to do with that conversation they'd had --

("Oh, honey. I've known you were pretty damned queer for a *long* time. I tried to tell myself that you were just shy, maybe a little young... it's okay, you know? I know you love me.")

They haven't talked about it, since. Not really. She -- sometimes she'll *ask* him if he's met any cute boys, and he'll say something about not paying that much attention to strangers, and she -- won't ask about the Titans. Or about anyone else she knows that *he* knows. This is --

"Tim. What are you thinking...?" And there's something like a purr lurking *beneath* Clark's voice --

Dessert, and a brief chance to get his bearings while smiling his thanks to the waiter, and who calls him *miss* in a way that suggests that he is, at least, *hoping* that Clark is an older relative. Tim's a bit too shocked to blush -- it's a small thing, but it comes on top of everything else --

And Clark takes a bite of one of the reddish balls while looking *directly* into Tim's eyes. There's a smile in Clark's own, but it's only gentle when compared to the rest of his expression.

Offended.

Change Tim's *mind* --

The waiter leaves -- hopefully not too affronted by Tim's failure to respond to his tone -- and Tim takes a deep breath. "In case -- if it hasn't been clear to you in one way or another, Clark -- I'm not experienced."

"Not... with men?"

An out, blended perfectly with a request for more information. "Not -- generally. At all."

Clark picks up another of the balls and holds it between his fingers, and perhaps it's something of a panic reaction that Tim is focused on it. The thing is wet and sticky with rosewater syrup and smells wonderful, delicious.

Clark's fingers would --

"Did you think -- ah. I don't mind, Tim. At all."

Doesn't *mind*, as if virginity is problematic, as if -- no, wait. "What were you going to say before you changed your mind?"

The smile, when it reaches Clark's mouth, is lazy and a little sharp.

A little *Bruce*, really, and -- of course the two of them are friends. Of *course* they are --

"Did you mean, 'what did I intend to say with my first reaction, which of course happened long before I decided to speak either sentence or question fragment,' Tim?"

He'd -- definitely asked for that. It doesn't change the fact that he needs to *know*. Tim nods and picks up his fork --

"May I?" And Clark brings the ball closer to Tim's mouth --

"Ah -- no. Really -- um." Tim resists the urge to look around and see if they're being watched -- he knows that they *aren't*, and that's not even close to being the *point*.

Clark nods and eats the thing, sucking his fingers into his mouth for a quick and *entirely* shameless moment --

His mouth must be so *warm* --

"I was going to ask," Clark says, "if you thought your being sexually inexperienced would discourage me. *Stop* me from attempting to seduce you."

And that... would've been a very *challenging* question, on a number of levels. "I -- can see why you decided not to... say it, entirely."

Clark's smile speaks of a laugh that simply hasn't made it out of that broad, broad *chest* --

"Anyway. It -- it discourages *me*, Clark. I don't want to -- I've been happy being. Ah."

"I'm very curious about why you've decided that you don't want to lie to me. I imagine you've learned to do it with great ease and skill, over the years."

Distraction -- in a way. In any event, Tim's next deep breath actually *takes*. He wouldn't say he feels any more relaxed -- his *breasts* had moved too much for that -- but... he's oxygenated, at least. He stabs one of the balls with his fork and eats it, deliberately slowly.

He's giving himself time and Clark *knows* it -- of course he knows, and does it feel like a tease?

He's giving himself *time*, and he damned well needs it. "Are you like this with Dick?"

"Almost never. He runs rings around me solely by being himself, and -- he appreciates the part of me which is more... *earnest* than anything else."

"I thought you said you don't tailor yourself?"

Clark inclines his head. "Touché. It would be more accurate to say that I don't tailor my individual responses. My... mode of being is something else, entirely. I didn't think you'd have much patience with someone tripping over your feet and spilling delicious curry in your lap. You... don't have many pairs of pants that fit at the moment?"

"I -- no, I don't. But." Tim shakes his head. "What made you think I'd appreciate *this*?"

"Well, again -- it would be more accurate to say that I've *hoped* you'd appreciate this. You're a brilliant and often *ruthless* young man, and you've been demanding honesty from me from the start. I *am* earnest and rather awkward, but I like to think I've improved a great deal -- in terms of the act of making new friends."

"And seducing them?"

"Oh..." Clark smiles again. "Whenever possible. I'd like to *show* you sex, Tim. I'm quite sure you have a great deal of intellectual and *clinical* knowledge, perhaps a fair idea of how much you'd enjoy certain acts and practices... I'd like to help you refine that knowledge. I'd like for you to show me -- teach me -- everything about your body --"

"It's not *my* body --"

"It will be, again. Gotham needs you. The *world* needs you, and Bruce will do everything in his power to make sure those needs are filled. And I hope that if I pleasure you enough today -- you'll allow me to do it again."

Tim is blushing again. He's not sure when it had started up -- there are any number of potential Clark-related culprits -- but it's *there*, now, and... and. He hasn't looked away from Clark's eyes, and the inside of his mouth tastes like sweetened flowers.

Clark would undoubtedly be able to tease out any number of other flavors --

"I don't. Clark, why are you assuming that we *will* have sex?"

Clark shakes his head. "Call it the persistence of hope. We still wouldn't want to commit a sin."

Tim closes his eyes, just for a moment. He can *feel* Clark watching him, looking him over and thinking about --

Wanting to touch. Wanting to *have* him, and -- do things. Show him things, and a part of Tim's mind has spent the past five minutes on a seemingly endless slideshow of all the beautiful male bodies of his acquaintance. Bodies in motion, bodies wounded and in need of his care, bodies twisting and leaping and bending.

Hairless bodies and hairy ones --

Scarred ones --

Bruce.

Tim opens his eyes and swallows and doesn't *fucking* gasp. And he doesn't know what the expression is on his face --

Clark looks worried, smile entirely absent for the first time since he'd *arrived* -- "Tim, I -- have I gone too far?"

Tim laughs. It really doesn't sound that good, but -- "You're asking me that *now*?"

"Your heart rate increased dramatically, and you seem... frightened. For the first time." Clark clenches his hands into loose fists and very *loudly* doesn't reach out, and --

Tim *is* frightened. It's just not the kind of -- of. Tim closes his eyes again --

Dick, smiling at him and beckoning Tim into his bathtub --

("You're *filthy*, Timbo. C'mon, no need to *wait* to get clean --")

"Tim, please, if there's anything I can --"

"Call it -- call it a crisis of sexuality," Tim says, and stands. "I -- they prefer people to pay for their meals here up at the counter --"

"Oh, please, let me, but -- are you all *right*?"

He's looking at the floor. At his perfectly normal feet in his perfectly normal trainers --

He's *wet*, his nipples feel like *spikes*, and there's an incredibly beautiful man who'd like to touch him, who'd like to be touched *by* him. He could use his *mouth*, and be filled --

Tim brings his hand to his face -- pinches the bridge of his nose.

After a moment, Clark rests his hands on Tim's shoulders very, very lightly. "Tim, after I pay... should I take you home?"

He sounds... earnest. And that's possibly the *funniest* thing that's happened to Tim in at least a month, but he's reasonably sure that if he tries to laugh, right now, it would come out moaned.

There's footage, in the Cave -- footage he'd been expected to watch and *learn* from -- of Clark fighting one of the Apokoliptian monsters. His uniform had been *shredded*. Cape entirely missing, one leg of the tights torn wide, the top in rags curling away from his broad, golden chest. He'd been sweating. *Glistening*, and grunting with pain and exertion --

And Tim had slept in the *center* of his bed that night, body pressed to the shield of El and right hand crushed beneath him --

And Clark is right *here*, waiting --

"I. I'm sure you have other things you --"

"At the moment," Clark says, pitching his voice low, "there's nothing the rest of the League can't handle. Clark Kent is on assignment. I want -- I don't want you to be uncomfortable with me. I would rather lose this chance with you now than have you decide that you'd rather not be my friend, at all --"

"What -- let's. Let's pay," Tim says, and turns to look up at Clark --

Clark frowns and nods, squeezing Tim's shoulders -- lightly, again -- and moving to the counter.

Tim takes the time to try to calm down, to try to *think* with something other than his -- genitals. This time, the laugh bubbles up despite himself, and it's high and cracked. It's *quiet*, at least --

He knows Clark had heard it, and must wonder --

Clark had smelled Tim's *fear*, and has the entirely reasonable belief that it's about him, that something he'd done or said had finally pushed Tim too far, and --

That's true and false at once. It *is* too much. It's *crippling* after years of pushing his desires to the side, of saving them for the end of patrol and the privacy of his own room, his own bed, or, at the very least, his shower. He has years of images of perfect male bodies in his mind, years of carefully regulated repression, because none of the men he's been attracted to have ever --

Kon. Kon *had*, but Kon had been so *young*, then. He hadn't even had a *name*, and it hadn't stopped Tim from desiring, from fantasizing in lurid detail all the things he would've liked to do to that gangling, beautiful, artificially teenaged body --

Kon had kissed him, and maybe if he'd tried something more direct -- Tim doesn't know. He'd told Kon that he wasn't interested in doing that sort of thing with a teammate, and that he had a girlfriend. Kon had laughed it off and spent an hour telling Tim about Tana Moon, and that had been the end of that, the *only* time there'd ever been a chance for reciprocation. Except that Clark has informed him that there had *always* been that chance, and more --

("Perhaps you could come to Metropolis, sometime --)

And when Clark returns, he puts his hand on Tim's shoulder, again, and perhaps that's why Tim leads them to a quiet alley --

"Oh. Tim, I --"

"Just -- take me -- take *us* back?"

They're at Tim's window in an instant, and Tim tumbles through quickly --

Clark's fingers, warm through the t-shirt as they brush Tim's ribs --

Clark doesn't follow. He doesn't --

Tim could end this right here. Right -- now.

He could --

"Come in. Please."

"Are you sure? I -- I could understand your not wanting to --"

"Please," Tim says, again, and backs away from the window. Backs toward the *bed* -- he stops, and Clark is right there in front of him, in reaching distance. Everything about his body language is explicitly designed to keep Tim from feeling loomed over, and so it's paradoxically impossible for Tim to not be deeply, helplessly aware of Clark's *size* --

"Did you... would you like to talk more? Please, Tim, don't be afraid of me --"

"I'm not --" Tim laughs again and pushes a hand through his hair -- and shivers at the way his breasts just *move* without anything resembling Tim's permission. How do women *stand* it?

"Tim. You *are* afraid, and I -- there's no point to you lying about *that* --"

"Yes. Yes, I know. It's just -- I'm not afraid of *you*, Clark," and Tim gives up and crosses his arms under his breasts. *This* time he can keep the shiver to himself. Just -- the *weight* of them --

"Then... would you tell me what you *are* afraid of?"

"I'm -- bisexual. I've known that for a while, and -- ah. I haven't done anything about it. I haven't --" Tim bites the inside of his lip and looks down, *away*. He should have come up with something better to say before deciding to do this.

He should've *made* a decision --

And Clark's fingers are on his cheek, warm and rose-scented, dry and *gentle*, and Tim wants --

"Tim..."

Tim *wants*, and why is this so hard? Why has it always been so *hard*, when people do this sort of thing every day, other people --

("One day, dude, you are *going* to grow a hormone, and then you'll *understand* --")

Clark strokes Tim's cheek with his fingertips, strokes over to Tim's *mouth*, and that --

Tim's breathing hitches, his whole body feels like it had *stuttered* for a moment before going on with the business of making him ready, making him *desperate* --

Clark *tugs* at Tim's lower lip until Tim stops biting -- "Would you let me see your eyes, Tim?"

"Surely. Surely there are any number of ways you could -- you know how I. Feel."

"I know the rhythms of your body, the pound of your heart. I would -- please let me see your eyes."

Tim -- he doesn't gasp, and he doesn't *pant*. He exhales, and Clark's fingers shift, just a little, against his lip, and there's a *throb* inside him now, something that manages to feel both wet and *hot*, something that makes him wonder if he'll stagger if he tries to walk, if he'll fall to his knees --

And if he does, would Clark let him stay there? Just for a while? Tim squeezes his eyes shut -- opens them and turns, looks up --

"Oh, Tim..." And Clark's eyes are a little wider than they should be, dark with arousal, the mechanism of pupil dilation -- they shouldn't look so *soft*.

He's seen them sharp, seen them teasing and some particular variety of deadly, and he wants -- "Clark. You should. I'm not --"

"Is it so terrible to desire, Tim?"

Tim feels his expression twist and thinks seriously about *running* -- in his own home, and to *where*, exactly? This laugh *is* more of a gasp than anything else. "How can you *ask* that? I --"

"I never feel more human than when I *crave*, Tim. And I..." Clark's nostrils flare and he leans in, presses his nose just in front of Tim's *ear* --

Breathes deep. Breathes --

"Let me show you --"

"Yes. I -- yes --"

And Clark *presses* his fingers against Tim's mouth and kisses his cheek, his ear -- so *softly* --

Tim hears himself make a sound he doesn't want to *admit* to, and he turns --

And it feels like the kiss was waiting for his mouth, like all of this was just build-up, foreplay --

Clark's mouth is *soft*, but it doesn't have to be, and it's *hot* when Tim slips his tongue in, wet and -- he tastes curry and sweetness, but isn't there something else? Something different and a little sharp?

Something he can --

Clark cups the back of his head and wraps his other arm around Tim's waist --

"May I lift you?"

Tim is -- still -- *short*, and it would certainly be easier for Clark -- "I. Yes --"

And his feet leave the ground without any sense of effort, just a little too quickly -- the throbbing thing inside him feels more like a *flexing* thing, because *Clark* is warm through his clothes, because Clark is kissing him again and humming, tuneless and pleased --

Tim's legs are *dangling* several inches above the floor, and he shudders, wants --

It's -- he can't just wrap his legs around Clark. He doesn't want -- it's just a *kiss*, and Clark hasn't --

Clark licks Tim's mouth and pulls back, eyes *gleaming* and his smile is too sweet to be so wet, too wet to be that *friendly* -- "Tim. Again?"

Tim swallows and tries to make words come out, tries. "Clark, would you like -- I. The bed?"

Clark breathes deep *again*, and Tim wonders --

"What -- what do I smell like --"

"Arousal, both fresh and lingering. Youth and health. The sweat that hasn't quite broken the surface of your skin -- *arousal*, Tim, and -- did you mean? Would you like to lie down with me?"

"It would be --" Something. Definitely -- he can't *think* around this feeling, around everything *possible* -- "Put me down."

"Tim?"

"I need -- this shirt, it's -- I'd like to. Take it off."

And he's on his feet on the floor just like that, and Clark is steadying him by the shoulder -- "Tim, you mustn't -- there's no need to move *quickly* --"

"I don't want to scare myself out of this, I don't -- there's something *in* me, Clark, and I can't --" Tim shakes his head and lets himself look into Clark's eyes again, lets himself be *seen* --

Clark touches his mouth again -- and gasps when Tim kisses his fingers.

And *moans* when Tim sucks the tips of his index and middle fingers into his mouth. The taste -- he wants Clark to *wash*, preferably in some ridiculously pure mountain stream. He wants to know what *Clark* tastes like, not the rose that's getting in the *way* --

Tim sucks harder and grabs Clark's wrist, holds on tight and licks, sucks and licks *more* --

"Oh, Tim. You look so beautiful like this. So --" Clark strokes Tim's hair almost *restlessly* --

And the sound that comes out of Tim -- at least it's muffled. At least -- his eyes are closed again, and Clark's fingers are so *big*, and if he sucks hard enough then he doesn't have to think about how they'd feel somewhere else --

There's more than *one* somewhere else, and that thought -- Tim feels muscles clenching that are entirely unfamiliar. Training, control -- he can tell where they are and how they move --

He flexes, deliberately --

"*Tim* --"

And whether that was in response to Tim flexing or to Tim's *knees* buckling -- Clark has his arm around Tim's waist, again, and Tim has to --

He takes Clark's fingers in deeper, and now the throb is constant, something that runs through his entire body and -- it feels like it should be making Tim shake and move, shudder and --

He *needs*, and he pulls back --

He *licks* Clark's fingers and looks up. Clark's lips are parted and his eyes are much darker than they were a moment ago, and Tim thinks it's better to have Clark feeling this, to be able to *see* it on him, a reflection or validation --

It's *better*, and the shirt comes off easily enough, and maybe he should -- he's going to have to wear these jeans *again*, and he's getting them dirty with every heartbeat, every *pulse*.

Clark is staring at him almost hungrily, waiting for Tim's next move, and --

It feels like cowardice to back his way to the bed without taking his jeans and trainers off, but his hands are giving him a choice: either let them stay at his sides or let them cover his breasts, and. He's had enough of mixed messages.

He lies down and reaches out --

And Clark is over him, looking him up and down when he has to have seen everything there was to see in the time it took for Tim to *think* about moving. His lips are still parted, and when Tim sits up a little --

Kiss, harder this time for all that Clark's lips are soft, for all that his tongue seems perfectly human in Tim's mouth --

"N-no," Tim says, shaking his head --

"Tim...? I -- please let me kiss you --"

"Yes, but -- I need you to." Tim licks his lips. "You were -- you're controlling your body *rigidly*, and I -- I want to feel. You."

Clark inhales sharply and shudders -- nods, and this time the kiss is slow and *dangerous*, hard only because there's no *give* to Clark's mouth, nothing he can do to shift the skin, nothing -- he bites, *testing*, and Clark moans and bites him back, teeth pressing in against Tim's lower lip, pulling --

That was more of a lunge than anything else, more -- *more*, and his hands feel clumsy and useless right up until he cups Clark's face and holds on, digs *in* with his fingers --

Clark moans again and lowers himself out of his hover -- *mostly* out of his hover. That's *not* all of Clark's weight, and Tim pulls on his head, strokes to his arm and pulls there --

"Tim --"

"*Please* --"

"Oh, *yes*," Clark says, and gives Tim his weight, presses Tim down against the bed, pushes some of the air out of Tim's body and swallows it, swallows the noise Tim makes and seems to *try* to swallow Tim's tongue.

The kiss is nothing like Tim's ever experienced, and perhaps nothing will be like it again. It feels like kissing warm, wet stone, expertly carved and given life by an especially beneficent -- or lustful -- god. It feels like warmth and pressure, slickness and *power*, because Clark's tongue is dominant, impossible, somehow *thicker*-feeling than it had been a moment before --

*Had* it just been a moment? A part of Tim is insisting that this kiss has lasted for hours, *weeks*, that Tim is growing old and growing *up* through the gift of Clark's wet and expert mouth, that he's being *changed* by this -- or, perhaps, by wanting it as much as he does.

As --

Clark pulls back and immediately kisses Tim's chin, licks the line of his jaw and down to Tim's *throat* --

"You're so pale, Tim. So -- anything but *delicate*, but perhaps you could forgive a certain moment of fancy, foolishness --"

"Ah -- *Clark* --"

"Stephanie is so beautiful... do you ever let her kiss your throat?"

"I -- sometimes. You. Please --"

The kiss is so hard it feels like a *bite*, and Tim bucks helplessly, gets *nowhere* --

Clark *pushes* against him, and it's so good, so -- almost. It's not quite *right*, and Tim can't help knowing why. Nothing is in the right *place*, and the jeans -- his *and* Clark's -- are in the way --

Clark licks his throat again -- again, and perhaps he's tasting the sweat that isn't quite on Tim's skin, yet, feeling for the salt of it --

Pain, and Tim realizes that he's biting his lip much too hard, that he's digging in against Clark's skin with his fingertips -- he pulls back --

"Oh, please don't -- let me. Tim, you can't *hurt* me that way --"

"Oh, I -- oh -- you probably have to tell people that a fair amount...?"

"Only the ones who were more interested in me than they were in Superman," Clark says, smiling at Tim -- winking.

A joke for them to share, and -- "Is this where I ask if I'm being sufficiently Robinly?"

"Would you enjoy speaking about the Mission? I suppose I could... hmm, listen *very* attentively while you went over local crime statistics?"

Fast -- *too* fast, only -- Clark isn't controlling his speed quite so *assiduously*. There is... impatience? *Something* is making him eschew 'proper' pauses --

"Tim...? Did I say something wrong?"

And even that was -- very fast. Tim smiles. "No, Clark. Nothing -- nothing is wrong, at all."

"Oh... in that case, would you like to be bitten?"

Steph, after a patrol that had left her bruised and *angry*, tearing Tim's cape out of the way and biting down hard enough to make Tim a little weak in the knees -- but after that she'd only kissed him, again and again, slowing and softening until they were lying together in her bed, surrounded by her scent -- she hadn't left a mark. "I -- perhaps?"

"May I try, Tim?"

Tim licks his lips and thinks about sky-blue sheets filling his vision as he pulls and strokes, as he bites his lip and dreams of being *overwhelmed* -- "Do it. I -- please -- *ah* --"

A bite and a *suck*, hot enough to make the rest of him feel cold -- no, just the parts of him Clark isn't touching. The *few* parts, and Tim lifts his hips against Clark's weight --

Clark bites the other side of his throat and *rocks* against Tim, urges -- something. He could. They could --

Tim struggles under Clark's weight --

"Tim --"

"I just -- I'd like to spread my legs --"

"Let me," Clark says, looking into his eyes, into *him*, and when Tim nods --

His legs are spread and his *knees* are up, and Clark is hovering over him and staring, *watching* the way Tim's breasts move -- they just won't lie *still* on Tim's chest, and every deep breath makes him feel... a little too free? Is *that* what it is? Tim laughs at himself and *cups* his breasts, holding them still while he shifts his hips, pulls his knees *back* a little --

"You're lovely, so --" Clark shakes his head. "You never answered me about Dick, Tim --"

"Of *course* I'm attracted to him. I was attracted to him before I was *pubescent*, Clark --"

"Oh. Thank you for telling me," he says, and his smile is broad and a little too *sane* for the moment, for the way his body feels --

"Nnh -- I. Oh. Moving that way -- my jeans --"

"Oh. The seam of your jeans is pressed against your clitoral hood, Tim. That must be... uncomfortable?"

*Hope* in Clark's voice, and Tim has to laugh again, has to let *go* of the right breast for long enough to tug the jeans *away* from himself --

"Your scent is... perhaps you'd let me taste you?

Clark's mouth, wrapped around him and *sucking* -- no. It wouldn't be that. It -- Tim growls and punches the bed --

His right breast moves in a *wave* --

"Tim --"

"I want my *body* back!"

Clark winces and -- yes, that was something of a *yell*, and he really didn't --

"I'm sorry, I -- it's not *your* fault," Tim says, and sits up -- and gasps, because that throbbing thing -- that. His *clitoris* has definitely sat up and started demanding *notice*.

"You don't need to apologize for that, Tim," Clark says, cupping Tim's shoulders and stroking down his arms. "I understand -- ah, well. If I'd had the opportunity to make love to anyone while I was a woman, I imagine there would've been several moments of... frustration."

"Frustration? I -- I really want. I think I'd *vastly* enjoy you performing fellatio on me --"

"*Please* hold that thought until you're -- ah, more yourself?"

Tim blinks, but -- yes, Clark really *had* been hitting on him, and perhaps he'll reach a point when that will stop *throwing* him --

"For now... for now, I'd very much like to... help you enjoy the body you *have*, Tim."

Is he more attractive to Clark, now? He'd almost have to be -- Clark had never *come* to him before, never tried so hard to -- he could *ask*. It's just that he isn't sure he wants to hear the answer. He should just...

A part of him -- one which is even mostly connected to the part of his brain which is still *functioning* -- is only insisting that he should take this while it's available, that a happy life is *filled* with compromise -- Tim chokes on his own laugh and covers his face.

He's lying here with a *breast* in his hand, an *insistent* vagina, and a clitoris which is screaming for something -- he has no idea *what*.

"Tim..."

"I don't -- it's all so *strange*, Clark. I don't even -- I've had any *number* of fantasies about you --"

"Oh... yes? Would you tell me --"

"At the moment, I can't see them doing much *good* --"

"I beg to differ," Clark says, cupping Tim's face and settling on the bed again. He's kneeling between Tim's legs, and the scent --

Tim can smell *himself*, and it makes him think of sparring with Cassandra, of the *fierce* way she smiles, sometimes, when she's beating Tim to a pulp -- oh, *God* --

And Clark pulls Tim's hand away from his face, slowly and gently.

"I -- Clark. I'm feeling..." Tim pulls his hand from Clark's grasp and waves it. "I *realize* that there are other things we can do, but... it feels like something of a *waste*."

Clark's expression is a bit... pinched. Maybe puckered. "I... ah. You haven't... gone very far with Stephanie?"

The blush returns like a bad penny, or perhaps a nasty infection. "No. I. She used to push... more. She hasn't since I told her about my attraction to men."

Clark nods and looks somewhat solemn for a moment --

Tim *flexes* --

And Clark doesn't look solemn, at all.

"I -- didn't mean to do that --"

"Involuntary spasm. You are... a part of me is deeply fascinated by your ability to *speak*, considering how aroused you are physically, Tim."

Well... "I really don't think I'm firing on all cylinders, Clark. In fact, I'm sure I'm not, because the urge to run screaming from this bedroom and climb a wall, somewhere, is relatively mild compared to the urge to have you *put something in me*."

"Oh, you really only had to *ask* --"

"I'm *terrified* --"

"I would say that you're more... intimidated. Terror has a more acidic tang," Clark says, and strokes down the center of Tim's chest to his navel. He pushes *in* with one finger, and something sharp and *vicious* sparks up to the spaces just behind his nipples and down to his clit --

"Oh -- *oh* --"

"May I take your jeans off, Tim?"

"I --" Tim feels his face twist again --

And Clark's palm is on his cheek, his fingers teasing at Tim's temple, his ear -- "When Dick was fourteen, he had no comprehension whatsoever of his beauty --"

"He. He still doesn't --"

"You didn't know him then, Tim. For him, Bruce was the most perfect man in the world, in every possible way. For a natural performer, he had very little faith in his ability to *arrest* the eye. He made me *ache*, Tim."

Oh. "I..." Tim licks his lips and thinks of the boy Dick had been, the boy who'd held him in his lap and smelled like cotton candy and clean sweat, and the boy who'd tumbled and flown so effortlessly through the air at that aquarium, making Tim feel like the most useless excuse for a vigilante who had ever been trained. The smile had been the same, the physical *confidence* --

Except that neither of those boys had lived with *Bruce* for very long -- if ever. Tim shakes his head -- and catches himself arching up for the feel of Clark's finger in his navel.

Just. He needs, and if he doesn't deal with that soon, his body will clearly do it for him --

"Would you like to hear more?"

"I -- I don't want to invade Dick's. His privacy is important, and --"

"And he's always been very, very circumspect about our relationship, Tim?"

Tim looks, and yes, Clark is smiling gently everywhere save for his eyes. "I'm. Being a tease."

"You're lovely," Clark says, and pushes *in* again --

"Oh, God -- that. I never knew that was *sensitive* --"

"Perhaps it wasn't," Clark says, and *curls* his finger, a little --

"Please, I -- more. I don't know --"

"I've never seen any evidence that this sort of sensitivity runs along gender lines --"

"*Clark* --"

"Tim. He was honestly surprised by the things I wanted to do with him, by the ways I wanted to touch and the pleasure I took in just watching his reactions and knowing that they were due to the things *I* did..."

That... Tim laughs, a little. Okay. "Ah. A lesson, Clark...?"

Clark's smile is broad and *highlights* the years between them to the extent that Tim feels -- young. *More* young -- "Would you consider taking it to heart?"

Tim knows the smile on his face is rather sharp. "I do know that I make a rather attractive woman, Clark --"

"Oh, that's very good to hear," Clark says, and pushes in with his finger again --

"*Oh*. I --" Tim shifts a little, and perhaps it's more of a writhe -- "I'm still --"

"Unsure. Uncontrolled? It must be terrible not to know exactly what you want --"

"*Yes*, it." Tim takes a breath. "It would be *nice* to be able to ask you for something and know that I actually want just that. It doesn't seem like that's asking too *much* --" 

"Please. Let me take your jeans off?"

"Take -- I. Would you take *your* clothes off? I -- it would be more... comfortable?" Tim shakes his head. "I've watched you *fight*, seen your skin... *you're* beautiful, and I..." Tim sits up and lets go of his breast, letting it fall and sway --

"Tim --"

"Kiss me again," Tim says, and rolls up onto his knees, making a command decision to wrap his arms around Clark's neck and lean in --

Clark does, pushing his tongue in *slowly* -- at the same speed as the finger still in Tim's navel. Tim pants around it once, twice --

He *sucks* and opens his eyes to find Clark watching him *avidly*, and, yes, with some degree of impatience. Tim really doesn't know *why*, but it's actually somewhat soothing. *Clark* knows *exactly* what he wants, and it involves Tim being naked, or at least thoroughly disreputable with his pants around his ankles, and --

He'd be lying to himself *horribly* if he allowed himself to think that he'd never had *that* fantasy. Dick --

Bruce. Jesus, *no*, not here and now, because --

Tim shakes his head, and Clark licks his cheek, the skin beneath Tim's eye that's been sensitive for years, now --

Tim shivers, and the point is that it was almost never *Clark*, and -- that's something he can say --

Just as soon as he stops trying to know everything about Clark's impossibly hard mouth with his own. This could *bruise* him, and his lips are certainly already swelling, already -- "Hn. I -- I think. Would you let me suck -- *mm* --"

All right, kissed *right* back down to the bed -- and then up *off* the bed, and his feet are dangling in the air, and -- yes. Tim straightens them, and wraps them around *one* of Clark's legs -- "Oh, Tim, yes, that's -- that's wonderful," and Clark kisses his cheek, pushes one hand into Tim's *hair* --

"Steph always -- ah." He hadn't really meant to --

"Always, Tim? I -- perhaps I should... make something of a confession," Clark says, and *grips* Tim's hair, tilts his head back just *so* --

And bites Tim's *chin*, not very hard, but very much *entirely* like the way Steph does in the moments before she --

Clark kisses him *very* hard, and pulls Tim's closer --

Flips them in the *air*, until he's pressed to Clark with his entire body, gravity conspiring to make Tim just that desperate, or -- at least conspiring to make him *look* that way. Certainly it makes the kiss that much deeper, more -- all right, no, that's *him*, because he's been *programmed* for kisses like this, and Clark *knows* that --

Clark had *watched* him with Steph at least once, and there's some consolation that it would've been on some shadowy rooftop -- Steph never kisses him like this when they're alone in one of their bedrooms --

Steph's kisses aren't like this. Aren't -- Clark's tongue only barely *feels* like a tongue. It's too hard, slick and *implacable*, pushing itself into Tim's mouth and making him need to suck, need to --

Tim pulls back -- and gets stopped by Clark's hand in his hair. Briefly. Tim raises an eyebrow.

"Ah. I'm... sorry?" Clark loosens his grip and pets the back of Tim's head gently and carefully -- perhaps a little possessively. And really --

"For watching me with Steph, or for giving in to the urge -- however abortively -- to hold me still?"

"Both, but -- you should know that my apology isn't as sincere as it could be," Clark says, and raises his own eyebrow.

Asking him if that's all *right*, if Tim can forgive -- only, as a question, it really doesn't manage to get past disingenuity. Clark's question has the weight of Tim's arousal behind it, the knowledge they share of just how hungry Tim is. It's -- Tim frowns and pushes on Clark until he lowers them back down to the bed and Tim can kneel up --

And catch his breasts again, because he'd moved *just* fast enough to make them want to express themselves. Again. Tim carefully keeps his fingers away from his -- rather large -- nipples --

Clark stares at his breasts openly, *thoughtfully* --

"I want -- a part of me wants to accuse you of not playing fair, Clark."

"I -- yes? What sort of fairness would you prefer?"

Just as if Clark would -- happily, even -- change his approach to *accommodate* Tim's desires, whatever they may turn out to be. It feels a bit like the minor, amusing fantasy he's had of asking Bruce for a favor and having the man say yes before he knows anything about it. Some things aren't so much unlikely as... well. Better to say that they reach heights of ludicrous impossibility heretofore unknown outside of Saturday morning cartoons and painfully bad science fiction movies. And --

Clark cups Tim's thighs and squeezes gently, which reminds Tim -- he hasn't really *looked* at Clark for what feels like a while. He hasn't examined --

Clark's jeans are quite loose-fitting, but in this position, that doesn't mean very much, at all. Tim lets go of his breasts and holds them against his chest with one arm while he reaches down with the other -- and barely keeps himself from snatching the hand *back*. It's not that the heat is anywhere near *that* intense, it's just that the heat is *noticeably* more intense than anything his palm was expecting. He squeezes --

"Ah -- Tim. Is that... fair?"

Oh, yes, he had mentioned something along those lines. The smile on Tim's face feels small and tight, but it's honest. "I'm not entirely sure, yet. *Are* you uncomfortable with being naked around me for some reason...?"

For a moment, Clark's expression is as hard as his mouth -- and then he's smiling so perfectly, so *warmly*, that a part of Tim wonders if that was an illusion. "Tim..."

A *part*. "What was that? Did I say something to upset you?"

Clark's eyes widen briefly -- "No. I've wanted to make love to you for quite some time, Tim, but -- mm. The... plan, for that, keeps changing. Dramatically."

Tim squeezes again -- Clark is holding his wrist, and that -- another stutter inside him, another *clench* that Tim can't help making more intense --

"You already have so much *control*, Tim. It's truly --"

"Impressive?" Tim laughs and twists his wrist in Clark's grip -- he doesn't let go. "Clark, you -- *naked*. You could do it in a moment. Is there something --"

"It will be difficult not to ask you for..." Clark's mouth twists. "Tim, are you sure?"

"I won't -- if something happens and you need to go, Clark, that's one thing, but I. I think I *need* to make *you* come --"

"It used to be so *difficult* to convince Dick to let me pleasure him --"

"I'm *not* Dick," Tim says, and *yanks* against the grip Clark has on him until Clark -- finally -- lets go. "I won't be able to stop you for very much longer. I won't *want* to. But -- please. Let me pretend, for a little while..." Tim swallows and bites his lip. That had come out much more fervently than he'd wanted --

And Clark is almost *searching* him. Certainly, Tim thinks he can feel the ghosts of touches all over his body, testing touches, teasing and demanding touches --

Tim bites his lip *harder* -- stops. "Please --"

Clark's hands on him, warm and --

Clark beneath him, again, naked and *hard*. Tim's straddling *both* of his thighs, now, and the spread of his legs -- his inner thighs feel a little cool, and the jeans are chafing him, making him feel -- hell. "My turn. Strip me --"

And Tim doesn't know if he's surprised or *not* that Clark brings them back to the same position. Clark's expression -- he seems to be *trying* to look patient, and the layers of action and reaction that must have gone into that, the control and the *years* of well-meaning --

No, he can't call it deception. Tim lets his breasts swing the way they want to and strokes Clark's chest, adds the sight and feel to his personal gallery of male perfection -- and gets lost in the image of Clark with Dick. Dick as he is *now*, but still so much *smaller* than Clark, lean and beautiful beyond words while Clark strokes and touches --

While Dick laughs and writhes -- Tim licks his lips and looks up at Clark's eyes again. There's a question in them, as well as open speculation, and really --

"Thank you, Clark --"

"You're entirely welcome. Would you tell me what you want? Or -- perhaps what you were thinking about that made you flush so beautifully."

Tim looks down at himself -- the tops of his breasts are reddened, his nipples almost plum-colored -- "Ah. You and Dick."

"Oh..." Clark smiles and cups Tim's hips. "Sometimes, we speak about you."

The first thought that comes to mind -- absolutely doesn't belong. Just --

"Sometimes," Clark says, and *squeezes* Tim's hips, "he picks rather interesting moments to mention how much he cares about you, how much he worries that you don't allow yourself enough time for -- pleasure."

"*Fun*," and Tim plants his hands against Clark's pecs and pushes, a little. "Pleasure is a rather more loaded term than I think Dick would use -- at those moments."

"I'm curious about your objections --"

Tim growls -- stops. "Would *you* want to give yourself unwarranted hope about someone you loved?"

"Love -- oh. You know how I feel about *hope*, Tim," and Clark is stroking Tim's abdomen with his thumbs -- "May I touch your breasts?"

"I don't want -- I've spent a long time working to make my fantasies about Dick less *painful*. I -- I know I brought him up, but it was only --"

"In the... ah. *Hope* that I would speak about how the two of us make love?"

Does the blush outperform the flush? Clark can surely tell, and -- "I don't seem to have much control over the things I say --"

"Should I assume, then, that some of the things you *do* say aren't true?" Fast again, and Clark's fingertips are digging in, slightly, against Tim's *ass* --

"Ah. I -- that would be *easier* --"

"Would it be fair...?"

"For certain values of..." Tim scratches Clark's chest *hard*, and there's no give, no -- "You're so *hard*, I --"

"That felt wonderful. If you were curious."

"Ah -- oh." Tim does it again, and again, and there are no welts, there's no *sign* of himself on -- "Perfection --"

"I concur. About those... values?"

"I." Tim shakes his head and strokes his way to Clark's nipples, pinches them and something in his own nipples seems to flare, *assert* -- he opens his mouth to answer Clark's question, but all that comes out is a moan --

Clark squeezes Tim's hips *firmly* --

"Nnh -- I. You're *very* experienced --"

"I was a virgin until I was significantly older than you --"

"You've made up for lost *time*," Tim says, laughing a little and -- thinking about it. 'Significantly older' would suggest that Clark had already been Super*man*... Tim pinches Clark's nipples as hard as he can --

"Oh -- again?"

"Yes. Yes, I -- if I were lying to you, at least some of the time --"

Clark grunts and rolls his hips up. There's a bead of pre-come at the tip of his penis, and Tim can't -- he reaches down and slides his thumb over the head, and forces himself to watch Clark's eyes as he brings that thumb to his mouth --

He shudders, breasts *moving*, and the taste is exactly what he was looking for, strange and hot and mineral --

"Do you like it?"

Tim pulls his thumb out from between his lips and presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, wants more -- he nods and moves his wet thumb back to Clark's nipple. "Yes. You're beautiful --"

"You're intoxicating. Ask me another question. Ask me to touch you. *Order* me to touch you --"

Bruce. They're so *close*, and have been so since before there *was* a Robin. So many years, so much --

And Tim can see it, the two of them pressed together, Clark pushing back the cowl while Bruce tore at Clark's pathetically *thin* uniform. He wants to -- no. It's not that he wants to know. It's that he wants to *feel*, and he's had nearly as long to grow accustomed to that attraction as he's had with Dick, but he can't seem to stop -- why *now*?

Tim shakes his head --

"Your scent changed again, Tim. Are you -- would you tell me why you're distressed?"

"I'm -- inappropriate thoughts. Entirely --" Tim looks into Clark's eyes, and knows that he must look like he's *pleading* --

"Oh, lovely --" And Clark strokes up over Tim's ribs and -- stops before his hands reach Tim's breasts.

Tim covers those hands with his own, unsure whether he wants to squeeze or tug or *push* --

"But what's *wrong*, Tim?"

"*Bruce*," and it's gritted more than spoken, and he's blushing *more* --

"He hurt you --"

"*Yes*, I -- I don't *want* to think about him, not now --"

"Then... the last time I made love to Dick, he allowed me to taste him all over. He laughed when I licked his underarm and tried to push me away. I bit the thin skin over his ribs, I dipped my tongue into his navel..."

Dick in his *shower*, stretching and scrubbing himself and singing "New York, New York," before grabbing Tim and spinning him to face the *wall* --

("Gotta get your *back*, little brother --")

"Oh. Clark. Did he --"

"He's sensitive there, but my touch was too light -- I tickled him. I confess I wanted to hear him laugh again, wanted to feel his hands in my hair --"

"His hands are perfect. Everything --" Tim bites his lip and squeezes Clark's thighs with his own, tugs on his hands --

"Your breasts are so full, Tim, generous and soft --"

"My. My nipples -- *hn* --"

"So sensitive. Dick's are not, unless he's had the patience to allow me to suck and nip at them for quite some time --"

"Oh. Oh, God, I -- thank you --"

"Your pleasure is my own," Clark says, and there's something about his voice that's a little... off. The sincerity is *palpable*, but... the accent? The rhythm?

"Clark -- oh. Oh, that -- that touch --" Clark's thumbs, brushing against his nipples, pushing them back and forth, and Tim feels himself getting *wetter*. Just --

He takes one hand off of Clark's and reaches down --

He can't make himself touch further than his own thigh, though, and --

"Oh, that -- mm. Tim, Dick began touching himself while I was licking his thighs. His eyes were closed and he was gentle with himself, so much more than is his usual. He told me he wanted to *last* --"

That sound was a whimper, high and -- *high*, and Tim shakes his head, *reaches* for himself and touches slick wetness, and even the *texture* is different from his own pre-come. It's thicker, more -- he doesn't know. The hair is mostly the same, and if he can just --

This body is *telling* him that it would be easy, that it wouldn't take *much*.

Just a touch, there, and --

Clark moans just before Tim does, perhaps for the way Tim clenches when his fingertips brush his clit, when Clark lifts Tim's breasts slightly and *presses* on Tim's nipples --

"Clark, it feels -- I don't --"

"Try -- ah. Rubbing a circle. Very small, very light --"

Tim nods and does it -- shudders all over and makes a sound that's almost a *bark* --

"Oh. Perhaps you'll let me do that with my tongue? Soon?"

It's -- his turn *first*, but he can't keep himself from rubbing another circle, and another --

Clark whispers something that Tim can't quite hear.

"What...?"

"Ah -- sorry. I said that you were beautiful."

It didn't sound quite like that -- except for how it *did*. In Kryptonian, and Tim thinks about Bruce presenting him with the learning materials, Bruce correcting his pronunciation and tone, Bruce smiling so *sharply* when Tim had asked -- cautiously -- *why* he was supposed to learn a language that only had relevance for one person on the planet -- and Bruce not even coming *close* to giving him an answer.

He'd filed it away under "because I'm supposed to know a large fraction of *everything*" and left it at that, enjoying the small formalities and large amount of political incorrectness, wondering if he'd ever -- well.

He could say something right *now*, and Clark might even appreciate it. Or he could feel Tim was trespassing --

"Tim...?"

It must feel like Tim was kneeling there just staring for ages. Tim smiles and shakes his head. And presses *harder* on his clit, just to --

Make himself *cough* out a groan --

Clark squeezes his breasts -- "You could tell me anything, I wouldn't --"

"Your voice, Clark," he says, because it's true *enough*. "The way you speak, sometimes..."

"Touch yourself again, the way you did --"

Another groan, and this time his hips buck and he's touching -- that would be the opening of his *vagina* --"

"May I pinch your nipples? Perhaps --"

"Yes, I -- I'd like to see -- *nn*, oh, that. I can't tell if that was pain or *not* --"

"You've never played with your nipples...ah. Extensively?"

Tim shakes his head. "It feels too. I wind up feeling *self-conscious*," Tim says, and has to laugh a little, because he's *masturbating* in front of *Superman*. *On* Superman --

"Oh, that's terrible, Tim. I've only watched you pleasuring yourself once --"

*That* -- "You're making me want to *curse*, Clark-- *oh* --"

Clark is *tugging* on Tim's nipples, rolling them a little between his fingers -- "It was after your mission to Tokyo, with Conner --"

"*Kon*, I. I've wanted --"

"He's almost always aroused when you're near, but you. Oh, Tim, you'd treated my invitation like a *distraction* --"

"It *was*. I had a *mission*, Clark, mm, yes -- I think harder --"

"You're stroking your opening. You... would you push in, slightly?"

"I don't know. I." And Tim realizes that his eyes are closed. He opens them, and Clark's penis -- pre-come connecting the head to Clark's abdomen, shiny and so slick, so -- Clark wants to see Tim *fuck* himself, and it's not that it's a particularly difficult desire to understand, but --

"Fear in your scent, again -- hm. Are you worried that you won't enjoy the sensation? Or that you'll enjoy it too much?"

Laughing feels like -- motion within him, *waves* of feeling, and surely the undertow is close? Something to *fear*, yes, and let that fear ride him, drive him to where he needs to *be* --

"Oh, I'm sorry. I -- what did I *say*?"

Another laugh, and it sounds breathless because it *is*. "Oh, Clark. Oh -- I'll tell you. When you need to worry about my *fear*."

"But -- is it Bruce, again?"

"*No*," and Tim pushes in with his middle finger, just a little -- and he thinks that sensation is his vagina saying "*well*?" Laughing again would just make the waves intensify, and staying upright is already starting to be problematic. "Clark, I. When you *watched* --"

"You were *rough* with yourself, almost ruthless, physically -- but you laughed, once, shaking your head against the pillow. I've wondered --"

"Heh. Well..." Tim pushes in just a little *deeper*, and now the things his vagina is saying are somewhat unprintable. There's just a little friction -- that would be the *angle*, more than anything else -- and there's warmth, slickness --

He wouldn't need *lubricant* -- and his *mind* wants him to know that it's conflicted about that. He has so many *good* feelings -- and memories -- about lubricant, particularly the medical grade in the belt currently in the hidden compartment in *that* closet. The tube which he has replaced twice, without so much as a *word* from --

*No*, and now there's anger at himself to go with the fear, to go with --

A part of him is only *wondering*, only -- he *likes* having things inside him, fingers or the escrima stick Dick probably thinks he'd lost somewhere --

"You seem -- your *scent*, Tim. I don't -- I don't think I *understand*..."

And Clark has to be sensing -- everything and nothing at once. It has to feel like he's having sex with a *crazy* person, and that probably shouldn't be as funny as it is, but. Tim opens his eyes and looks into Clark's concerned ones, Clark's *dark* ones, and is that a hint of red? Tim looks into Clark's eyes, opens his mouth, and pushes *in* --

And that was *definitely* Kryptonian, much too fast to be *understood*, but the emotion behind it --

The *feel* -- "That time, Clark. I was in the middle of fantasizing Kon's penis into my *throat* --"

"*Tim* --"

"And then you were there. Guiding his hips as he thrust, whispering something I couldn't understand into Kon's ear because it was -- nn. Speed-babble, or whatever. Whatever you'd like to call your *version* of that --"

Motion --

Clark is sitting up, *lifting* Tim by the hips and sucking Tim's nipples, one after the other and back again, again --

Most of him is focused on the *pull* of it, the sweetness and *ache* --

The -- hysterical, he now realizes -- part of him is thinking about the handful of times Tim has seen a woman breastfeeding. Doesn't lactation sometimes happen spontaneously? It wouldn't be the *weirdest* thing that has happened to Tim today --

And the laughs come out tumbled, jumbled with the moans. The moans are breathless and cracking --

Tim pushes his free hand into Clark's hair, and is surprised and disappointed that it *feels* like hair. Thick and healthy -- oh, but he can pull as hard as he *wants*. He gives it a try --

And Clark looks up at him from under his lashes. That's *definitely* red between pupil and iris, and Tim can't hold back a smile. Certainly, he can't bring himself to *try*.

He pulls out --

He *clenches* around himself, because his vagina doesn't want to *hear* about pulling out, but -- he needs his other hand. He needs it so he can drag his slick finger over Clark's upper lip --

So he can watch Clark's eyes *widen* for a moment before he sucks so hard it *hurts*. Tim moans and licks his lips, bucks his hips and makes contact with Clark's abdomen, so warm and hard, and if he had a *penis* --

He doesn't, and so that isn't *enough*.

"On my *back*, Clark --"

And he hits the bed *vigorously* enough to bounce a little, but Clark has a *firm* grip on his breasts. Tim responds by wrapping his legs around Clark's waist and getting kissed for it, getting his mouth *fucked* for it -- 

And the fantasy is *right* there: Dick moving over him, praising him for his increased flexibility as he bends Tim's legs back to his chest before --

*Before*, and Clark's penis is a hot weight on Tim's abdomen, moving and painting him with alien pre-come, so warm and so *slick*.

Tim's starting to feel *dirty* -- on a number of *levels* -- but he's being kissed by a man who has admitted, openly, to spying on Tim while he was jerking *off* --

"Oh -- Clark. If I'd known what you wanted. If I'd *understood* --"

Wet *slurp*, and Clark pulls his lips from Tim's breast.

*When* had he moved back --

"You had no *inkling*, Tim?"

"You have *Dick*. And *Lois Lane*. And -- apparently all sorts of other people. I thought you were being *friendly*."

Clark makes a sound -- it's almost a growl. "If Bruce would just --" He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I'm very -- none of you *communicate* properly with each other, and sometimes that's deeply -- frustrating," Clark says, and *licks* Tim's nipple --

Tim's flexes internally, and it's possible that he's getting used to the feeling, because it *only* makes his skin prickle all over with fresh sweat --

"Ah, that *tang* --" And Clark is licking his way up the center of Tim's chest, *rocking* his hips -- "If you don't mind, I --"

And suddenly Clark's penis is against -- Tim's *lips*. "Oh. *Oh* --"

"Many women seem to -- ah. May I?"

*Fuck* me -- no, he can't quite bring himself to say that. It's -- he's blushing again, and his clit wants him to know that Clark's penis is warm, that it's *hard*, that it could be -- "Move. You -- Against me, please --" *Tim* growls, because it's so *close* to what he'd imagined frottage would feel like, it's --

Pressure and *slide*, slickness and -- is that his hood moving? Is that what having a foreskin would feel like?

Tim shakes his *head* --

"Please tell me --"

"Comparative -- physiology. I -- faster? I think -- oh, *God* --"

"I should've guessed that you'd prefer things to fit as neatly within a familiar paradigm as they could --"

Tim's *eyes* roll back in his head --

"Oh, Tim, don't stop -- keep talking to me, please, keep *sharing*. Would you *like* for me to try to convince Kon to --"

"Oh my God. Ah -- no? Really? I treasure his -- nuh. Uh -- his sanity, oh -- *fuck* --"

"I really was *mostly* joking, oh yes, *pull* my hair --"

"*Kiss* me --"

"A bit difficult with the angle, but --"

Clark's tongue slips between his lips at nearly the same time as the head of Clark's penis --

Oh, *against* Tim's clit, and Tim groans and *yanks* on Clark's hair, rears up to make the kiss harder, and his lips feel swollen, impossible -- they were *already* larger than the ones he'd grown up with, and now they must look. Obscene.

Though perhaps no more than the rest of this, perhaps --

Clark squeezes Tim's hip with one hand, and uses the other to -- he's *guiding* his penis against Tim's clit, rubbing it back and forth, up and down, and Tim can't classify the noise he's making beyond being quite sure that it's not the conversation Clark seems to want --

"Tim," Clark says, and it sounds like a plea, like a *prayer*, and Tim *wants* to be able to say something in response to that, but he doesn't have anything but *noise*.

He's *close*, or he thinks he is. The waves just keep *breaking* within him, driving him higher and making him feel more and more *open*, as if Clark could do anything to him and this body could take it and demand more. He wants his finger back inside himself, but more than that --

Another kiss, and Clark seems to almost be *drinking* from his mouth, licking so *gently* as he moves his penis faster, *teases* --

No, it's perfect, it's -- it's *right*, so much so that Tim has to pull back and bite Clark's lip, dig in against something with no give at all. "I want -- oh. Words, I. I wasn't expecting *words* --"

"You're a very articulate young man --"

"Stop being -- *complimentary* --"

<<I would have your beauty for my own, fine one. You were made for art, for the expression of the creative and the judgment of the divine -->>

"I *heard* that --"

"I'm sorry?"

"So -- *innocent*. How do you even -- I can't -- oh, God, Clark, I *need* --"

"Please tell me, Tim. I would have your *pleasure* --"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and tries to get *more*, moves his hips but only succeeds in making Clark's penis slip away from the places he needs it *most* -- "*Please* --"

"It's all right, Tim, you're -- oh, Tim, let me --"

"In me, I need -- please, Clark --"

*Motion*, and his thighs are spread *exactly* as far as they can comfortably go, and Clark --

*In* --

Thumb *vibrating* on his clit and *in* --

"Unh -- oh fuck, oh *fuck* --"

And then Clark *moves*, and Tim realizes that it's Clark's *tongue* inside him, that he's tasting -- he can taste --

Tim throws back his head and *shouts*, and Clark is *holding* his thighs apart, Clark is *fucking* him with his tongue and using -- vibrating --

And Tim's aware that he's banging his head against the pillow, but mostly --

The clench --

The *slide* --

And it feels like the scream *forces* itself out of Tim's chest, feels like -- the waves -- the *undertow* --

He's *coming*, and there's nothing he can do to stop it, nothing he can do to ease it or at least --

Slow it down, make it stop before he loses his *mind*, and it can't possibly keep going like this, it *has* to stop, has to let him *go* --

Oh --

But it's easing, a little, he can think, he can register the fact that Clark is just *stroking* his clit now, so *lightly*, and he's licking around the entrance more than he's fucking --

Of course he knows that that was an orgasm. Tim's *neighbors* know that that was an orgasm, but -- he's not sensitive. It's still *good*, and he's writhing for it, tugging --

At some point he'd buried his hands in Clark's *hair* again, and he *likes* to have it pulled. Does Dick? Is he ever rough with Clark?

And he can *see* Dick guiding Clark's head on his penis, see him smiling as he *fucks* Clark's mouth, hear him moan -- oh, he wants to hear Dick *moan* --

"I -- please. That was --" Tim shakes his head and tries again, breathes deep and feels something *shift* within him. He moans and tries for speech again, for -- "Clark..."

Clark hums against him, and it rolls right through him, and his entire *body* wants him to know that there could be more, that he's *having* more --

"You don't -- I *came* -- *oh* --"

Clark's *kissing* the entrance to his vagina, pressing his lips against it hard and slipping his tongue in, teasing the -- he supposes that would be the upper wall, but the only thing Tim's sure of is that he's working his hips again.

Had he stopped? At all? "Clark. *Clark* --"

<<Your taste is intoxication, wonder -->>

"*Clark* --"

"Yes, Tim?"

And that *particular* innocence will now always speak of the boldest, *baldest* *lies*, but -- "You really don't -- ah. I'd like to make *you* come --"

"I'm afraid I've stained your comforter," Clark says, and drags his nose *up* against his clit --

"Ah -- oh. Surely you're not -- ah. Finished?"

"Well, that's the amusing thing, Tim -- I rather think you aren't, *either*," and when Clark looks up at him --

Well, the view and *staging* are both rather --

Clark has very attractive smile lines at the corners of his eyes, and he's currently using them to great effect.

"Noted," Tim says, and sits up on his elbows -- and watches his breasts try to point in opposite directions. Clark's expression is making it very clear that he finds that image particularly attractive, which is...

He's *seen* Steph without a bra on -- once. Her breasts are much fuller than his own, and more naturally firm. Would Clark -- he'd already said he found Steph beautiful --

"Tim... I. I gather it doesn't help that I find your breasts to be quite wonderful?"

Tim raises an eyebrow and smiles. "I'm glad I can provide pleasure."

"Ah. Or perhaps I should say 'noted?'"

And that... Tim smiles a little wider and lifts his leg enough that he can stroke *Clark's* leg with his foot --

"Oh. Yes...?"

"You could consider... using your fingers."

"Perhaps in a few minutes...? I can make my tongue quite... hm. You seemed to enjoy it?"

And, apparently, the taste of his pre-ejaculate -- did he ejaculate? At all? Well, he's *intoxicating*. Or, given the vagaries of translation, 'that which maddens the senses.' But... "I really would like to suck you, Clark."

"You've never -- you might not enjoy the sensations as much as you've imagined --"

Tim raises his eyebrow *higher*. "Are you trying to tell me that *any* of your sexual partners have expressed displeasure -- or even *implied* it --"

"I wouldn't --" Clark looks distinctly sheepish. "I don't want to cause you discomfort, Tim."

Because he's just *that* big. *But*. Tim strokes Clark with his foot a little more pointedly. "What I've *imagined*, Clark, is that the inevitable discomfort would be part of the attraction."

And that makes Clark narrows his eyes *and* look a little distant. Is he remembering Dick? Someone else?

"Or... I could ask you how *Dick* feels about sucking you off."

"You could," Clark says, and kisses Tim's mound, does it again -- does it *again*, and nuzzles Tim's there, breathes *deep* -- "He *has* always enjoyed it, but it used to cause him pain."

Practice makes -- oh, he really should feel guilty about this endless *questioning*. He wants to know -- and Clark wants to *tell* him -- Tim shakes his head. "I think I'm shooting myself in the foot with regards to... how I'm going to *relate* to Dick after this."

Another kiss, another inhale -- "Mmm. I -- knowing Dick, he would probably be quite willing -- even happy -- to discuss *this* with you. Ah... if you found yourself at a loss for other topics of conversation."

And that is... nothing but the absolute truth. Tim snorts and pinches the bridge of his nose --

Gets his thigh *licked* and shivers --

"Certainly you don't bring this up out of any desire to listen in on that hypothetical conversation."

"Oh, I'd *never*, ever do such a thing. Hardly ever. Almost certainly not -- hrm. Often?" And Clark reaches to tug Tim's hand away from his face. He's hovering a bit, and when Tim allows him to move his hand... he's smiling broadly.

Tim tries and fails to suppress his *own* smile and settles back on his elbows. "You... take a *lot* of liberties, Clark."

"Would you discipline me for it?"

Tim feels his smile twist into something that's probably a lot more like a *pucker* --

And it's absolutely fascinating to watch that pleased, amused *light* dancing in Clark's eyes when the pupils are still rimmed with *red*. Still --

"How on earth would you... negotiate your relationships with my family if we *weren't* all conditioned to being under surveillance at all times?" 

"I suppose," Clark says, and flies slowly back down between Tim's legs, kisses Tim's abdomen and mound again, nuzzles Tim's thigh -- "I suppose that I would have to institute a program of making myself seem harmless, even beneficial --"

"Earnest, perhaps?"

Clark's smile is *sharp* as he spreads Tim's outer lips, as he leans in --

And doesn't kiss.

"I'm just a simple farmboy, Tim. Far from home. And -- ah. Naive? Your city ways are *alien* to me," and his breath is *hot* on Tim's clit, damp and promising --

Tim takes a breath. "You... hm. Didn't your parents *talk* to you about being... nosy?"

And yes, Clark *does* nuzzle Tim's clit, and the sensation does, indeed, make Tim's body relax all over -- no, it just feels that way, because his vagina is trying very hard to let Tim -- and Clark -- know that it's *available*.

The *rest* of him is rather tense, a bit covered in gooseflesh -- *interested*. "You -- should answer my question --"

"I strive not to be a disappointment to my parents," Clark says, and *licks* --

"*Hnn* -- you. You could consider trying *harder* --"

"Would you tell me --" A kiss, slow and wet, slow and --

His clit wants him to know that Clark's tongue is *not* a finger, but that it's willing to overlook that failing in the interest of --

Of -- "Oh, that -- uh. Harder, please --"

*Press*, broad and thick -- the flat of Clark's tongue, and this lick makes Tim arch his hips up, try to *follow* --

"I think. Would you hold my hips -- *oh* --"

Such broad *hands*, but Tim's not sure if he's reacting to the feel of them or to Clark's breathy moan, Clark's *pleased*-sounding moan as he licks again, and *again* --

Tim's legs are shaking, but -- "You had a. Question?"

*Kiss*, hard and oddly *chaste*-seeming -- "Those sheets you used to have... ah?"

Something had seized within Tim, making him clench, making him -- "I. I thought you only watched me masturbate *once*, Clark --"

"Oh, I did, truly. But -- hm. Bruce watches you sleep, sometimes... and sometimes I watch *Bruce* -- sometimes if I watch him *deeply* enough, he'll allow me to share his company --"

"Watching me *sleep*?"

"Well, he always turns off the monitors before I get there. I have to... sometimes I feel --" Another kiss, and another -- a slow, *hard* lick --

"T-tell me. Please, I need --"

"Of course," Clark says, shifting and kissing Tim's mound, again. "When he watches you sleep, he seems to want privacy. And I have... well. There's a curiosity to that, a desire within myself -- constant and difficult to *restrict* -- to understand him, to know what it is that drives him --"

"He's probably just --" Tim shakes his head. "Making plans for me, making sure I'm using my rest periods efficiently. Or. Ah. There have been times when he's *woken* me by watching --"

And the memory of the last time that had happened is --

He'd been living in the manor while his father had been in that coma. The bed -- *his* bed, because he'd gotten used to it --

His bed had seemed large and forgiving, welcoming after a long day training until it was actually difficult to think about all the things he didn't want to think about. He doesn't remember the dream he was having, but he'd woken up with a start, and Bruce had been right there.

A gauntleted hand on his shoulder, the other just brushing his cheek --

("There is nothing, Tim. Rest.")

And he'd asked Bruce if he was *sure*, and sounded like a child to his own ears --

("Everything is as well as it can be.")

And he'd fallen asleep *wanting*, and admitting absolutely nothing to himself --

"His... regard. It must be intimidating, at times?"

Tim had closed his eyes again. He opens them to see a look of understanding on Clark's face, open and gentle *despite* the red. Tim reaches out to touch, to stroke Clark's cheek and forehead, his mouth --

He gets kissed, and Clark says "Tim," sounding pleased and perhaps even *eased*, as if there'd been something stressful about... watching Tim remember? Knowing Tim was thinking about Bruce *again* --

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be so -- distracted."

"I am by no means perfect, Tim. There are times when I've felt jealousy so strongly it *hurt*, but I have no illusions about my place in your life," Clark says, cupping Tim's hand in his own and kissing Tim's fingers.

That -- Tim's wincing. "Clark, you -- the fact that I'm attracted to others --"

"Your love -- the *way* you love, with such quiet intensity..."

Wincing *and* blushing -- "I. I wasn't thinking about anyone else when I -- when you made me... come."

And Clark gives him another of those *profound* smiles, and if Tim didn't have those memories of sitting in Dick's lap, he *would* be tempted to think that Dick had learned them *from* Clark. It's --

Absolutely impossible to look away, and very difficult not to lose himself in the thought that he'd *made* Clark look that way, that that smile is for *him* --

"I confess -- I was thinking of Dick," Clark says, and raises his eyebrow, turning the smile into something rather teasing.

"I -- oh. I'm. Well, that's entirely reasonable --"

A *breathtakingly* fast change of expression: Clark is serious, *worried* again --

"Clark...?"

"No, *no*, Tim. I was *thinking* about what sounds you might make if Dick had been the one pleasuring you. I was wondering if you would call his name, if any of those shouts had been meant to be my own. Your love for him is so *clear*, your curiosity -- your *hunger* is so tempting..." Clark is cupping Tim's hips, fingers digging -- gently -- in against Tim's ass.

And Tim is blinking... rather a lot. That's. Well. It's -- "It doesn't seem... I don't see the." Tim frowns, because there really ought to be *some* way to phrase what he wants to say that makes sense. There is -- there should *be* jealousy, or at least a sense of something being missing --

"I find you both *deeply* attractive, Tim. And... your care for each other." Clark hums a little and *licks* Tim's abdomen up to his navel, stabs in *hard* with his tongue --

"Oh -- that. Definitely doesn't tickle. There's something almost *electric* about it --"

Another hum, and Clark does it again, and again, and Tim is very glad he keeps his navel clean, though there's some question as to whether whatever lingering dirt had been on his *male* body had survived the transition --

His *scars* are all in the wrong places, and he's not going to think about that. He *is* going to push his hands into Clark's hair again, and get another... hum? Or was that a moan? Difficult to tell, as it's rather *slurred* --

And Clark wants to perform cunnilingus on him again -- Steph. Steph would... *would* she like it? From him? From Clark? Certainly the images are compelling. Steph had told him she used to pretend to *be* Superman when she was small. He'd never gotten to show her his sheets --

His nipples are aching, both from what Clark is doing to his *navel* -- and *what* is the connection there? They ache, also, from Clark's earlier attentions, and it wouldn't hurt --

For certain values of hurt --

Tim cups his breasts and feels their softness, lifts them and squeezes them, a little, imagining Clark's hands, Clark's gently implacable *grip* -- he lets go and sucks his first two fingers into his mouth, licks them and does the same for the other hand --

And the first pinch makes him arch up, and Clark moans and stabs his navel *faster*. The second pinch makes Clark look up and almost *glitter* at him --

"Surely you can't begrudge me the beautiful image of Dick burying his face between your breasts, turning to lick, turning to *bite* --"

Tim moans and arches again, helpless above and beyond being unable to deny -- *that*. Dick loves women so much. He's better than Tim at so many things, including bisexuality, and he could be beautiful for Dick, *willing* --

"Oh, Tim, I will never -- perhaps if you were to let me just let it *slip* to Dick about your attraction --"

"God, *no*. It's -- it's been hard enough keeping it a secret, letting him -- oh, your *mouth* --"

Breathing *hot* against Tim's inner thigh, perhaps drying the fluids there, somewhat, but he has so much more to give --

"Clark, please, I -- I think I want. Ah. In me? Again --"

<<Will you forgive me this aggression, fine one?>>

Aggression? What -- "Are you -- Clark?"

Clark meets his eyes, and there's a curiosity there, along with the hunger and the *burn*. He *has* to know that Tim understands him, considering how *much* attention Tim has apparently demanded over the -- years.

Tim shakes his head -- "I don't --" <<Know?>> "Which aggression are we --"

Talking about, and it certainly could be *this* kiss, and the way it presses Tim down to the bed and *pins* him there, as if Clark has something far sharper than a simple tongue, far more *dangerous*. Tim moans and Clark starts fucking his mouth, starts *teasing* --

It's *necessary* to bury his hands in Clark's hair, to twist it around his fingers and pull, twist more until he can feel at least *somewhat* caught. Held and held *down*, and when he opens his eyes, Clark's are open, too, staring down into him and demanding --

Attention? Pleasure? Some nebulous variety of more? Tim tries to put all of the questions into his *own* eyes, and perhaps it works, a little, because the kiss becomes slower, if not more gentle. It's *crystal* clear that Clark enjoys the sensation of fucking Tim's mouth with his tongue, that he likes the way Tim is sucking on him, trying to hold that tongue in his mouth --

Weight and *pressure*, just a little at first, just enough to *alert* Tim, and it's easier than he'd expected to bend his knees back to his chest, to leave a *space* for Clark between his legs, a way to get more of that contact --

Oh, he's so *hard* again, though to be fair -- Tim has no idea if Clark had ever gotten soft. And it's far less important than the feel of Clark's shaft sliding against Tim's clit, than the way Clark is almost *feeding* Tim his tongue, filling him in a way that makes Tim heat all over --

Though that could just be the inevitable result of this close a contact with a Kryptonian --

Kon. Kon is *always* warm, though not so warm as this. He hadn't known for sure, but *now* he does, and he'll remember it the next time they're close, the next time Kon looks at him with that poorly-veiled speculation in his eyes, that *instinct*, clear and accurate within him, that Tim really does *want* --

("Just admit it, dude -- I am *smokin'* hot.")

And he could *interrogate* his mind over the way it's throwing out constant distractions, endless images of *everyone* Tim has ever been even moderately attracted to --

But he knows it's a defense mechanism as much as it's anything else. Part of him doesn't want to *deal* with the fact that he's in the process of having sex with someone he'd always considered so far beyond himself that he couldn't even crib together a decent fantasy, as opposed to a parade of otherwise innocent images and the occasional belch of *id* --

And the rest of him is struggling with all the power at its disposal to keep Tim from thinking about --

Clark's best friend. He --

Clark pulls back and smiles at him gently, once more. "A spike of fear. I know you told me not to worry about those --"

"I can't seem to -- I don't have *control* of my brain, Clark, and I'm sorry --"

"No need," he says, and presses two fingers against Tim's lips, "to apologize. The first time I made love I was both in the moment and in a million different bedrooms at once. The things I could *hear*..."

"I... oh. I -- you're making me worry that I'm keeping you from something --"

"If Superman needs to leave, he will. And *I* will return as soon as I can -- if you'll have me."

*Really* -- Tim tugs Clark's fingers away from his mouth. "Ah... perhaps I've been sowing some measure of doubt, in that respect?"

Clark's smile gets wider. "Oh... you could change your mind. Or have business of your own. Or both. Life is risk."

Tim shakes his head and laughs quietly. "I really don't understand -- and this is by no means a request for compliments, in whatever language you choose to use --"

<<But you do speak...?>>

"Ah." <<One-who-teaches did *insist*.>>

<<Mentor,>> Clark says, and traces Tim's frown line --

<<As you say. Kal-El -->>

"Only around the... hmm. Edges," Clark says, rearing up and *thrusting* once, again --

Tim clutches at the pillows with his hands and at Clark's waist with his *legs* --

"Beautiful, beautiful -- I'm sorry. You were saying?"

Tim laughs again -- moans and *arches* again -- "Were you *testing* me with Kryptonian?"

"Mm, you -- it would be far more accurate to say that I was testing the boundaries of what I could get *away* with, Tim, and -- I love the feel of your slickness Tim, your -- oh, so *human* --"

"Human *female* --"

"*Lovely* female," and Clark gives Tim more of his weight, braces his hands on the pillow to either side of Tim's head seemingly just to *do* it --

Or to give Tim the opportunity to see those thick and massively golden forearms in his peripheral vision. They're only lightly dusted with hair, not like -- *dammit*. "*Harder* --"

<<Your wish, your demand, your *pleasure*, oh fine one, desired -->>

"*Clark* --" Fingers on his mouth --

"Would you suck?"

And *everything* in Clark's voice suggests that Tim would feel that he'd have an *option*, a sort of internal -- perhaps *eternal* -- foundation of optimism about the concept of free *will* --

And Tim is laughing while he sucks, moaning while he laughs, and yes, licking while he sucks, while Clark *thrusts* against him, again and again. There's some degree of discomfort, but Tim can't call it pain.

Perhaps if he weren't quite this wet? Presumably that will be the case at *some* point --

"Oh, the feel of you, Tim. So soft and yet so inflamed..."

*Hot*. Clark is *hot* and making Tim sweat, making him -- Tim squeezes Clark with his legs and wonders if he can come this way --

"Do you feel...? I often wonder about human sensitivity. I'm trembling, steady and mild, but... oh, Tim, I've wanted you for so *long*."

Trembling? Tim makes a questioning sound around Clark's fingers -- and Clark pushes in *deep*, *stretches* Tim's mouth --

"Oh -- was that not what you wanted?"

Tim bites down *lightly* --

"Yes, *that*, Tim. Shall I thrust with my fingers, as well?"

Tim nods and hums -- moans at the feel of Clark using the exact *opposite* rhythm to the one he's using for his hips. In and out, thrust and release. Tim clenches internally --

Clark growls softly and this time Tim *can* feel the shaking, the *tremor*, all-encompassing and intimidating in the best possible way --

So *good* --

"I almost think -- mm. Does the fear make it better for you? Is it somehow... somehow *part* of sex for you?"

Tim raises *both* eyebrows --

"You're incredulous. I see. It's -- I don't *want* you to be afraid, Tim --"

Tim bites a little harder --

"But are my wants *entirely* irrelevant? I would think that a young man like yourself... you *wish* to please, and that. I do worry about taking advantage --"

The laugh is no more slurred than the moan, and perhaps less so, perhaps -- oh, it feels like Tim could almost *swallow* Clark's fingers, take them *deep* within himself --

<<I would be forgiven my crimes, if not my desires...>>

The *sound* of it, liquid and sweet, exactly as though those sounds were made for Clark's throat, for the power and precision -- those *thrusts*, and there's pre-come in his cleft, now, ticklish and wet. He wants to be *touched* --

"Perhaps I was foolish to give you my fingers to suck. I want to *hear* you, fine one, so brilliant and so *sharp* -- and would you use your teeth on my penis?"

And it's starting to be a little beyond Tim to raise his eyebrow -- trying to do so just convinces his eyes that they want to roll back in his head --

"Dick never -- *almost* never. It upsets him. It -- he knows that my sensitivity is quite high, that I can feel everything he does, however lightly..."

*Focus* returns with a rush that's almost painful, a sense that he had *been* close to another orgasm and isn't anymore, but -- sensitive. Of course Clark must be --

*All* of his senses are powerful, but how does he *live* with that much input? It must be --

"Tim...?"

Tim leans back against the pillow and Clark removes his fingers from his mouth, *stops* thrusting, which is terrible, but -- "You must -- how do you *dampen* the constant influx of physical information?"

Clark smiles at him -- fond again, and, by the look of it, utterly unsurprised.

"I mean -- ah." Blushing. Again. "I'm sorry, but that's very *interesting* --"

"The easy answer is 'practice,' but I imagine that's unsatisfying?"

The slight salt of Clark's fingers is a tang in his mouth, an ache on his tongue -- and Tim realizes that he was tasting *himself*, at least in part, and he'd known that it would be different, but he hadn't really given the matter much *thought* -- focus. "I... if you wouldn't mind expounding...?"

Clark nods and pries Tim's legs -- gently -- from around his waist. And then he just *is* between Tim's legs, spreading Tim's lips *wide* -- "You feel the air, my breath --"

"Nn -- yes. I. Very much --"

"But now..." Clark exhales, warm and just -- *everything* -- "Just my breath?"

"Oh. Oh, God --"

A kiss -- several of them, wet and serious, quick and *deep*, all within, and his vagina wants him to know that Clark's tongue is the perfect thing -- and that, while it *could* be convinced otherwise, any attempt to do so right *now* would result in dire consequences. Tim's *aware* that Clark is still kissing him, still moving his hard, perfect lips, but --

"You -- you've made your point. I think. I need to come, Clark, or it's --" Tim shakes his head. "There are no real messages from the base of my spine, but --"

Clark pulls back *slightly*. "More from within your abdomen --"

Slurred but entirely comprehensible, and -- "*Waves* of feeling, and the sense of myself as being in motion, or -- maybe *wanting* to be in motion. Just -- please. Something?"

"Yes," Clark says, cupping Tim's hips and licking up *hard* over Tim's clit, making Tim grit his teeth and writhe --

*Try* to writhe, because Clark's grip is both gentle and completely impossible to move around, and that makes something seize in him --

"Tim?"

"*Don't* let go --"

Clark moans and does something -- oh. He's *sucking* Tim's clit, pressing with his lips, and Tim thinks he knows, now, how it would feel if he still had a penis. If --

Or. No, it's -- that tightness in him is in an entirely different place, and feels more... fragile? Difficult to maintain? He's not sure of anything beyond not wanting the feeling to stop --

Except that he's *empty*, and this time he's actually aware of his ass, too. Maybe it's all the natural lubricant in his cleft, or maybe it's the male in him asserting itself. He *could* be full. He could have --

"Clark, I want -- in me. My vagina or my -- ass -- *fuck* --"

And a part of his brain is searching his memories for the feel of Clark letting go of his hip, but that part is much too slow and doesn't have its *priorities* in the right place. Clark is -- his hand --

His *thumb* is in Tim's vagina and his fingers are spreading Tim's cleft wide, rubbing at Tim's *hole* as he pushes, as he *thrusts* --

And the shock seems to *explode* under this wave of sensation, and the only thing Tim can do -- he's moaning and *cursing*, and he's gripping at the duvet with both hands, and he's *twisting* for it, rocking his hips as much as he can --

Clark is still *holding* him, still sucking and this --

So much --

And his body is telling him that if he just manages to twist *enough*, Clark will be inside him *both* ways, that he could have --

Clark presses *down* with his thumb and Tim shouts, tries to work his hips to make Clark thrust, go faster --

Hum *deliberately* loud around his clit until it seems like every muscle in Tim's body is tensed and holding him twisted, bent -- when had he sat up? How -- it would be *better* if he just planted his feet and pushed instead of drumming his fucking *heels*.

Tim lets himself fall back and does it, and there's a push -- *breach*, and he's not sure *which* of Clark's fingers that was, that *is* --

Inside him, burning hot and so *hard*, so *rough*, and Clark's saying something, or just moving his lips --

Clark's licking him, long flat stripes of his tongue, his hard and powerful *tongue* --

*Push*, thumb and finger, and he can feel Clark's finger in his ass and Clark's thumb in his vagina, he can feel -- he can smell himself and *hear* himself --

"*Clark* --"

Another moan, and this one is loud enough to make Tim shudder all over, to make him kick out involuntarily --

"*Please* --"

That thrust --

So *hard*, and Clark could do anything to him like this, could make Tim *want* anything, beg and plead and --

Tim feels himself clenching, and then there's nothing but the pleasure. It wipes out absolutely everything but itself and makes Tim shout and toss his head, shake and *kick* --

And he's still not ready for the way it goes on and *on*, for the way Clark is fucking him *through* it, and Tim can't control the motion of his hips, but Clark is just riding it perfectly, catching his lack of rhythm and keeping it, keeping *him* --

"Oh, God, *please* --"

"So beautiful, so *perfect* --"

And Tim flops back against the bed and gasps, pants -- yanks at the duvet until he can convince his fingers to *unclench*. That thing inside him is quieter, but not actually anything *like* quiet or still.

His body wants him to know that there's more available, that Clark is right *there*, *inside* him -- and Tim's growl turns into a laugh, because --

"Oh... yes, Tim?"

"What -- exactly -- are your arguments against fucking me?" And Tim sits up on his elbows and raises an eyebrow. "I'd like to get them out in the open so I can begin working against them *immediately*."

Clark blinks -- but not before the red in his eyes widens and *deepens* -- not before he lets Tim *see* it.

"*Now*, Clark."

"You're quite small --"

"I *stretch* --"

"Not..." Clark exhales and presses *up* with the finger in Tim's ass, and the friction is -- the *burn* is -- "Oh. The way you *clenched*, Tim --"

And Clark *is* saying something else, but he's saying it directly into his vagina. Perhaps *spelling* it, and Tim groans and clutches the duvet again, throws his head back and *wills* himself to stand firm --

Or at the very least *not* just lie here and *take* it, not just this, not *yet* --

"-- so *much* we can do together, Tim. You're still so *close*, relatively --"

"*Clark* -- what *else*?"

"You. You have a *hymen*, Tim."

"*What*? God, *why*?"

"Ah -- I'm afraid I can't answer that question," Clark says, and rests his free hand on Tim's abdomen, rubbing warm and firm. "If you would breathe deeply --"

"I -- really don't want you to pull out."

"Oh. Oh. Tim --" And Clark's expression changes, goes distant and hardens --

"Clark --"

"Earthquake. At least a six point four. Please breathe?"

And a part of Tim is honestly questioning the timing, but Clark is frowning hard and stroking Tim's abdomen almost restlessly --

Tim breathes -- and moans at the *loss*, so much more intense than anything he'd felt when he was just masturbating --

And gets kissed, hard and for only *just* long enough --

His lips are sore --

"I'm sorry," Clark says, and he's fully suited up. "I will -- would you have me return?"

"*Yes*. Go --"

He's gone. And Tim is splayed out naked and *not* fucked enough. By any stretch of the imagination. The curtains billow in and out of the window. The bed --

The room smells like a great deal of heterosexual sex, though infinitely more pleasantly than in the brothels of his acquaintance. He moves his legs -- wetness, somewhat cool --

Clark had come, untouched, the first time he'd gone down on Tim. Tim *almost* wishes there were someone to see the expression on his face. He's quite sure it's an interesting one.

Tim swings his legs off the bed and stands up -- sticky thighs, sticky *cleft*, and -- the hint of that burn. Does Clark really not want to -- or.

Or.

Tim fingers the comm in his ear but doesn't take it off passive receive. If Bruce had found anything, he would've called. Certainly he wouldn't have bothered to wait until Tim wasn't... would he? Tim just *touches* the small button that would allow him to transmit, to *ask*.

Bruce has never really been the kind of man who *makes* his partners and associates ask important questions, though it's possible that Tim getting sexually involved with his best friend -- and his *first* partner's lover --

All right, so he's feeling a little queasy. A little *unfinished*, and being in this room surrounded by the smell of himself, the hints of *Clark* --

Tim crosses his arms under his breasts and holds on, just for a second. He can recognize all the hallmarks of leading himself -- *beating* himself -- into a class one freak-out, and that just wouldn't be helpful, right now.

He'd had a fair amount of sex with Clark Kent --

He'd had a fair amount of sex with *Clark*, who is, apparently, as separate an entity from Clark Kent as Bruce is from Bruce Wayne. Or Tim from Tim Drake, for that matter. Clark has *wanted* him for quite some time, even going to the extreme of watching him jerk off, from... some mind-boggling distance.

Had he touched himself while he watched? That would've been a good question to ask, especially since Clark had seemed in the mood to answer all *sorts* of questions of that type. He can deal. He can absolutely deal with the fact that he's no longer a virgin --

Will he still count as a virgin when he's back in his own body?

Are there limits to how many ridiculous questions he can ask while hugging himself naked?

Tim snorts and pulls the duvet off the bed. It's washable, which is a good thing, and -- and yes, he's holding the wet spot close enough to his face that he can smell it. Mostly, he smells himself -- except not. The scent is similar to the taste of Clark's pre-come, but stronger. Deeper, somehow, if not sharper.

Perhaps if he can manage to keep his legs together when he sees Clark again, he can *also* manage to get his *mouth* on Clark. That would be... a stretch. Heh. It's not the best -- it's possible he means 'worst' -- pun, but, well, that could *be* a way to negotiate his next visit to the 'haven.

Or Dick's next visit *here*, and -- would he just show up if Tim stayed off the grid for a day or two? Dick hasn't been here since Tim's birthday, and he does tend to get *twitchy* if it has been too long between visits.

*He's* getting twitchy. Staying twitchy.

At the very least -- he wouldn't have to worry about hiding an erection, right now. That's -- definitely something.

Tim snorts to himself, puts on a robe, and takes the comforter to the laundry room. He's been doing his own laundry as a matter of course since that stitch had popped in his calf in the night and he'd bled all over a -- plain -- set of sheets which have since been discarded. It had taken a lot of work to make the stain less *obviously* blood-related, but anything that makes him look like a normal -- and circumspect -- teenaged boy is to be encouraged.

Once the washing machine is going, he heads to the bathroom and showers quickly and thoroughly -- tries to. Women make up fifty-one percent of the world's population, and hand-held shower heads still aren't standard issue. He considers taking himself to the master bath -- where Dana had *insisted* there be a hand-held installed -- but decides on the judicious use of a washcloth, instead.

His vulva as a whole seems convinced that he hadn't done anything like a good enough job, but -- he was starting to make himself a little overly sensitive and a *lot* overly stimulated.

Does Steph have a hand-held in her shower? He can't remember ever noticing one way or another. Perhaps she has one of those *massaging* shower heads, and -- yes, Tim realizes, now, why they would be so popular an option.

When he's done, he almost smells familiar to himself. There are subtle hints of (female) *other*, but he can deal.

And Bruce hasn't called, or left an e-mail, or shown up to lurk inside his closet. Tim sighs and goes to pop the comm back in --

He pauses and eyes the phone. He can *call* Dick. That's an option available to him, and the fact that he normally forgets that right up until Dana asks -- periodically -- if he's spoken to Dick recently... well. If nothing else, he really ought to make the LUDs for his phone look reasonable in *case* his father or stepmother ever decide to check.

He's a young man on his own for two weeks. He *ought* to be calling all sorts of people, and -- he really is pacing naked in his bedroom making up excuses to call his *brother*.

Because he has *that* many issues. Jesus. If nothing else, Dick would be *ticked* to find out that Tim had been benched some other way. It's not like Bruce would think to let him know -- no more excuses. He'll call, they'll talk, Tim will do something other than drive himself crazy wondering if Clark will come back, *when* Clark will come back, what he'll *do* when he comes back, whether Tim will learn to make new and exciting terrible *noises* when he comes back --

*Is* he hormonal?

Or is he just -- seriously -- missing time training in the Cave? He could go for a run, at least, and maybe he should --

The interesting thing, once Tim sits on his bed, pinches the bridge of his nose very hard, and *thinks* about it -- is that he honestly doesn't *feel* like he's freaking out. Sure, his heart rate's up and he's a little too warm, but that itchy feeling between his shoulder blades is -- mostly -- missing, as is the...

Crawling feeling in his scrotum. Right. Tim opens his hand and smacks his forehead against his palm a couple of times. Just because he's a woman who'd had sex with Superman while talking dirty about his older brother's myriad charms --

Tim lets himself fall back against the bed -- and grabs his breasts before they flop around too much.

And then he takes the phone off the charger and punches in Dick's number.

It rings four times --

"-lo? Who's calling?"

"Ah -- it's me, Dick. Are you --"

"*Tim*? Is everything okay? You -- you're using the *phone*. Which I had to go *find* -- it turned out to be under the bed, and -- black smoke?"

"Billowing," Tim says, because *his* line was clear the last time he checked --

"Yeah, ditto. You're all right, though? Because, uh. *Phone*," Dick says and makes a small grunting noise --

"Are you. You're still under the bed, aren't you?"

"Not for *long*, little brother -- okay, my hair is caught. Hang on --"

Tim hears the phone hit the floor from not very far up --

"Oh, ow, this was supposed to stop *happening* when I cut it," and Dick's voice is quiet, but still clear enough.

And Dick's hair... well, it's only really short when considered against how long it *used* to be --

"Okay. Okay. Shimmying out as we speak -- is your voice weird for some reason, or is it just the fact that we're on the *phone*?"

"Not -- getting over that phone thing anytime soon, are you?"

"Answer a *question*, Timbo. I already know *something* is wrong --"

"Um. I'm a woman."

"Er... On the inside? I don't judge you! In fact, I always kind of wondered --"

"*What*? No -- *no*. I'm a *woman*, Dick. On the *outside*."

"Okay, so we're ignoring what I just said --"

"No, we *aren't*, Dick, *what* --"

Dick sighs and -- creaking noise, bouncing noise. He's *on* his bed, now, and that's improvement, but --

"Seriously, what --"

"It's just -- you have these little mannerisms, sometimes. And you're very -- okay, so mainly I just think you might be gay."

"I -- I *am* gay --"

"Still? Even though you've got a... wow, now I'm picturing it. We really need to have this conversation in person -- okay, I *can't* leave the 'haven tonight, but I'm going to come see you tomorrow. Why aren't you in the Cave?"

*Good* question. "Ah -- Bruce did a bunch of tests and then sent me packing."

"*What*? *Why*?"

"Apparently it was clear to him that I wouldn't be much... use."

"Your center of gravity. You -- God, you'd need a whole new uniform -- but still, you should be under *observation* in case something else goes wrong."

"My thought exactly, really, but -- well. My apartment *is* bugged six ways from Sunday --"

"Man, and I don't even have a set-up where I can hack into any of the feeds and *see* you -- *are* you okay?"

Tim smiles ruefully and pushes a hand back through his hair. "I... well, Clark came by."

"Oh! That's great! I bet he at *least* distracted you from your gender trauma. You -- um. Is it wrong that I'm *really* wondering what you look like? Because I am. Your voice is so..."

"High? Embarrassing?"

"I was going to go with 'cute,' but... I'm guessing that's not much better?"

And Tim can *see* Dick saying that, the way his entire body would be a picture of sympathy and *gentle* question. He would, perhaps, have his hands on Tim's shoulders -- he'd be touching Tim in *some* way, and --

"Yeah, got it. *Not* cute. It's -- manly? In that very... okay, now I'm thinking of castrati, and *that's* no good -- "

Tim snorts. "*Dick* --"

"Got you to laugh, though," he says, and Tim can hear the smile in his voice, pleased and a little smug -- "So what were you doing with Clark?"

Um. "Ah -- we went out to lunch. That Indian place I was telling you about --"

"The one right in your neighborhood. *I* wanted to go with you to that place. There's hardly any decent Indian at all in the 'haven," and Dick sighs again. "You'll take me?"

"Of course --"

"Good. So you had a good talk with Clark? Maybe... about your vocational activities?"

Because clear lines are still *phone* lines. And. "About... really a lot of things --"

"Uh oh. What aren't you telling me about *Clark*, Tim? You guys didn't fight or anything, did you?"

"No! No, we didn't -- fight. Um. At all --"

"Because that thing with... your team and Clark's --"

"No, no, Clark and I actually talked about that a few months ago," Tim says, and remembers the conversation in images and moments -- A rooftop, the flutter of Clark's cape, the curious feeling of maintaining surveillance on a mob hitter while also reassuring the most powerful being on the planet that no, he wasn't angry, and yes, he *did* think the League and the Titans could work together smoothly in the future.

Clark hadn't *touched* him until he was about to leave, and then it had been a hand shockingly warm through the shoulder of Tim's uniform, a blank of feeling where the thickness of his cape and gorget prevented being *sure* whether or not Clark was moving his finger, at all...

"Ah -- it went well. The conversation. That one and the one we had today, I mean --"

"You're *flustered*."

"I'm -- still a woman. My breasts keep moving in unexpected ways. To be fair, if I put some time and thought into considering the physics of the matter, I could probably start predicting it, but it's definitely --"

"Tiiiiim. Tim. Tim."

"Dick --"

"You do realize that if you keep trying to distract me while also not telling me anything substantive -- I'm going to start making assumptions."

He'd *wanted* to talk to Dick. He'd -- "Assumptions?"

"Mm, big ones. Also -- *why* are you just telling me *now* that you're gay? We're supposed to *talk* about things like that, little brother."

*Whiplash*, because Dick sounds hurt and a little *offended* -- "It -- never came *up*, Dick --"

"Speaking of -- *did* you have sex with Clark, or what?"

"... um?"

Dick *coughs* out a laugh. "Hey, that was supposed to get me indignance, maybe a '*Jesus*, Dick' -- I like those -- and. Wait. *Did* you?"

There was a reason he wanted to talk to Dick, wasn't there? Something beyond the general enjoyment he takes in hearing Dick's voice when he doesn't have to think about what that voice is *saying* --

"Oh my God. You *did*. You really -- as a *woman*?"

*Really* -- "I didn't exactly have too many *options* at the time, Dick --"

"That was *almost* a '*Jesus*, Dick' -- but it didn't quite make it. Um. He did *mention* finding you attractive the last time we... well, at the time I was hoping he'd be doing *other* things with his mouth, but... wow."

Dick, naked in his bed while Clark spread his legs as wide as they could go. Dick naked and *hard*, and Clark talking about *him* -- "Ah... 'wow' is how I'm choosing to describe the encounter to myself, really --"

"No *wonder* you wanted to talk -- oh, I wish I was there, little brother. I'd make you tell me *everything*."

"Um?"

Dick *moans*, shameless and loud and over the *phone*, and it's possible that Tim is staring *at* the phone --

No, he's *pressing* it to his ear, because that moan --

"Oh, God, I can *see* it, Tim. You... what are your breasts like?"

No, he's staring at the phone again, and --

"I mean... are they small? *You're* small, so I'd guess they'd be kind of proportional --"

Dick's voice is too tinny that way. Too -- Tim brings the phone back to his ear, and -- "Ah. They're not. They're not very small."

Dick's breathing *hitches*, and he's really not. He can't be --

"Dick...?"

"How... ah. How big?"

Tim swallows. "They look... I think they're a C cup? Possibly... more than that. They're very... they've been distracting."

"Oh... heavy? Soft? Full?"

"Heavy and soft, Dick. I... are you. Do you. *Why* do you want to know --"

"Because --" Dick laughs, soft and breathless. "Because I'm a *pervert*, little brother. I thought you *knew* that."

And Tim is blushing. A lot -- no, that's really more of a flush, because he *did* know that Dick was a pervert, and he was even *used* to it, but Dick being a pervert *about* him is very, very different from Dick being a pervert *to* him. It's just --

"Tim? Are you..." Another breathless laugh, and Dick's whole *voice* has changed. It's low, husky... "Uh... are you okay?"

It's a little too *much*, because what Dick is *really* asking is if Tim's okay with Dick... being that kind of pervert. Tim swallows and there's an audible *click* --

"Oh, hell, I'm making you uncomfortable. I'm sorry --"

"*No*. I mean -- no. You're not. I'm not uncomfortable," Tim says, and thinks of Clark's fingers on the back of his neck, *remembers* the feel of Clark's fingers on the back of his neck and breaks out in gooseflesh. *Throbs*. "If you... was there anything else you wanted to... know?"

"Oh. I..." And there's a curious rasping sound -- Dick rubbing the phone against his face? It's still early for both Dick's official and unofficial jobs, and... maybe he hadn't shaved.

Maybe... "I mean. If there's... anything --"

"Uh -- just to be clear here, little brother -- thinking about you, Clark, and your breasts has kinda -- by which I mean definitely -- given me one *hell* of a hard-on."

Tim opens his mouth -- and moans. *Loud* --

"Oh -- *hell*. You... I need to make you make that sound *again*. Tell me how?"

"It's possible --" Oh, good -- *words*. "I mean, you're talking, and that can only... help."

There's a sound of fabric moving against fabric. Against -- skin? "It's like that, Tim? You want me?"

A dozen distinct -- and distinctly painful -- 'fantasies' about Dick discovering *just* that, and the look in his eyes would be horrible, devastating. Except --

"It's okay. It's really -- I keep thinking about your eyes in a woman's face. Your hard little mouth --"

"It's... softer. And somewhat swollen at the moment --"

Another hitched breath -- or was that a gasp? "Clark... he did that to you. *Just* kisses, right?"

Tim closes his eyes and *licks* his lips, remembering Clark's *taste* --

"It can be so *damned* hard to get him to give it up, to *let* you suck him... do you want to suck him, Tim?"

"*Yes* -- I mean. He tastes. I tasted some of his pre-come --"

"He's wonderful, *strange* -- I... he was the first man I ever tasted, Tim. The only one for a *long* time, and..." Dick laughs again. "I have to admit, every man after that has made me *search* for that taste, like some strange and mineral sea, like... I don't know. You liked it."

"Yes. Yes. I -- and his fingers --"

"Big, strong fingers. *Long* fingers. In your mouth, Tim?"

Tim nods and -- phone, right. "I... it's one of the first things I did. I needed. I feel... empty. That seems to be the way arousal is working for me --"

*That* was definitely a gasp --

"Dick...?"

"Wanna be filled, little brother? Maybe... maybe *fed*, a little?"

Tim swallows again -- he's salivating. He's... reaching for his genitals. "I... he put his fingers inside me, Dick. Both... um. Holes."

"Oh -- *fuck*, Tim, did you --"

"I liked it. I loved it, wanted more --"

"I'm -- kind of have to *stroke*," Dick says, and moans softly. "You have to be -- incredibly tight."

Tim nods again -- "I. That's what Clark said --"

"And hot inside. And -- were you wet for him? You must have been, he's *Clark* --"

"I was... all over my thighs --"

Dick makes a noise that *might* have a word somewhere in the middle of it, but Tim's not sure, at all. Dick is *stroking* himself for this, for the image of Clark touching *him*.

Her? "I want... this is really turning you on?"

"Making me *crazy*, little brother. Making me want to shower with you, touch you everywhere Clark touched. Every *way* -- I. This is *okay*? I mean, at this point I'd need to jerk off *anyway* --"

"He --" *Dick*, and he wants to *see* -- "Clark told me he *watched* me jerk off, once --"

"*Just* once? *God*, now I'm thinking about that -- only you still have those big, soft breasts --" Dick laughs and groans -- "Did I mention the crazy, Tim? Oh -- God, I know what you *look* like, and suddenly that's -- uh. Very important."

Oh. Oh -- "Dick...?"

"You've got these... hard hands. *Small* hands, and I keep waiting for them to get bigger, for *you* to get bigger --"

"Believe me when I say I'm *working* on it --"

"You're too *coherent*, Tim. Touch -- touch yourself? Do you know what you *like*, yet, with that body?"

"Ah -- Clark made a suggestion. To that end --"

"Oh my *God*. He told you *how* to masturbate? What -- *what* did he tell you?"

Tim bites his lip -- Tim *licks* his lips and reaches down between -- and gasps at the first touch, because he's already *slick* again. He'd just had a *shower*, but he might as well have --

"Tim? C'mon, little brother, gimme a little *help* here -- or moan like that, again. That's a *good* moan, that moan makes me want to suck you *off* --"

"*Jesus*, Dick --"

Another laugh -- and wet sounds, slick sounds --

"Are you -- licking your hand?"

"Mm-hm. I -- I can taste myself, but I'm pretending it's you -- mainly because I can. You've wanted me, Tim? You never *said* anything --"

"You -- if you'd even hinted you were *interested*, Dick --"

"Okay, okay, but -- you were so *young*, I didn't want to make you run screaming, Tim --"

"I -- wouldn't have."

"Oh, *fuck*, yes," Dick says and it's hissed, fervent -- "I'm stroking myself again. I'm -- what did Clark tell you to do with that sweet little clit of yours?"

Blushing *furiously* -- "He... small circles with my fingers. And... it really did seem to work wonders --"

"He is a *brilliant* man with a *lot* of experience and you should always listen to him, especially when he's telling you how to *work* it for me, little brother --"

"For -- you."

"*Please*? Pretty please? I'm... you must look so *incredible* right now. All that lean muscle and all those scars --" Dick moans again. "Jesus, your scars wouldn't be in the right *places* --"

"Deeply disconcerting --"

"It would be like having sex with a *stranger*, and I know that probably shouldn't be turning me on as much as it does..." Dick grunts and sighs, and there's the sound of the mattress shifting.

"What... are you doing?"

"Getting up on my *knees* for you, Tim. You like begging, right? I could *so* beg for you --"

And that -- little circles, right. Lots of them, but maybe harder -- Tim gasps --

"Oh, you're *doing* it. Do you like it hard?"

"Ah -- somewhat. Just. Um... I'm still *learning*, Dick --"

"You're a *fast* learner. Always so smart, so *sharp*. Okay, so I lied."

"I -- lied?"

"Clark has wanted your sweet little ass for *ages*."

Sweet little -- should he tell Dick that it's *bigger* now? "Um. Ah. He -- intimated. Strongly."

"Always complaining about how *reserved* you were with him -- complaining in that *Clark* way, where -- mmm. You can always tell he's hoping you'll tell him he's wrong, that -- ah. God, touch yourself a little faster for me --"

"Oh -- *oh* --"

"Where is Clark right *now*? I -- mmph. I *know* him. He doesn't like to stop until you're passed *out*. And then comes the *cuddling* --"

"Earthquake. He -- ah. Said..."

"Silly earth getting in the way of Robin getting laid. I -- you told him he could come *back*, right?"

"Y-yes. Dick, I." Harder to talk, harder to focus on anything but the way he can move his hips *and* touch himself where he *needs* to --

"Uh, huh. Ah. Mm -- you. Did you ever want to jerk me off? Suck me --"

"*Yes*, I --" And Dick *grunts*, and Tim has to -- the circles are *good*, but -- "I'm. I'm pushing in. My -- vagina --"

"Oh. Oh, *do* that --"

And the sound Tim makes is like the love child of a growl and a *yell*, because pushing in with two makes him *feel* Clark, makes --

"Fucking *hell*, little brother, I want --" Another laugh, gasping and *loud* -- "I want *you*. Wanna watch you with Clark or -- whoever else you *want*. Maybe that Super*boy*-friend of yours --"

"Dick. He's -- I --"

"He's pretty attractive and I *know* he wants you. I could see it at the Tower, the way he looked at you -- fuck, oh, your hand -- would you squeeze me?"

"If --"

"Say *yes*, Tim --"

"*Yes*," and Tim's fucking himself now, and he can't get very deep without sitting up, and that changes the *angle* too much --

"Ooh, that was a *frustrated* noise. Is it no good if someone isn't doing it for you? I -- nn. I can understand *that* --"

"I wouldn't say -- ah. *No* good, but. Dick, he said -- Clark said he wouldn't. Um."

"Fuck you? He -- it's *hard* to get him to do that, as opposed to getting him to touch you and kiss you and *lick* you -- oh, God, do you taste different now? Not that I'd know what you tasted like *before*, but --"

"Yes, it's -- different. Dick, I. Faster? Can I?"

"*Please* do, and I -- I'll go faster, too -- oh, your pretty swollen mouth. *Had* you ever? With a guy? Hell, with your *girlfriend* --"

"Um. No," Tim says, and the 'o' sound lasts a little too long, because there's a *spot* inside him that's just --

It doesn't feel the way his prostate does -- did, and he's not sure he has words for the way it *does* feel, because it seems to be more a matter of what it makes him *want* -- more, harder, faster, *more* --

"I -- ah -- *Dick* --"

"I really -- really, really. God, little brother, the way you sound..."

The way *Dick* sounds, and if his voice sounded like that all the time, Tim would've had *no* luck hiding from him. Just -- "Um. Your voice is. Ah..."

"Kory. Kory used to call this my *real* voice, but her priorities were -- um. *Different*," and Dick's laughing again, almost *crooning* -- "Oh, that's so *sweet*, and -- I hope you don't mind me imagining your mouth?"

*That* sound was --

"I'll take that as a 'no, Dick, please continue perving on me *just* like that --'"

"Please -- I -- *oh*, Jesus --"

"And you are absolutely fucking yourself. Holy *hell*, that's filthy. Do *not* stop --"

"Really -- not a *concern* --"

"It's that good? It's -- nn, wish I could *smell* you --"

"Can't stop. My hips are --"

"Curvy? A little? And your *ass* -- oh, I'm not thinking about your ass, I'm really not. Except for how it's small and lean and feels so good against my *palm* --"

What -- he -- "How do you *know*?"

"That last spanking. No Man's Land. I'm -- hnn -- *hurt* you don't remember -- oh, fuck, *fuck*, I'm -- squeezing a little if you don't mind --"

"Oh -- please. Clark said. Um --" Blushing *now* isn't helpful or remotely *sane*, but --

"*What* did Clark say? Something dirty, I hope. Oh, please say more dirty *things*, little brother..."

Well. "He -- ah. He said you're usually. Um. Rough with yourself. When you're masturbating --"

"Like *now*, and, okay, I'm probably a little -- *you* should understand. I hit puberty in the *manor*, with Bruce always right *there* --"

"Fast. Fast and *hard* --"

"And faster than *that*, yeah, and -- mm, oh, I just hit -- that really good feeling, I'm -- God, I'm pretty fucking close, but..."

Tim whimpers --

"And even *closer*, oh, *fuck*, little brother, but -- I want to *tell* you this, want you to know this about me --"

"Oh -- oh? I -- I really wish I had --" A toy. "Ah -- hold on, just for a minute --"

"What, no, don't go *now* --"

Flushing *all* over, and his breasts look like they're tipped with *weapons*, strange and hard -- "Ah, just. I need something. Solid. In me."

"Oh, *fuck*, okay, *go* --"

Tim drops the phone and rolls off the bed, moaning at the slight jar because it makes his breasts feel -- it makes his *vulva* feel -- right, hidden compartment *behind* the hidden compartment in his closet, and sometimes Tim wonders if the people who currently live in the homes his family have left ever find themselves thinking that the Drakes are painfully *odd* -- there.

The act of *looking* at this escrima stick makes him clench and have to work a little to keep his feet, and that means his vagina thinks he's definitely on the right *track*.

He goes back to the bed and tucks the phone between his face and shoulder --

"*There* you are. I -- couldn't stop. Slowed *down* but couldn't stop, and you really need to tell me what you're about to put in your shiny -- and oh, I bet it's *really* shiny right now -- new vagina. Right now."

"Um." Tim bites his lip and spins the stick over his fingers --

"I'll beg. I will -- please? I need to know if it's *thick*. If it's long, or -- *is* it a dildo? Bright and sparkly? Disturbingly accurate?"

"I've -- um. Never been able to. I haven't been to any of those stores *unofficially*, Dick --"

Dick groans and -- "Here, *listen* to this," he says, and --

He'd just brought the phone down by -- that *sound*. That's -- that's not very slow at *all*, and he must be so *slick*, and Tim's whimpering again, trying to be quiet so he can *hear* --

"*Please*, Tim. Tell me, you -- you *heard* that --"

"Dick, you -- I want you. I just. You -- I never meant you to *know* that --"

"Because sometimes you're crazy and *wrong-headed*, but I love you, anyway. Love you so much it just *aches* sometimes, because I never thought I'd *have* anyone like you in my life -- God, tell me what it *is*, little brother --"

"Escrima baston. Um. It's yours --"

"My missing baston? You stole my *baston*? For *sex*?"

Tim bites his lip *hard*, and tries not to think about -- anything, at all, because he's too *aroused* to think clearly, and --

"*Mine* -- You've been --" Dick *growls* --

"Dick, I -- it was. I just couldn't stop myself --"

"*Fuck* yourself, Tim. Do it *hard*, because that's the way I'd do you, the way I *need* to right now --"

"*Oh* --" Tim flips the stick around and pushes in, and the slickness is incredible, and the feel -- completely unnatural, of course, and he'd *known* that, but it's *Dick*, too, and that -- "I can -- oh, God --"

"C'mon, Tim, *in* --"

"*Ah* --"

"*Again* --"

"Dick, I -- please --"

"*Again* --"

And it's so good, so -- there's something *in* there, and that's probably his damned *hymen*, but bumping against it with the stick is a little like playing the world's sexiest drum. The waves going through him are jagged, *rough* --

"Again, little brother, come on, you can take it --

"I can -- oh. Can't stop, I --"

"Let me *hear* it for a little while, let me -- you must be so *wet* --"

Tim hears himself *whine*, and it has to be better to hold the phone down by his genitals, to --

It's just that now he's almost painfully aware of the sound of it, so slick and *obscene*, over and over, and his hymen doesn't block off the entire area, and --

Every time the stick bumps against the *border* of the thing Tim clenches up tight, tighter --

"*Tim* --"

Dick, tinny-voiced and *far* -- Tim brings the phone back up to his face --

"Are you hearing me, little brother? Come on, now --"

"Y-yes. I -- feels so --"

"Feels good?"

"*Dick*, I want --"

"And I want to *give* it to you. I -- Jesus, *faster* if you can take it --"

Faster, yes, and -- and Tim throws his head back and *shouts*, because it's almost like the vibration Clark was using on his clit -- he could *touch* his clit if he just wedged the phone between his shoulder and ear -- there.

"Moving the phone again? What --"

"Have to -- I'm touching my clit. As well --"

Dick groans *loudly*. "Oh, I -- I'd do that while I was fucking you, Tim. Just -- get my fingers in there, *too* --"

"*Please* --"

"I can come see you *tomorrow*. And maybe you'll be back in your own body, by then, maybe -- God, fuck -- do you like it? In your ass?"

"Yes, *yes* --"

"Using my *stick*. My *weapon* -- why didn't you *tell* me you were this dirty?"

"S-sorry. I'm -- please, Dick, you can -- I want to hear --"

"Hear me jerking off more? Or just talking? Mm, I -- moaning for you? Giving you what you *want* --"

"Please, *please*, I don't know, I -- feels so *good* --"

"Oh. Nuh -- fuck, *harder*, Tim, like me, like --"

Tim *shouts*, and the vibrations are impossible, perfect -- he could *break* his hymen like this, and wouldn't it be better? Or -- Dick. Clark. *Dick* --

*Clark*, and he's coming back, if he can. He has to know what he's doing right now, what *they're* doing -- he *could* be concentrating on rescue efforts, but his mind is as powerful as his body, he can -- fucking *multitask* --

"Dick, he said -- maybe -- I want to be *fucked* --"

"I know, Tim, I know -- God, if I was there I'd want to get a finger up your ass, *too* --"

"Oh -- oh, God --"

"Fuck you every way I can, *take* you every way -- God, you must look *gorgeous* --"

"Flushed. I'm -- I'm *red* --"

"Like a stain on you, like -- come on, come for me, let me hear you come for me --"

"Dick --"

"Don't try to hold *back* from me, I *need* this, Tim, need *you* --"

*Fuck* -- That. Need. Dick *needs* him, and Tim only knows one way to deal with that, to *live* with that --

"You love it. *You* need it, and mm, fuck, I can almost *smell* you --"

Tim's shouting again, *writhing*, and he keeps losing contact with those *good* places on his clit, but being able to move is almost more important --

"I can -- skin moving on the sheets. I *know* that sound. You're working your hips?"

"Body. My -- everything. I can't --"

"*Come* for me, Tim, just like you've always wanted to, just -- give it to me. Please --"

"*Dick* --"

"*Please*, Tim, do it now, do it while I'm still so hard for you, so ready for you --"

And he can see it in flashes, *feel* it in hallucinatory surges. Dick rising over him and staring, touching --

Dick pulling out the escrima stick and replacing it with his fingers, his long and perfect fingers --

Bruce spreading his legs wide and seeing him, knowing everything and not saying a *word* before pushing in, stretching him open --

*Breaking* him open and he wouldn't stop for the pain, wouldn't go *easy* --

And then the only thing Tim's aware of with any clarity is that there are no *words* in the scream. He can be thankful for that. He can --

Oh, the *feel*, like light shooting through his entire body, burning him so efficiently that there isn't any pain, just the brightness, the *need* --

He's spasming and jerking, and Dick is saying -- something.

It's just that voice, the one he knows from a thousand fantasies and carefully hoarded memories --

It's *Dick*, and no one else, and if a part of him is disappointed -- he already *knew* he was crazy and wrong-headed, and it just keeps going --

Keeps *riding* him --

"Oh God, oh fuck -- *Clark* --"

Tim opens his eyes and there's no one. Of *course* there's no one, but -- Dick's laughing --

"*Jesus*, where did you *come* from? You're getting my *sheets* dirty -- ooh. Oh, mm, your *tongue* --"

"Ah... Dick?"

"Right -- right *here*, little brother. And -- unh. I'm sure Clark would say. Hi. Oh, don't *tease* me, Clark --"

He could hack Barbara's feed. He could -- it would take too long, and anyway -- "What is he --"

"*Sucking* me. Mouth like -- like a *furnace*. A *wet* furnace, oh, *Tim* --"

"I'm here. I'm --" Tim licks his lips and pulls the stick out -- *slowly*. "Is he -- all the way down?"

"Uh -- buh. Jesus fuck, swallowing me *whole* -- oh, you sounded so *good*, Timmy -- Tim, I'm sorry, I -- you gotta forgive me, oh fuck -- Clark, suck me, *suck* -- "

Dick cries *out*, and he'd said something once about there being *thin* walls in his apartment building, but --

"Oh, hands. Hands on my hips. Making me *fuck* his mouth -- that's dirty *pool*, Clark -- here, Tim --"

And Tim *knows* that hum, and his vagina wants him to know that he could know it *better*. And those *wet* sounds --

A *slurp* --

Tim *moans*, clutching at -- his mound. It's not really the same thing as grabbing his penis -- it's not even *close* -- but it's kind of necessary, just the same.

Especially when he pushes between his lips and starts rubbing his clit again. His incredibly *stalwart* clit --

The phone's moving --

Dick *shouts*, muffled and *wonderful* --

"Dick --"

"I -- I can't -- oh fuck, Tim, *fuck* -- sometimes he just *does* this when I'm jerking off, I --" Dick's laugh is cracked and *hoarse*, toneless and harsh --

"I --" Tim licks his lips. "Does it feel --"

"*So* good. *Always* good, and I -- again. *Tim* --"

"Touching. I'm -- touching myself again --"

"Oh, good *girl* -- *sorry* --"

Tim grunts and blushes again --

"Ah -- ah -- oh, *God* --"

And that's the sound of the phone tumbling off the *bed*, and Tim's straining to hear more, to *have* more --

He can just barely hear Dick shouting -- he sounds almost *tortured*, and how, exactly, is he going to live up to *that* -- tomorrow.

Dick wants to come see him tomorrow. And -- he'd said. A lot of things. A *lot* of things, and Dick often *does* say a lot of things --

Tim bites the fingers of his free hand and tries to wait -- and keeps rubbing his clit. Clark can probably hear him *doing* that. And --

"I'm terribly sorry, Tim, I -- well. Dick did sound very... ah. Close?"

Clark, talking to him over the phone -- because he's in Dick's apartment and -- wet sound. "Are you licking your lips?"

"Not *just* now," Clark says, and it doesn't seem possible for his voice to *contain* the smile in it. "How are you?"

"Um. Good? That wasn't supposed to be a question. Ah. Is everything all right?"

"Oh. I think so. Though you could be *closer*...?"

Dick's voice saying -- something --

Clark sighs. "Dick says that he's going to be late for work, and -- you could've just *asked* for the phone, Dick," and Clark's voice fades as it goes, but --

He was definitely *pitching* his voice to carry to Tim. Tim shakes his head --

"Tim. Little brother. Tim," and Dick's voice is breathless and -- mm.

"Yes?"

"Just a yes? Not an 'oh, please, big brother, let's do that a *lot*?'"

"I was hoping --" Tim cuts himself *off* and bites his lip.

"Hoping? *Tomorrow*, yes. And -- maybe I'll make Clark *bring* me there -- or you could come here. No, wait, your parents are gone. We need to have sex all *over* your apartment, Tim."

"Ah?"

"It's -- a rule?" And Tim knows that look is back on Dick's face -- and probably his whole body. A request to be taken at face value, and also to call on their years of friendly acquaintance and acknowledge that Dick is right no matter *how* crazy the things he's saying are.

Tim smiles. "Well. I do like to follow rules."

"You -- here, let me find my pants -- oh, thank you, Clark. Wait, yes, I do need underwear --"

"If you -- well, I know you're busy, Dick --"

"Yes, yes, I *am*, and that's a wonderful thing, as everyone in my life seems to agree that things go *badly* when I'm bored -- you don't plan to bore me tomorrow, do you?"

*Another* blush, though it's possible the heat in his skin has something to do with the fact that he's now kind of *pressing* on his clit, and --

"Oh. Clark says you're still touching yourself. Only, he said it in that I'm-telling-you-a-*secret* way, which means that I probably shouldn't have repeated it, but -- multi-orgasmic? Really?"

"Um. It seems so? Certainly, I don't seem to have reached a... stopping point."

"Wow, I... maybe I can start my patrol a little *late* tonight, or cut off work early --"

"Oh, Dick, I wouldn't want --"

"No, *you* wouldn't, but that's just because you haven't *tried* me yet, little brother," and *that* smile in Dick's voice --

Train-surfing, rooftop tag, *sewer* racing -- "Um?"

Dick sighs, long and gustily. "No, you're right, I really can't do *either* of those things, because Desmond's getting *feisty* out here, and... yeah. Maybe if I just roll past your place after patrol...? You're *benched*, and -- we really have to make sure you stay *stimulated*."

Tim laughs quietly -- it still *moves* him enough to make him moan --

"Not that you aren't doing a *damned* good job with that, already -- ah. Is the stick out?"

"Ah... yes. At the moment."

"Mmm. Lick it for me? Just -- so I can *hear* you do it?"

"Oh. I -- oh. That's --"

"Filthy? Or a little too heterosexual for you -- what about your *girlfriend*?"

*That* whiplash makes Tim's *eyes* cross -- "Um -- bi. I meant bi. I think. It's complicated --"

"It *always* is, but... lick? Just a little one? What if you pretend it's my -- heh. Little friend?"

An entirely different *reason* to cross his eyes. "Oh, that's -- ah. Um. Condoms would be necessary. I think," Tim says, and hopes fervently that it had made *sense* --

"Condoms... oh. Oh, man. You could get *pregnant* -- are you *sure* he's not ovulating, Clark? I mean, Bruce really hammered *in* that whole thing about the rhythm method being stupid and also *stupid* -- he says he's *very* sure you're not ovulating. Which means you *could* be even more horny than you are right now, and let me tell you -- that puts all *kinds* of images in my head --"

"Oh -- God. I --"

"What if I *call* you tonight when things get slow, little brother? I... I'm really *invested* in exploring these new and exciting social possibilities between us."

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and wonders -- well, when he squeezes his *penis* he can usually calm down a little -- "*Oh* -- Jesus, that was -- oh?"

"You -- Clark can't tell exactly what you just did there, but I'm betting it was *incredible*."

"Uh -- ah. A pinch. My clitoris."

And there's a sound in the background --

"Oh, Tim. You just made Clark *moan*. From a distance, yet. But I've only got about another minute and a half before I *have* to run --"

"The stick."

"*Please*," and it sounds like Dick is licking his lips. "Just -- let me live through you a little bit, there. Help me *taste* you."

And that sound had a lot of n's and r's in it, and -- yes. Tim picks up the stick and just looks at it for a moment. Most of it is entirely dry and reputable, and it's not like he hasn't sterilized it after every use, and --

He's tasted himself *countless* times, pretending he was licking Dick, or Kon --

Bruce. Not this time, not by a *long* road --

"Tim...?"

"Yes. I -- yes," Tim says and brings the stick to his mouth, sucking it in with as loud a sound as he can manage --

Dick moans, and -- "Oh. Oh, yeah. *Suck* me, little brother --"

That did *not* mean 'push the stick in so far you gag,' but --

"Oh -- *fuck*, that noise -- don't *hurt* yourself --"

Tim pulls back and hums, deliberately sucks back saliva --

"Fuck, *fuck*. I don't *want* to leave you like this. I've never even *imagined* you being like this -- Clark is looking at me like I'm an idiot, but this is where I point out that *some* of us don't have the ability to look in on other people's *masturbation habits* whenever we get the *urge*."

Tim laughs around the stick in his mouth, licks it and tries to think critically about the taste. It's somewhat milder than the smell would suggest, and it's not very strong. Some of the latter has to be due to the fact that he's put out so *much* of it. There's a slight tang to it that reminds him -- *again* -- of Cassandra's scent, but, under everything else, there's the taste that means *him*.

"Pull it out and tell me how you taste...?"

Tim does it slowly, sucking as he goes --

"I really, *really* hope you'll love going down on me, Tim, because -- *damn*."

Tim laughs again and rubs at the blush on his face. It's as pointless an act as it ever is, but it satisfies something inside him. "I've had the fantasy... well. For a while, now. A long while."

"I am going to *teach* you not to keep things like that to yourself, and Clark is going to *help* me, but...?"

"Ah... I still taste mostly like me? But there's... it's a little sharper, I think. And the texture is all different."

"Mmm. Okay. Okay. I can live with that for the *hours* before I see you. Do *not* let Clark tire you out entirely. We can... have a sleepover?"

And that's... a really *warm* feeling, the same one he always gets when Dick wants to spend time with him. It's a little odd to have that feeling *while* he's masturbating -- and Dick *knows* he is -- but it doesn't stop feeling good. "I -- all right."

Dick sighs. "Love you, little brother. Here's Clark."

A part of Tim is only focused on wondering how long it took to make Dick into someone who *reflexively* doesn't wait for a response after saying something like that. Bruce --

"Tim. I'm going to fly Dick *close* to his police station in a moment, but... I still have quite some time at my disposal --"

"I still -- I want you to come back."

"I'm glad," Clark says, and he sounds it, pleased and warm and -- yes, aroused.

For a moment Tim just listens to the sound of his perfectly even -- and unnecessary -- breathing, just *thinks* about the fact that he's going to be here imminently, that -- Possibly he should've left the duvet on the bed to continue saving the sheets -- or possibly there's already a wet spot between his legs. Tim laughs again --

"I like that sound very much, Tim -- yes, Dick, he's laughing. I can't wait to smell you again."

"Ah... well, I did shower. But it seems to have been an ultimately pointless act."

"Well, really, if you take that thought a little farther, aren't all attempts to clean oneself pointless?"

Tim smiles and thinks about rubbing himself a little harder -- "I *believe* in the utility and pleasure of those few hours every day when I can *feel* truly clean, whether or not I am so, Clark."

"Oh. There are so many different ways to *define* clean, Tim. Why, the human vagina refreshes itself by the process of lubrication, just as the uterus does with menstruation."

"Um. Am I *close* to menstruating...?"

"You're near the beginning of your cycle. I'm sure Bruce will find a way to... hmm. Cure you before you have to deal with your uterine wall. For now, perhaps you should think of how *very* clean your vagina must be. As these things go."

"You. Make me blush rather a *lot*, Clark."

"So does Dick. I feel I'm in fine company, Tim," and that's a *laugh* in Clark's voice -- "Oh, Dick is ready. I'll see you soon, Tim."

"All right," Tim says, and hangs up the phone. And has just enough time to think about maybe coming up with something interesting to *say* to Clark --

Clark is there, between his legs, hands pressed to his inner thighs and gaze *focused* on his vulva. Perhaps specifically his working fingers.

"Ah... hi?"

"Hello," Clark says, and leans in slowly --

Tim takes a breath --

Clark pauses. "I. Perhaps you'd like to kiss me, first?"

Tim blinks. A kiss would be nice, but -- *Dick*. He'd just come from sucking Dick *off* -- "*Please* --"

And Clark's smile looks a lot like one of Bruce's again, deadly and *broad*. Tim reaches out --

And Clark is over him, lifting Tim's arms around his neck and *breathing* against Tim's mouth. That scent -- "Oh. Clark, that's -- I can *recognize* Dick's scent. Under -- over. Oh, God," he says, rearing up and nuzzling Clark's mouth, breathing deep and licking Clark's lips, over and over --

"If I'd known of your attraction -- to *either* Dick or myself -- oh, Tim, will you let me join you and Dick? If only just to *watch*?"

"I -- mm. I. Can't imagine Dick *objecting*, Clark --"

"*Your* desire, Tim. Tell me..."

*Almost* an order, but -- "I've never -- you *know* I've never, but. I think I'd enjoy that a great deal. I --" Tim kisses Clark as hard as he can, crushing his mouth against the *power* of Clark's own -- and groaning and *shaking* once his tongue is inside, once he can *taste* --

Clark keeps his own tongue still, holds himself there for Tim to lick every *vestige* of the taste out of Clark's mouth. Just -- another fantasy he'd never had, and a part of him feels *amazingly* dim for that lack. Dick is salt, sweetness --

And then Clark is working Tim's tongue in hard, *pulsing* sucks, and --

Tim knows -- better than he knows his own *name* -- that that's *exactly* how Clark had sucked Dick *off*. It sends another of those *waves* through him, fast and devastating, and Tim wraps his legs around Clark and holds on.

For this, at least --

Right now --

He doesn't have to think. With Dick -- he'd just changed his entire *world* with Dick, and he can't bring himself to regret that even a little, but... it's still change. This, with Clark...

It's all new. They're writing this relationship as they go, and maybe there isn't anything that can be wrong. He *squeezes* Clark with his legs --

And Clark moans into Tim's mouth, letting go of Tim's tongue and slipping his own into Tim's mouth, slow and almost hard --

No almost, because this kiss is pressing him down -- it feels like *in* -- to the pillow. Clark is fucking him *steadily* with his tongue, and really, if he didn't want Tim to ask to get his *other* orifice --

Orifices --

Yes, well, if he *doesn't* want that, he's going about it entirely the wrong *way*. Tim smiles into the kiss as much as he can -- it isn't much. He can *feel* the soreness and swelling in his lips -- and Clark can definitely feel the smile, because he pulls back with a last lick to either corner of Tim's mouth --

"You're happy?"

"Rather. And -- also somewhat amused," Tim says, and strokes the back of Clark's neck. Just to feel. The hair there *seems* almost downy, but it would take more strength than Tim will *ever* have to pull just one.

"Do tell."

"Ah... you were listening? To the phone sex?"

"It has almost always been a great pleasure to hear you and Dick conversing with each other, Tim."

*Almost* always, and -- no, he's not going to think about the times they haven't gotten along, because it was always --

About Bruce.

And tantamount to swallowing a caltrop --

Clark strokes Tim's cheek -- he's searching Tim's eyes for the thing which he *knows* is messing with Tim's mood, and -- "You know, it's disconcerting how well you can read me. I *know* you're used to doing a lot more than that with less, as it were, but -- ah. I've grown accustomed to having a little more mystery at my disposal."

"Oh... you wear it well," Clark says, and strokes Tim's mouth with his thumb. "You were saying?"

Nothing is out of bounds. Everything is *possible* -- Tim licks Clark's thumb and watches Clark's eyes narrow, *bites* Clark's thumb and watches them widen again, and --

This is a game he could play *extensively*. He laughs again and licks, *sucks* -- "I. I was amused -- earlier -- by the fact that nearly everything you do seems *designed* to make me want you to fuck me --"

"That's -- rather more *specifically* goal-oriented than was my intent, Tim --"

"And yet you protest," Tim says, and lies back. Clark is hovering enough that Tim's legs are off the bed -- "Come down here. Please."

Narrowed eyes again -- heat. Weight.

*Pressure*, and Tim sighs, working his leg against the outline of Clark's erection --

"You feel *wonderful* --"

"I want you inside me, Clark --"

"Ah... if you'll forgive? I don't think it's *me* you want inside you, at all."

That -- touché, really, but -- "That was entirely too *reasonable*, Clark --"

Clark kisses Tim's forehead. "I'm sorry."

"I *have* fantasized about having you fuck me, Clark --"

"But there's more to that thought you're not saying, and --" Clark pulls back. "Perhaps it's wrong of me -- even somewhat overly formal -- but for that, to actually *hurt* you in the interest of taking that aspect of your virginity..."

Tim frowns. "You need to know I *truly* want it, and want it from you. I won't ask if you made Dick jump through hoops --"

"Not -- not *that*, Tim --"

"Because I already know you *did*," and Tim sighs and shakes his head. "I'm getting to know you better by the moment."

Clark frowns, and looks somewhat *hurt*. "Tim, you make it sound -- ah. Because *I've* made it sound as though it's only your own feelings which are... difficult. Tim, I cared for you before you thought of me as anything other than a useful addition to the community of heroes, or as the friend of two of the people most important to you."

"Clark --"

"Please," he says, and gives Tim more of his weight. "Let me."

Tim raises an eyebrow and nods.

"I know you find that particular admission... I know it makes very little objective *sense* to you, but I don't enter into sexual relationships *lightly*."

And... again, really, there's a lot there Tim can protest, but. But. Clark is entirely capable of learning everything there is to know about a person while watching them from *space*. He'd been watching Tim. *Closely*, and perhaps being friends with Bruce *means* that sort of freedom with Bruce's family --

And the image of Bruce *insinuating* himself into Kon's life is -- definitely an image. Several of them, as a matter of fact, and if his subconscious is kind, none of them will come back to haunt him.

His subconscious has never been kind, and he's never really going to have -- there should be a point at which the thought of Bruce can no longer *drive* him, or at least it should only be for the Mission. They'd been doing so *well* since his birthday, relating to each other as equals, and --

"Tim...? Are you... there's anger in your scent, but also hurt, and I... please tell me it's not me --"

Tim shakes his head. "And give you more proof that I'm not... what, exactly, do you want from me, Clark? We're lying here together, my legs are around your waist, you've shared Dick's *semen* with me -- I'm not a *virgin* anymore because of you --"

"And we had a very nice lunch, yes. I want *more*, Tim. I want your secrets, your dreams and fantasies -- I'll happily share my own --"

"You want --" Tim stops and *thinks* about it. He'd been thinking that Clark was *placing* a boundary when he was ready -- more than -- to go with the idea that none were *necessary*, but...

The truth is that Clark wants a *lack* of boundaries, a deeper and stranger one than Tim had imagined, or -- perhaps not so strange. Steph is his closest friend, but sexuality and everything attending it is a -- mostly -- closed door between them. Clark would open that door and... and.

"I don't... make friends easily."

Clark nods and strokes Tim's forehead -- Tim had been frowning. Steph likes to kiss him there, sometimes. *Dick* had kissed him there once, but, to be fair, it had been after a patrol that had left them both thrumming on an endorphin high --

And Dick had invited Tim back to his apartment for the night without actually *looking* at him. Tim had assumed it meant that he hadn't really wanted Tim to come -- and Tim had *had* to get back to his parents' house, and. Dick had wanted him that night.

He -- he had, and there's nothing in there that Tim can deny. Clark is searching him again, reading his distraction and his -- singular lack of being entirely *here*. Clark --

Has a point.

Tim moves his arms from around Clark's neck slowly, noting the deepening frown on *Clark's* face, and then gives himself leave to cup and stroke Clark's cheeks, to really look at him, really *see*. And that... well.

Tim smiles, a little, and drops his hands. "Let me sit up?"

"Of course," Clark says, backing off and sitting on the edge of Tim's bed -- one foot *firmly* on the floor. Tim edges reasonably close and mirrors Clark's position, resting one hand on Clark's knee.

"I don't make friends easily," he says, again, and squeezes. "You... that sort of thing must seem a little... strange, to you?"

"Only a little," and Clark covers Tim's hands with his own. "In some ways, your secrets cut deeper than my own, and are more connected to who you are as a person."

And are a lot like Bruce's, but... "Is that how it seems to you? I don't think I've ever really considered them that way. You have to hide your *species* on a day to day basis, whereas I only have to hide the signs of my unofficial occupation --"

"Those aren't your only secrets, Tim," Clark says, and there's a hint of both chiding and *plea* in Clark's voice...

"No, I -- suppose not," Tim says, and curls the hand under Clark's own into a loose fist -- and gets it squeezed.

"Tim -- I would understand if you wanted to keep things... light between us. I have had other lovers who wish only --"

Tim puts up his other hand and takes a moment to search Clark. There's the moment -- it has become usual *very* quickly -- of wondering what the point is, when faced with a being with *that* much control over what he shows to the world --

But Clark wants to be seen by him, *has* wanted --

"Would you tell me... hm." And Tim knows he's frowning again by the way Clark strokes his forehead. Clark is invested in *having* things be easy for Tim, if not in making them so. "You want quite a lot."

"Oh, yes."

"At the same time, however, you say you've come to... care about me. If that's the case, then you must have come to know quite a bit about me *already*."

"I've seen the surface of things, Tim. Your passion, your anger, your pleasure and happiness. I would have what lies beneath."

And that. The way it was *phrased* -- <<You think in the Language.>>

Clark smiles and strokes Tim's cheek. "At times, I can't help it. Does it bother you?"

"It would perhaps be more accurate to say that it interests me. It would seem to invite questions about your day to day existence, your relationships with people who *don't* speak Kryptonian... well."

"In general, it seems to make people believe I'm more formal than I truly am, but then..." The smile on Clark's face twists to something faintly sour. "Many people seem to think they should be on their best behavior in front of me."

Which is the sort of thing...

Dick, turning away before inviting Tim back to his apartment. Steph, and the way she sometimes becomes *quiet* around him, and watchful.

Tim sighs and nods. "That tends to create a great deal of distance, whether or not distance is... desired."

Clark inclines his head, an acknowledgment that he knows perfectly well how much it has affected *Tim's* relationships... because he has been watching.

Tim smiles ruefully. "I could say something, here, about how it's rather presumptuous for you to ask for more of me than I've given to the people who've *been* in my life, Clark."

"You could, yes. Most assuredly. But... would you tell me why you won't?"

Good question, with a somewhat exhilaratingly frightening answer. He's sitting on the edge of his bed, but he might as well be leaning over a balustrade. "I don't -- always -- want distance. There's something..." Tim turns the hand Clark's covering over, giving him his palm --

"Tim..."

Tim smiles ruefully -- at Clark's knee. "You're in the unique position of not being *of* my family while simultaneously being steeped *in* it. I've never had to lie to you, both because of your clearance and the fact that lying would be pointless." Tim looks up, and lets himself fall, a little bit, into Clark's quietly hungry *focus*. "The fantasies, such as they were, all involved a freedom I've lacked with the other people I've wanted in one way or another. A freedom to *connect* as well as the freedom to detach."

"I want that for you, Tim. *With* you."

Tim shakes his head. "That's -- it's too *convenient*, Clark --"

"I've been told that I'm very easygoing --"

"Clark."

Clark sighs and smiles again. And strokes Tim's palm with his fingertips. "I have infinitely less invested in your detachment than in your connection, but I have learned to accept. There are -- breathtaking -- similarities, but you are not Dick, and even if Bruce and I had worked together as often with you as we did with Dick... well."

"You *didn't* help raise me."

Clark nods. "I would've been honored... but no," and Clark twines his fingers with Tim's own.

What would it have been *like* to have Clark there in the early days? Sometimes when he thinks about what he was like when he was thirteen, he has to *cringe*. A little bit of karate, a few basic -- and not entirely wrongheaded -- ideas about detection, and a large amount of naïveté. Bruce had been in so *much* pain after Jason's loss, and there was more anger between Bruce and Dick than Tim had been able to fathom.

He'd spent a lot of time alone with the Case and Bruce's assignments for him, wandering through the shadows of the Cave and somehow deeper shadows of the manor. And then the Obeah Man had kidnapped his parents, and --

Bruce had been there to offer him the comfort of work, the ease of *purpose* -- and a legacy that had been established in the manor -- and the Cave -- long before Dick had even been born. Clark's presence would've made things entirely different, would've *distracted* Tim from the things he'd needed to do --

He would've made things *softer*, if not strictly easier. Warmer. Tim swallows and searches Clark again -- and gets searched deeply, in return.

He's naked, and Clark is wearing -- the trappings of Superman. They're holding hands and being *together*, and if Tim is honest with himself, he has to admit that something like this could've changed him deeply if it had been available three years ago. And -- "I'm... a little too afraid to think about what kind of person I would be if -- if you had been my friend, then."

"I can understand the hesitation -- there are times when I've wondered what *I* would be like if I'd gotten to know Bruce when I was younger -- but, in the end, you're your own young man, Tim."

Tim laughs quietly. "Am I, Clark...? I've built my *life* on Bruce and Dick. On Jason's *memory* --"

"And you wouldn't be yourself if you hadn't, I think," Clark says, and traces the line of his jaw. "You are your passions, Tim. We all are."

"My passions. Yes... those." Tim squeezes Clark's hand. "And your passions?"

"You'd like to know?"

Tim knows the smile on his face is a little cruel, but... "It seems like it would be a useful thing to know, Clark. You *have* given me a unique opportunity to study you for the sake of the Mission."

Clark's mouth twists. "I'd rather not be dissected in -- another -- report, Tim."

Tim cocks his head to the side. "Oh, but... I'd feel honored to be similarly dissected for the AI."

"Ah... well. I'm not *entirely* sure, but the AI may feel the need to do it somewhat more literally than you'd find entirely comfortable."

Tim bites the inside of his lip.

Clark -- the light which had been, now that Tim thinks about it, *missing* from Clark's eyes for the past several minutes is back. With a vengeance.

"I don't suppose a cheek scraping would be sufficient?"

Clark *pats* Tim's cheek. "You have so *many* fascinating surfaces, Tim. Inside and out. The human animal is a marvel of complexity, well worth *intensive* study."

"You know..." Tim laughs and shakes his head. "I've always *wanted* to see the Fortress for myself --"

"Yes?"

"But you're making me wonder if I shouldn't acquire one of Bruce's haz-mat suits first."

Clark's expression is a *marvel* of disappointment -- "Tim."

His *voice* is the perfect representation of *scold* --

"Don't be ridiculous. The AI would treat those suits like *paper*."

Tim brings his free hand to his mouth and rubs at his upper lip, a little. It doesn't actually stop the laugh from bubbling up the back of his throat, but there are appearances to be considered --

There really aren't any appearances to be considered, at all. Tim looks up at Clark from under his lashes, and knows that the light in his own eyes must be rather impressive.

Clark *strokes* his cheek. "The earth's environment is probably my primary passion, these days. I'm sure Bruce keeps you informed of my movements when I'm not simply reacting to various disasters...?"

Tim moves his hand from his mouth and looks up again. "Your work with the radiation-poisoned areas in Qurac is fascinating and more than a little *relieving*. I've seen footage of the farmland you've recovered for the use of the people."

Clark's smile is warm and pleased. "At my current schedule, it will be at least five years before I'm finished there -- and of course there remains the possibility of further disasters --"

"You bring hope," Tim says, and means it with all of himself -- and especially with the part of him which missed those sheets *bitterly* after looking at the footage --

And Clark moves closer. "I've also -- there are... ah. Other things."

"Strip-mined areas, deepening river beds to stave off flooding, redirecting sewage dumping --"

"That last..." Clark winces.

Yes, that *last*. "It's gotten you in trouble with certain governments."

"Access to clean water is *important* --"

"I've never..." Tim squeezes Clark's hand again. "You're hurting no one when you force the dumping into areas unconnected with the groundwater supply --"

"Well, there was... a certain real estate firm looking to develop just outside of Jakarta. I'm afraid I lowered the property values dramatically --"

"In the interest of staving off another cholera outbreak. Bruce's reports are quite thorough."

Clark's smile is rueful. "I suppose I should've known that he would take an especial interest in those activities of mine which most interfere with human life."

"Well, to be fair to Bruce -- and I really don't want to be, at the moment, so really it's a kind of *extra* fair --"

"One might even say super-fair?"

"Indeed," Tim says, and shifts until he's up on his knees and sitting on his heels --

<<Most-fine.>>

"*Bruce* -- left the report in question in one of the non-urgent files. He often leaves things there *solely* for my own amusement."

"'Superman defecates all over multi-million-dollar real estate deal?'"

"My inner populist was... hm. Thrilled. Sometimes I think I'd like to be a physician."

Clark blinks and smiles. "You'd be wonderful --"

Tim holds up a hand. "I have doubts about my bedside manner -- and about my ability to devote the time and energy the job deserves."

Clark shifts his grip on Tim's hand until he can stroke the inside of Tim's wrist with his thumb. "Bruce is very close to... Dr. Thompkins, is it? And -- that expression is rather terrible, Tim --"

"Saying this is just going to guarantee that Bruce is paying *attention* to the various bugs, but -- she really gets on my nerves. That's shallow *and* petty, but there are only so many times I can stand to be lectured on the evils of violence and the vast mistake I'm making with my life -- okay, I'll be even *more* honest. She was one of the exactly two adults in Bruce's life when he was growing up, and she's terrible to him. Insulting, disrespectful -- she treats him like the child she wishes she'd aborted. That she wishes she *believed* in abortion so she could've aborted him.

"*I'm* angry with Bruce, and he *is* kind of an asshole a lot of the time, but he treats her like the secular second coming, bowing to her rules and edicts right and left, and she gives him absolutely nothing in return. Nothing she wouldn't give anyone who walked through her doors, anyway."

"Oh... goodness? It had been my understanding... that he sees her as something of a mentor?"

That really was kind of over the top. Really -- would he have said all of that if he *wasn't* upset with Bruce? Probably not. Still -- Clark wanted honesty. "He does see her as a mentor, and he would probably be pleased if I went into medicine *because* of how he feels about her... but I won't be talking *to* her about it," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. "Do you ever find yourself watching neurons spark and fire, Clark?"

"Only when I'm concerned about someone's neurological health and am otherwise frustrated. I'm afraid the patterns -- if they're there -- remain a mystery to me."

Which makes sense. If Clark had been able to shed light on that sort of thing, he would've done so by now. "I *believe* in those patterns, Clark. I -- humans are all so different from each other, but still the same in so many wild, mysterious, *bizarre* ways -- well."

Clark searches him for a long moment, avid and *focused*, obviously interested -- "Some would see that as -- further -- proof of divine influence."

Tim smiles. "Some like to take the easy way out."

"A terrible sin," Clark says, and raises his eyebrow.

"Good thing we're avoiding those," and... Tim realizes that he's shifting back, moving --

He wants to lie down with Clark again, and it isn't just because his genitals have been making plaintive demands for attention since he'd stopped actively touching them. It's -- ah.

Tim shakes his head. "I'm used to cuddling for conversations like this."

"Oh. Well..."

And suddenly Tim is on Clark's lap with his arms wrapped around his neck. Tim laughs. "Better, in a very special way."

"I'm glad. Have you spoken with Stephanie about your... condition?"

"To be honest, I was hoping to save that conversation until my cure was a fait accompli. Well -- I was *hoping* to spend however long it took to *be* cured in the Cave, wallowing in the bracing lack of appreciable sympathy from Bruce and Alfred. I'd train, catch up on studying the various reports... um. Train?"

"Your life is so full, Tim. I don't know how you manage to find the time for friendships," Clark says, and that expression is really a lot like one of Dick's, which...

All right, he's blushing again. "Sometimes my passions aren't especially... accessible. To others."

"You long to improve yourself, your skills and abilities?"

"Of course. I have a lot to live up to." And a future he can't even think *around* without wanting to do at least two hundred push-ups while working on becoming at least a *baritone* --

And Clark frowns like he'd *sensed* there was something Tim hadn't said, which is something he really could've predicted.

"Before you ask... Bruce has told me that he expects me to... take over for him when he can no longer be the Batman."

And Clark strokes Tim's back almost restlessly, frowning a little -- "That's rather a lot to *put* on you, Tim --"

"Why? And if you're about to say something about my age, Clark..."

"Well, no, I wasn't -- I try not to be *that* sort of hypocrite, Tim, especially since I've been working at this since I *was* your age, but..." Clark sighs and cups Tim's waist and left shoulder blade. "I can recognize the logic in his thinking -- I *remember* how unhappy Dick was when he took over for Bruce for that brief time, and your temperament *does* seem better suited -- but... all right, perhaps I *am* thinking about your age."

"Clark --"

"Perhaps, for my peace of mind, you'll allow me to help you have as much of an adolescence as you possibly can?"

"Adolescence is *overrated*, and --"

"Not," Clark says, and strokes down from Tim's waist to cup his ass, "in some respects."

Tim feels his expression twist -- "*This* body won't be reaching its sexual peak for quite some time."

Clark's nostrils flare. "I'm sure you're correct, but..."

Had Tim done or said something in particular to regain Clark's amorous side? Had his body? Tim frowns and starts to reach down between his legs -- stops.

"Tim?"

"Am I... very wet again?"

"Not as much as before, no, but -- you seemed to respond favorably when I mentioned Dick's stint as Batman...?"

Oh. Well. He *had* asked -- and Clark's smile is very... wet. "Um --"

"You were *his* Robin, for a time."

"We -- hardly knew each other, at the time. Um. That's when we *started* to get to know each other. I was having other problems at the time, I'd had to allow myself to get beaten up to protect my secret..." Tim shakes his head again. "He was very understanding."

"He usually is," Clark says, and nods. "You wanted him... badly."

"I -- where were *you*, Clark? You must've -- the kink possibilities *alone* --"

"I was only recently fully *alive*... and I needed to be with Lois," Clark says, and the strokes turn distinctly soothing. "When I did listen, the two of you seemed to be doing wonderfully together."

"It was... it was exhilarating to be honest. I *knew* he didn't like seeing himself in the mirror with the cowl on, that it *hurt* him --"

"But he made an excellent Batman --"

"*Yes*," Tim says and squeezes Clark's shoulders, pushes a little -- "A *lifetime* of obsession in one tall, perfect body. Everything Batman stood for, *stands* for, and hugs that didn't mean death and pain, touches that weren't designed to instruct or even *guide* --" Tim stops and laughs at himself --

"Oh, Tim, you -- I really could listen to you speak about Dick for hours at a time, if for some reason you were unsure about that...?"

"I... I didn't have much else to say. I mean, you can *guess* that I spent a great deal of time trying to hide untimely erections --"

"I'd say they were *very* timely. It hardly seems possible that the two of you have never been intimate before."

"I... well. In retrospect, I can see times when we could've been, if I had been less... well." Tim snorts. "You've been... a help."

"I'm very glad," Clark says, and kisses him -- softly, *quickly* -- several times.

Tim moves to kiss him back -- and Clark's fingers are between Clark's mouth and his own. Tim raises an eyebrow.

"Could we... speak more?"

Tim licks a stripe up along Clark's fingers. "You could tell me about your other passions."

"You're being indulgent --"

"Yes," Tim says, and licks Clark's fingers again. "I am. You could consider reciprocating."

"You shouldn't think -- the thought of being inside you warms me, buries me in images and fantasy. I could *please* you --"

"*Yes*, Clark --"

"And I have been Dick's lover for too long not to realize that someone like you *would* find even the discomfort, the *pain* pleasurable -- I." And Clark looks stressed -- possibly *distressed* --

Tim squeezes his shoulders again, noting internally the lack of give -- no. "You've stopped softening yourself for me."

Clark blinks. "Should I --"

"No. This is -- this is what I want," Tim says, rubbing Clark's shoulders, his neck -- "I. I'm touching you a lot, but --"

"Please don't stop," Clark says, and kind of *gathers* Tim closer. It's much softer than a pull, much more confident than a mere physical request. "We're learning each other, and a part of me finds it more wonderful than even more sexual contact would be."

"A part of me would *like* to protest that, but..." But his heart is beating faster, and he's *warm*, and it has everything and nothing to do with the feel of Clark's broad, *hard* chest against his nipples, Clark's impossible *possibilities* -- "Talk to me. More."

"There is both craft and art in investigative reporting. The craft is easy to explain -- the legwork, the research, but once the interviews begin, once it becomes necessary to start asking questions, to open the eventual report to the *human* factor..."

"Bruce would say that that's more of a science."

"Bruce is a *Philistine* -- ah. Sometimes," Clark says, cupping Tim's ass and lifting him slightly, setting him down again, lifting -- down. <<I would make a solitude with you.>>

Tim shivers. "Something -- more than intimacy?"

"Something more formal than that, but which includes a great deal of room for casual contact, pleasure... It's -- difficult to explain," Clark says, and it's not quite a frown on his face, but his expression is serious -- passionate.

"Tell me of the art," Tim says, and presses against the hand on his back, down against the one on his ass --

"The world is full of *secrets*, Tim. The most open person in the world is hiding something, if only from him or herself. There are all sorts of ways to use psychology to force those secrets into the light, but the *art* is in coaxing them free, in finding the words and motions, the *being*, to convince another person to allow you into them.

"Lois does it effortlessly. *Thoughtlessly*. She would say that she agrees with Bruce on what makes it work, but deep inside she knows that this is something she was born for. The patterns within her mind flare and dance along pathways I struggle to know, and the world lays itself open for her perusal. It's really almost *biblical*, Tim."

"The parting of the human sea?"

"There is an ocean within us all," Clark says, lifting Tim again and kissing his collarbone, licking --

"I like -- oh, that suck --"

"I won't mark you --"

"Ah -- probably for the best. I think?" Tim laughs and pushes his hands into Clark's hair, tugs a little -- "Please kiss me?"

A kiss for his *collarbone*, but there's no time to either protest or clarify before Clark is kissing his mouth, coaxing -- yes, *that* -- Tim's tongue into his mouth and working it between his lips, dipping in and pulling back over and over before sucking hard --

He still tastes a little like *Dick* --

He pulls back and searches Tim again.

"I -- what? I wasn't -- thinking about anything else."

Clark narrows his eyes in a smile that's *only* pleased -- "Tell me... tell me more about the human mind as you see it. Or... something else?"

Tim shakes his head and cards through Clark's hair -- watches Clark's eyes narrow and *briefly* flare red. He shivers again, and feels himself *clench* --

"Tim. Your arousal is *blinding*, at times. A part of me wants only to stoke it, to urge it and you to greater heights --" Clark licks his lips. "Please."

"I --" Tim licks his lips and breathes, closes his eyes for a moment and tries not to *listen* to his genitals, which are being insistent about the fact that Clark's penis is close, close enough that Tim can feel the warmth of it through Clark's uniform against his naked thigh -- he can't keep from rubbing it a little.

"Tim --"

"Addiction," Tim says, and quietly marvels -- yes, he *does* have a thought to go with the word. "There's a theory -- and some practice -- that suggests that the human brain is, at least in part, *designed* to react chemically with various agents, and produce the effects that millions of people will do terrible things just to experience just one more time. At the same time, there are all of these *behaviors* which utilize and express some of the same physiological effects, and really -- it seems that everyone alive is capable of becoming addicted to something. From heroin to gambling to sex to *religion* --"

"Bruce has called it, in my hearing, a design flaw," Clark says, and strokes two fingers down the hollow of Tim's spine --

Tim arches for it, thinks -- "What if it's not a bug so much as it's a feature? What if there were a way to *harness* the power of the human mind to alter itself for the better use or consumption of these various substances and actions? We've both trained ourselves to think in certain ways, to *live* in certain ways. We've both *addicted* ourselves to a way of being so thoroughly that we could never live without it. A part of me is honestly *panicked* by the fact that I won't be able to go out there tonight, that I won't be able to help -- and to hurt, for all that there's nothing about that sort of activity which will help me."

Clark frowns. "Your physical health, your personal athleticism?"

"Both just as easily maintained -- and improved -- with a fully-stocked gymnasium, Clark. This *need* in me to have a purpose, to be *useful* -- is it so different from the religious maniac who needs to do everything in his or her power to become 'right' with their god? Of course, I've *mostly* grown out of seeing Bruce as my personal savior..."

"Ah -- I'm very, very glad. I do sometimes... wonder, about his ability to instill that sort of feeling in the young people he gathers to himself."

Tim smiles. "And his right to do it? He isn't the only one, of course, but he is the *best* at it. And I... I know myself, Clark. There will be a day when Bruce isn't there at all, for me or for anyone else, and I will still *need* to prove myself to him in every way I can. For a part of me, there's no happiness without it --"

"Tim, no --"

"But I'm going afield. My *passion*, Clark..." Tim pauses and breathes, tries to put it into the *right* words... "What does it truly mean that we're *all* born with the ability to change what we see, how we perceive -- and even who we *are*? You say there's an ocean within us all, and I agree. We are *teeming* with life... with a life -- with *lives* of the *mind*. And most of us do it in small ways if we do it all, and far too many of us do it in ways that damage both ourselves and the society we live in, but..." Tim growls a little, blushing at the sound of it. "I'm sorry, I don't think I really have the *words* for this."

"Oh, no, Tim, you..." Clark strokes him almost restlessly, presses and pulls Tim closer -- nuzzles Tim's mouth. "Tell me more? Please. I want to hear this, your thoughts. I need -- please."

Is he helping to build that solitude? Tim smiles ruefully -- gets kissed, slow and *deep*, and the moan doesn't wait for permission or even *thought*, because Clark's tongue feels even less *like* a tongue than before, devastatingly mobile only by the grace of a truly beneficent -- god.

Tim *hums* when he can stop moaning, wanting Clark to feel something like the subtly profound waves moving within him, or at least the *tremor* Tim can feel in his thighs --

*Clark* moans and cups the back of Tim's head, fucks Tim's mouth and lifts him again -- and when Clark sets him down, the impossibly *hard* shaft of Clark's erection is pressing against Tim's lips --

Pressing *between* when Tim shifts, and Tim cries out into Clark's mouth and tugs his hair hard, *wants* --

He's going to *stain* Clark's uniform --

Clark pulls back. "More. Please?"

"I --" What was he *saying* -- oh. Yes, but -- "I've never... I've never really told anyone about this. It's always seemed a little... like an excuse? For not being as *firm* within my sense of self as I could be."

"You feel you've changed yourself too much?"

Tim looks down between them and closes his eyes for a moment. "It's more... I don't really feel like I *had* much of a self before Bruce began training me."

"Oh... Tim, no. Everyone struggles for a sense of identity when they're young --"

"There was what I knew about Batman and Robin, about *Bruce* and *Dick*, and there was the desire to know more, the *need* to know more, to believe in something greater -- there really wasn't much *else*, Clark. I didn't read very extensively beyond what had to be done for school, I only really listened to the bands Dick and Jason mentioned in those *insipid* Teen Gotham Beat interviews -- and the ones with similar styles. I didn't play sports or do anything other than *using* the karate lessons to try to feel closer to them..." Tim laughs. "I was a *cipher*. I'm somewhat better than that now, Clark, but really... anyway. I *do* recognize that I'm a reasonably interesting person to be around *now*. You don't have to... defend my self-esteem."

And Clark seems distinctly *troubled*, but he nods, after a moment. "Finish your earlier thought for me?"

For him, yes. "If we're all born with the capacity to alter ourselves beyond all previous recognition, then determinism is dead in the water. There is no fate, no *inevitability*. Everything -- everything is *possible*, and so there's always room for hope," Tim says, smiling and shifting back enough that he can rest his hand on the 'S'. "And for heroes."

For a moment Clark is only staring at him, but a smile starts tugging at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes are... almost shining, really.

"Clark, I... it's what *you* meant for me, to me... for a long time, now. It really wasn't fair, or --"

"Tim, I --"

"Please, let me finish?"

Clark closes his mouth and nods.

Tim nods back. "It wasn't fair to you, and it didn't take into account that you were an actual person, with needs and desires and a *life*... but at the same time, that was a part of it, too. *Knowing* that you had to be someone -- and later learning that you were Clark Kent -- well, it added to the whole thing, this *mix* of things within myself..." Tim laughs. "I'm making it sound like -- I don't know. I don't always -- or often -- have a lot of faith in the world. The fact that *everything* is possible means that a lot of terrible things are *probable* -- or already extant."

Clark nods again and strokes Tim's hair.

"But... yes. The fact that even an alien from an incredibly distant planet could *embody* this -- this huge and vital thing, could live as a man *and* the world's greatest hero... I'm flailing again. It's just -- you've been important to me for a long time, and a part of me is only waiting for you to leave again so I can have the time to freak *right* out --"

"I really hope you won't, Tim. I'm only a man --"

"These things are ultimately *soothing*, Clark. Helpful to the part of me which will always be running around alleys with a very expensive camera and a notebook with stains from all over Gotham. I..." Tim smiles ruefully. "I'm afraid a lot. Sometimes I think my *foundation* is fear, and everything else is a response to it or a way to deal with it or a way to *enjoy* it. I have a hard time *remembering* that I think anything is possible, and thus applying it to myself can be... sporadic. But it's there. And I think it counts as a passion."

<<Your beauty moves.>>

"Clark --"

"I would like to make you *happy*, Tim, even though I know that true happiness comes only from within ourselves --"

"I'm happy, Clark. I like to think... well, *most* of me has been deliriously happy since Bruce agreed to take me on. I'm living the life I used to dream about, and -- before there was Superman for me, and before there was Batman -- there was Robin. I get to *be* what I've dreamed about. I'm not unhappy."

Clark frowns and presses Tim close again, making it necessary for Tim to move his arm from between them. "You are... there are still doubts within you. You allow yourself so *little* of the world around you --"

"I don't *need* much to be satisfied --"

<<I would have you glutted, sated and lost within your own pleasure, beautiful one. I would have our solitude ring with your cries.>>

And that -- Tim *thinks* about it --

Tim *tries* to think about it, but Clark's eyes are rimmed with red, and, this close, Tim can feel their heat. And when Tim shifts... yes, he's already left a wet spot on Clark's shorts, but... "Does that mean you will...?"

"I." Clark seems to be searching *himself*, and that --

Tim doesn't want to interrupt so much as he wants to *encourage*. "Please, Clark."

"If you'll let me... if I use my fingers. Perhaps you'll find that satisfying?"

Tim doesn't doubt that his *body* would find it satisfying, but -- "When will you let me make *you* come, Clark? With more than just my apparently attractive... flailings?"

"Am I being selfish?"

"Selflessly so," Tim says and rolls forward, putting a little more of his weight on his knees -- and making himself moan for the feel of Clark's *heat* against his clit --

Clark smiles, bright and almost *fierce* -- "You must admit that -- you are *tantalizing*, Tim --"

"What I am... is increasingly too -- wet to think." Tim frowns. "Somehow that seems to have less verbal *impact* than 'too hard.'"

"Oh... I must disagree," and Clark rocks up against him once, again --

Tim's mouth falls open for this moan and stays open for another, another -- focus, *think* -- "You -- you have to *wear* this uniform --"

"I can dry it in an instant --"

"The *stain* --"

"Ah -- true," Clark says, and rests his hands on Tim's hips. "An excellent reminder. *Do* you want my fingers?"

"Too -- too *much*. Clark, I'm going to be *upset* if you don't at least let me --"

"You could stroke me with your wonderful hands, beautiful --" And Clark is holding Tim's hands in front of his face, kissing the palms and sucking the fingers, repeating the process and licking, pressing them to his own face --

Tim tries to *cup* Clark's face, but the grip is impossible to break -- or even *adjust* -- "Please, Clark, I want to *feel* you in every way I *can*. I want to remember this with my body, I want --"

And Tim's on his back and spread -- *lifted*, and Clark leans in and *sucks* Tim's clit, making Tim kick and *mewl*, and Tim can only hope nothing exciting and crime-related happens near this room anytime soon, because having *this* footage perused would kill him.

He can't move his hips, but he can't *stop* moving his legs and his upper body, writhing and kicking, yanking at the sheets and *wanting* --

And Clark moves his mouth *down*, licking, stabbing at the aperture of Tim's urethra -- and *that* feeling is so familiar it make him *curse*, growling and reaching for Clark's hair --

Slamming back against the bed because that's Clark's *tongue* inside him, shoving in and in, and Tim knows that he *could* come from this, but he doesn't want to. There's a space inside him which has *felt* something longer, something *harder* --

And his right hand finds the escrima stick, loses it again in the sheets --

He has to hold *on* --

"*Clark* --"

"I must -- your *taste*, Tim, the musk and tang of you --" And Clark hums against the opening of Tim's vagina while he fucks Tim with his tongue, making Tim squeeze his eyes shut and scrabble for more contact, reach and bend *up* --

And *shake* for the shift inside him, or perhaps for the way Clark is *drinking* him, licking him clean and making him feel dirty, *lost* --

"Now," Clark says, pulling back and --

Oh, fingers, two fingers, and they're pressed against his hymen, they're *pushing* there, and the sensation is exactly like having something inside him without much give *stretched*. "Oh -- will you? Please?"

"What you want, Tim -- I -- the pain can be quite *sharp* --"

"Please, I -- Clark." Tim bangs his head against the pillow just a *few* times --

"Tim, no --"

"Do you want me, Clark? Do you --"

"I won't *let* you doubt that, Tim --"

"No. No --" Tim licks his lips and looks up at Clark, knowing that his expression is *made* of plea, of the kind of raw need he's spent years learning how *not* to show --

"You're so very *beautiful*, Tim. Dick will be enchanted, lost to you -- I can't wait to see you give yourselves to each other --"

"Not Dick. Not -- not *now*, Clark. Please tell me -- do you want to be inside me?"

And for a moment Clark's eyes are so bright with heat there's no blue at all and his whole body is tense. He *shudders*. "Tim, you mustn't -- you're so very *small*, you must feel this stretch -- oh, such power in you, even here..."

And Clark begins to *thrust*, and the sensation is so perfect, so close to *perfect* -- "My body -- this body *wants*, I -- please, tell me you want --"

"I *want* you," Clark says, and his tone is almost angry, deep and *dark*, and Tim shivers and clutches the sheets again, pulls at them --

"Everything, Clark -- I. Everything is *possible* --" And the scream rips itself out of him, hurting something in his throat because --

Clark --

So *deep*, and Tim is forcing his breathing into something like calm as quickly as he can, Clark has to know that was all right, that *hurt* --

"Tim... Please, Tim, you must tell me --"

"C-Clark. Clark. *Oh* --" It's still singing through him, still -- like a skip in the wave, a jagged edge for it to catch on within him, and the hurt place feels like a hot *beacon* inside him, beyond which is pleasure, pressure and fullness -- "Oh, God. Clark --"

"I'm sorry. I'm -- my *control*, Tim -- oh..."

The only possible response was to spread himself wider, to answer the raw *ache* inside him with a pull in his thighs, a tightness in his abs --

<<You must speak, fine one. You must make contract with me that I may avoid crime and trespass. I would know your *mind* -->>

"Don't stop. Don't *wait*. Don't --" Tim licks his lips and opens his eyes again, planting his feet so he can push up and *rock* against Clark's hand --

And Clark rests his free hand on Tim's abdomen and presses *down*, holding Tim in place. "Say it --"

Tim nods -- Tim *clenches*, and the sound he makes is almost a howl, shocked out of him by the pain that shoots through him -- and the fact that the pain is already less intense. Tim smiles --

Clark *twists* his fingers and presses down *hard* --

"*Fuck* me --"

And a part of Tim was waiting for the feel of Clark pulling out, for a *pause*, but he was clearly expecting both too much and too *little* from Clark's control. Clark is thrusting in sharp, even strokes with his fingers, and it feels like Clark's trying, more than anything else, to get Tim *used* to the feeling. Tim wants to tell him that it's just not possible, that it's just too *different* from everything else, including that interlude with the escrima stick.

There's a *heat* to it, wet and intense enough that Tim's starting to sweat again. It's *not* a burn -- he's far too slick for that, but --

But there's something *else* Clark's fingers are hitting with every thrust, and Tim wonders if it's his cervix, the outer wall of his uterus -- he doesn't know and he doesn't *care*. There's an internal *shudder* every time Clark makes contact, something to *add* to the thrust and slide --

"Please -- please do speak, Tim --"

"Ah -- good. It's -- I want. Please don't stop, Clark, please stretch me *open* -- oh, *God* --"

The splay of Clark's fingers, the twist and vaguely *upward* thrust -- it feels like Clark is both mapping and *making* him, and the only thing *keeping* it from being perfect is his own mind wanting more, wanting --

"Clark -- your pleasure --"

<<It lives, it waits -->>

Tim *hauls* on the sheets and tries to arch against the hand holding him down, tries to --

He's *not* as close to orgasm as he was a few minutes ago, the pain or the *change* of stimulation had eased him back down, but --

Oh, he wants this to go on *forever*, wants to be able to work his hips against Clark -- "Please. Please --"

<<I *ache*.>>

And Tim's squeezing his eyes shut again, because the feeling is so -- it's --

He can't *move* into it, but that just means that he's taking it, that he can't do anything *but* take it --

"I *want* you," he says, and it's so low that it's almost his own voice, almost -- "I would whisper. Into my pillow --"

"The things you would say for the lover you imagined, that you would beg for when you weren't biting and sucking your *fingers* -- I watched you *mark* your fingers, fine one, Tim --"

"*Please*, did you hear? Did I -- that time --"

Clark moans, pained and somehow *sweet* --

"Oh, Clark --"

"I'm afraid I -- I've *listened* to you, Tim. *Countless* times. I've learned your preferred rhythms, and I -- you never say *names* when --"

"Hnn -- I want -- I want to be taken, sometimes, I want -- oh, sometimes it could almost be *anyone* --"

"*Me*, Tim. Be -- be mine, for this moment, only mine..."

Tim gasps and whimpers, tosses his head -- *stops*, because he doesn't want Clark to think he means *no*, he can't let Clark think -- speaking, words -- "Yours, yes. You -- you *hurt* me --"

Clark cries *out*, and now he's *stroking* Tim everywhere he can reach with his free hand, pressing and cupping, trying to *soothe* --

"My mind -- I can't always control. But right *now*, Clark --" He *forces* his eyes open -- "Just you, so -- you're so much, Clark, I can only feel -- I can *smell* you and I want to taste, want you to fuck, want you to *take* --"

"Tim --"

"*Show* me how much you want me, Clark, please, I'm begging, I need -- please, *please* -- *mm* --"

The kiss is clearly designed to silence him when it starts, and as such it's hard not to let himself bite Clark's tongue -- only.

Clark can feel *everything*, if in very different ways than how Tim can feel, and it's possible -- Tim bites down and opens his eyes -- and the *brightness* of Clark's eyes is painful enough that he has to close them again, *grunt* --

Clark pulls back. "Oh, Tim, I'm sorry --"

"You didn't *burn* me, Clark --"

"At that distance, in this way --" Clark shudders on top of Tim and presses gently against Tim's eyelid with his thumb, strokes as if he can ease the discomfort that way. "You must believe -- I usually have more *control*, Tim," he says, and he's still thrusting with his fingers, still *expertly* following Tim's internal curve --

Tim laughs despite himself, despite *everything* --

<<I would enter your *mind* -->>

"Perhaps -- nn. Perhaps you could start with my -- *ah*. Oh, what -- what is --"

"Vibration, just in my fingertips. A level of control I *can't* achieve with my penis, Tim. You -- just your pleasure, just *yours* --"

"*No*, Clark," and it takes everything he has -- he can't seem to feel his *extremities* -- but he sits up and wraps his hands around Clark's working arm, feels the flex and release of muscle in something which should be too hard to *move*. He tugs, gritting his teeth against the mixed messages from his vagina, from the overly complicated *whole* of this sex. "*Show* me --"

And Clark's *wake* moves Tim, almost turning him over onto his side. He's *empty* --

And Clark is naked and kneeling above him, hard and *breathing* hard, and Tim clenches. It's enough of an excuse for his clumsiness when he kneels up to straddle Clark, to dig his knees in against Clark's thighs before reaching down to *grip* --

"Oh -- oh, Tim, *yes* --"

Tim strokes with both hands, messy and awkward, *wonderful*, because even though his palms are telling him that there should be *limits* to how hard an erection can get, the rest of him is just -- excited, *moved*. And that word seems too small for the feeling, for the way he's *grinning* even as he moans at the desperate, needy throb within him --

It *is* too small, but it's what he has. And Clark -- his eyes are closed, his head tilted back --

Tim realizes that Clark would *let* Tim get him off this way, that Clark is close enough, perhaps, to *need* just this --

Or Tim's mouth --

Or. Tim lets his hands slide down to the base of Clark's penis and squeezes as hard as he can. It's ridiculous to think he can *hold* Clark there, but it's something he needs, just the same --

"Every subtle shift of texture, every callus and *scar*. Oh, Tim, you've been so *cruel* to your hands --"

"I love the way I feel when I stroke myself, Clark. I -- when I shake someone's hand, a part of me is always imagining how that hand would feel wrapped around my penis, is always measuring strength and degree of will --"

"Once. I -- Bruce *gripped* me, and stroked, and looked deep into my eyes..."

That sound -- harsh and high and *loud* --

And Clark is looking at him again, and it should be too difficult to read expression with his eyes that red, but there's a knowingness there, a sense that Clark can *feel* every thought in Tim's head, that he knows every *fantasy* --

"*Don't*," Tim says, and squeezes Clark again. "Don't take me away from this."

Clark exhales on a moan and caresses Tim's arms, squeezes the upper parts of them -- Clark's hands are shaking, and it's making Tim *move*, vibrating parts of him too *far* from where he needs it -- "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to -- it was only your talk of *hands*, Tim --"

"L-later. Later. I promise I'll talk about --" Tim bites his lip and presses as close as he can, guiding Clark's penis between his legs -- "Please, let me have you," he says, and it comes out sounding high and young, but there's nothing Tim can do about that. Clark --

Clark would've heard it that way even if Tim had managed to disguise it enough for his own ears. And just -- the way he's *looking* at Tim, the way he's not fighting --

Some part of Clark is only waiting to see if Tim will do it, if Tim *can* do it, and perhaps it has to be that way, another test for him and for his *determination*. Tim feels his mouth curving into a smile he most often uses on the *street* --

And Clark shudders again, gripping Tim's arms *hard* --

*Lifting* Tim, and -- maybe it's not a test, at all. Maybe it's everything Clark can *manage*, right now, and that's the kind of terrifying --

"*Tim* --"

"*This* fear, Clark. You should -- oh -- you should *learn* it," Tim says, and lines the head up against his hole -- "I think. I think it's for *you* --"

"Please, Tim. One last -- one last *time* --"

And Tim *pulls* on Clark's penis, trying to get it in, trying to feel more than just the brush of the head against his inner lips --

And whatever Clark says -- whatever language it's *in* -- is too fast for Tim to understand as more than an open-mouthed hum with a lot of different notes and a great deal of -- passion.

"*Now* -- oh, *fuck* --"

<<You must hold me -- always like *this* -->>

"Clark, I -- oh. Oh my God, I --" Tim shakes his head and tries to convince himself to breathe, to think -- to do anything other than *boggle* at the feel of Clark inside him, at the scratch of Clark's hair against his lips, at the incredible --

He can't have possibly stretched that *much*, only he wouldn't be feeling this if he *hadn't*. It's -- it feels like Clark is holding him *open*, or like -- maybe he *is* clenching around --

"*Please*," Tim says, and he doesn't know what he's asking for. Doesn't -- Tim shakes his head -- gasps because he *hadn't* been breathing, and that makes something move inside him, makes Clark whisper --

Something --

"I can't. Can't hear, or --" Tim blinks and tries to focus, reaches up for Clark's shoulders --

*Relaxes*, suddenly and utterly, and physics is irrelevant -- it feels like Clark is *miles* deeper than he was a *moment* ago --

And Tim is shouting and digging his nails in against Clark's perfect skin, wanting to mark, to hurt, to alter *something* just to prove that this is as much for Clark as it is for him, as --

<<Ease. I need your *ease*, beautiful one. I must not injure -->> "There are traces of your blood on my fingers, Tim. I. Please, I will not hurt you *more* --"

"*Clark* -- oh, you're. Give me. Give me those fingers --"

Clark shudders and *flexes* --

Tim shouts again -- and it's muffled by the fingers in his mouth. He can taste himself again, and perhaps there is something metallic rather than mineral, something human other than his pre-come -- he can't tell, and he can't stop making *noises* around Clark's fingers, one muffled shout for each pound of his pulse, for every thudding bit of *heat* --

*Inside* him --

Tim sucks -- clenches and shouts, bites *down*  --

"*Please*, Tim --"

And Tim's nodding desperately. He's *trying*, but every message from his body comes with an exclamation point, every breath just makes it clear that he's *full*, utterly so --

He can feel Clark in his *ass*, and -- what would it be like for him to push a finger inside, too? At what point does his entire self *snap*, leaving him open and utterly usable?

Another *flex*, and Tim's eyes roll back in his head, and the wave that rushes through him makes him feel *faint* --

"*With* me, Tim. You can -- oh, you're so *strong*, Tim, and I need that now. I need --" <<Give *in*, beautiful one -->>

Pain in his *hand*, random and -- oh, he's beating his fist against Clark's *shoulder*, and that -- Tim blinks and opens his eyes, but it's hard to focus against the heat, the sense of himself as something *speared*. This --

It's what he had *wanted*, only Clark is frowning and searching him instead of looking *happy*, and that's not right. Tim shakes his head and *sucks* Clark's fingers, tries to pull them deeper inside himself, focuses only on *that*. It feels like it takes some sizable fraction of forever, but after a while the throbs and waves fade a little, *quiet* a little until Tim is breathing reasonably evenly.

He can't think of words to say and he can't make himself *move* --

"Tim," Clark says, and his hands are suddenly on Tim's hips, cupping and holding them. "I must."

Must. He -- Tim opens his eyes *again* and tries to put a question into them, something like *internal* coherence --

"If. If you need me to pull out, Tim, I --"

Tim shakes his head and tries to say *something*. It comes out as a moan that makes him clench again for the sound, for the fact that Clark's hearing it --

Anyone *listening* could hear it --

Words. He can -- "Clark, I." Tim bites his lip. He just needs time, another few moments to *be* in his body and in this moment -- and Clark is squeezing his hip with one hand and petting Tim's hair with the other, still searching him --

"Tim, you mustn't. You feel wonderful around me, soft and warm, perfect --"

"I want -- that's what I *want*, Clark, I -- oh, *God* --" Another clench, another *flex*, and Tim has no idea which came first and no idea how to find *out* -- no. Clark would know.

Clark --

"Your eyes. I -- they're so. Do they ever hurt you?"

"Oh, Tim... I became accustomed to the discomfort a long time ago. You -- tell me about *your* pain?"

Tim laughs -- groans and tries to shift -- Clark is holding him still. "Clark...?"

"Another moment, just like this, Tim. I'll do anything you'd *like*, but I have to feel you, right now --" <<I touch your sweetness and am made. I fill you and am *broken*.>>

"Broken. That -- I've never. There's never been anything *like* this --"

"I know, fine one, Tim -- tell me about the *pain* --"

Tim shakes his head and tries to think beyond the urgency in Clark's voice, in his *expression*. "I -- mostly around my. Opening. The stretch there feels -- ah. Some variety of *impossible*."

Clark nods slowly. "Then I must be careful, and *you* must let me move us both, at least for now?"

Tim's lips feel dry -- he licks them and nods, and his mind offers him the image of a *specific* fantasy -- "You were. On your back, I -- when I was touching myself --"

"Oh... yes?"

The *man* on his back beneath Tim had shifted and changed, almost *flickered* between choices -- but Clark had been one of them. "You were smiling at me. You held my hips -- *oh* --"

"Like this?"

Tim moans and loses himself to the feel, the *heat*, inside and out -- "Please. Please, Clark."

"Do I kiss you? Touch your... your wonderful *skin*?"

Psychic whiplash, because Clark is stroking his penis, whispering words Tim can't hear or understand as he thrusts up, thrusts *in* --

His fingers are still *wet* on Tim's hip --

"In me. I -- please, your finger. I. Please?"

And perhaps he should be grateful that he'd gotten *something* coherent out, because this flex makes Tim's eyes roll back in his head again, makes his body feel loose and almost *helpless* everywhere Clark isn't touching --

He could have -- oh, God, what happens when Clark *moves*?

"*Tim* -- you. You don't think it would be too *much*?"

"I don't *know*, Clark -- but." Tim shakes his head and licks his lips again, thinking about the burn of it from earlier, the pure *familiarity* of it and sense of being -- taken. More.

And Clark's eyes are wide and *bright*, difficult to focus on -- Tim reaches up to touch Clark's cheek, the skin *beneath* his eye -- warm. Very. The difficulty is *heat* haze.

"You want to --"

"*Yes*, Tim. I -- if I could, I'd. There's nothing I don't want from you."

And that's... a lot. Enough that Tim thinks he should really be *trying* to think *deeply* about it, to at least try to put it into some context --

He's *full*, and he could be more so. Clark is *inside* him, and painting streaks of saliva, come, and -- perhaps -- more of those blood traces on his hip --

"Do it, Clark. And then --"

And then he's being kissed again, *silenced* again, and Tim can feel the heat of Clark's eyes on his eyelids, which means Clark's eyes are *open* and that it would be dangerous to open his own. He doesn't particularly *want* to hurt himself that way, for all that there wouldn't be *permanent* damage --

God, *Clark*, and he can't even *think* about the smaller things, like the brush of his nipples against Clark's chest, the way Clark's thighs are forcing his own to stay spread --

The fact that Clark is *here*, and that they're having sex --

Clark would say 'making love,' and mean it so much that it would have it's own inalienable *truth* --

*Please*, Tim thinks, tries to say around Clark's tongue --

And Clark moans and pulls Tim tighter against himself, strokes Tim's back and ass, cups him and squeezes there --

Pulls back and licks Tim's mouth, Tim's cheek and ear --

"Is it wrong that a part of me is only wondering what you'll fantasize after this, Tim?" Whispered against Tim's *ear* --

"I -- ah. It's an excellent question, Clark -- *oh*, that. That *flex* --"

"Would you have me do it again?"

"*Yes*, because -- it's different. Changing -- the feel --" And Tim groans and feels himself getting wetter, feels Clark's heat and wants to be bitten, held down, *moved* -- "Fuck me -- I --"

"Yes, I -- *now*," Clark says, lifting Tim --

"Oh -- *oh* --"

And Clark *pulls* Tim down, all the way *down* --

"Oh, God, but -- my. Ah -- other hole? *Ohn* --"

Clark's tongue in his *ear*, licking and sliding, teasing even as he lifts Tim again, as Tim feels himself *losing* Clark's penis, losing everything --

"*Clark*, you -- are still not being *fair*," Tim says, and the laugh comes out chopped, broken by moans as Clark pulls him back down so *slowly* --

<<Everything you do urges trespass, the taking of advantage -->>

"I'm sure. I'm -- oh, *please*, Clark --"

<<For you, for your pleasure, my fine one -->>

"Or -- possessed? Held-used?"

<<*All*,>> and Clark squeezes Tim's ass again before slipping two fingers into his cleft, sliding them down to where Tim has gotten himself wet again, *dirty* again --

"So -- oh, God, one hand. One -- you're moving me with one *hand* --"

Clark *pants* against Tim's ear and paints a circle around Tim's hole, so slowly Tim can't help but feel the pucker of it, the *smallness* --

He clenches and Clark *bites* his ear --

He shouts and Clark thrusts *up*, again, *again* and Tim can't *stop* shouting. It's *nothing* like all those times he's fucked himself, and nothing like the feel of the stick from earlier. Clark is so thick in him, so *deep*, and something like this must be dangerous, must --

The feel --

<<Clark, I am -- I feel -->>

<<Please do *speak*, Tim,>> and Clark pushes *in* with his finger, just a little, just *enough* --

Tim moans and throws his head back in an effort to get more air, or maybe just to *feel* this more. Clark is still *thrusting*, and it's making Tim's breasts bounce, making Tim clench around Clark's penis, his *finger* --

Clark bites his ear again -- the *lobe*, this time -- and holds it, makes a sound that *could* be a growl --

And Tim is shaking, *wanting*, because --<<This feeling. You create a beauty in me, art/light -->>

<<Beautiful one, I am *lost* -->>

<<More. Take-have -- I would have more -->>

And Clark *licks* his way back to Tim's mouth -- kisses him and fucks him that way, too, and his tongue is as hard as his finger, his *penis* is harder than anything Tim can imagine, but it's so slick, so --

Mobile within him, following him and *taking* --

Burn and *suck* --

I *need* you, Tim can't say, and he doesn't know if he could say it even if Clark wasn't making his mouth feel as used as every other part of him. It's too much, or it should be. Clark has had such a relatively small space in his fantasies, and a part of Tim is stuck on the question of why, tripping over the undeniable fact of Clark's attraction, Clark's *care* --

It's not for *him*, and it never has been, except that Clark is forcing him to know that that's a lie. *All* of this is for him, and --

*Burn*, because Clark's finger *isn't* that slick, because he's tight --

Clenching hard, over and over now, and the sounds he's making around Clark's tongue are wet and *loud* for all that they're muffled, choked off with every thrust --

One-two-three, one-two-three, and it's a simple rhythm, but it's too fast for him to follow, too *much*, and Tim is shaking his head --

Clark sucks his lower lip and Tim feels the heat of Clark's eyes --

Tim clenches his *ass* and yells, wordless and needy --

He can't -- every fantasy at this point falls *apart*. There are too many hands and not enough bodies, there are eyes on him from all corners and no one touching him, no one with him, never --

Never anyone --

"Tim, I -- I'm going to come, soon, and --"

And if Clark says anything else, Tim can't hear it. All he has is the sound of his own scream, high and sharp and cracking as his entire body shouts, clenches, *has* --

The pleasure seems to be coming from everywhere at *once*, and a part of Tim is aware that there's nothing touching his clit, that this is a *problem* --

And then Clark *is* touching him there, vibrating his finger and sending Tim to another *peak*, another place to scream for, inside and out --

Everywhere --

Blank, everything gone, every --

And Tim's aware that he's *clutching* Clark with his thighs, with his ass *and* his vagina --

He's aware that Clark is kissing him all over his face, that Clark isn't *thrusting* --

"*Please*, Clark --"

"Tight. You're so much *tighter* now, Tim --"

"I --" It's true. It's *very* true, but it's a different sort of impossible than it was when Clark first pushed in. It feels less like that part of his body telling him that he's *small* than it feels like that part of his body telling him that it's *excited*. Certainly his *clit* is throbbing -- and the feeling goes right back and *in*. He's *pulsing* around Clark, and Clark has to be able to feel every moment of it.

Tim opens his eyes -- and winces against the brightness of Clark's own.

"I'm sorry. I'm --"<<Lover, I have *need* -->>

"Lover --"

And Clark's thrust *forces* a yell out of him, forces Tim to reach for Clark's shoulders again and *cling* --

"Clark --"

"I know. I know you didn't mean to say --" Clark moans and shakes his head. "You should let me pull out. This *will* hurt you."

And Tim *wants* to look into Clark's eyes, to *show* him that it's okay, that -- oh. "Close. Close your eyes and look *through* them at me, Clark --"

"An excellent idea. I -- it's not usually so *difficult* to control the brightness, Tim..."

If anything, Clark sounds like he's apologizing for a sexual *failing*, and that -- Tim doesn't laugh, this time, but he still relaxes all over, a little --

"Oh... please look now?"

Tim opens his eyes and tries to follow the way Clark's track behind the lids, tries -- he reaches up to touch, and while the warmth through them isn't actively *painful* -- "I wish -- I find *myself* wanting to apologize. I should've made you come before --"

"*Tim*," Clark says, and it's *odd* to watch a frown with Clark's eyes closed. It's quieter than it should be, stranger --

Tim shakes his head. "At the very least... I want you inside me when you come, Clark. I want to -- I need to *feel* that -- *ah* --"

More of a *push* than a thrust, and Tim's vagina wants him to know that there's a *penis* there, and that this is something worthy of comment and attention --

This time, Tim *does* laugh --

And then the world moves --

Clark's on his back, *under* Tim, and Tim's bent over him -- and the angle shift is making him clench, over and over, making him moan and *shake* -- it feels like another, smaller orgasm, and Tim bites his lip and takes it --

*Rides* it --

Gasps and groans, tries to focus -- Clark is far enough away that he can open his eyes without hurting Tim, which is good for what it's worth, but --

He's far *away*. Tim leans in a little --

Clark stops him with his hands on Tim's shoulders. "Tim. If you. I can hold myself *still* -- if you move."

He doesn't *want* -- except. All right, that was kind of a *serious* twinge inside his vagina, and -- hmm. "We can compromise."

Clark -- blinks. "Ah... yes?"

"Your finger isn't in my ass anymore, Clark. It's... hmm. A problem," Tim says, and raises his eyebrows.

Clark narrows his eyes and -- that wasn't a smile so much as an incredibly brief show of teeth.

A part of Tim is honestly intimidated. Another part is worried about having pushed too far. It's just that the *rest* of him has ceded control of Tim-qua-Tim to these incredibly *vigorous* genitals, and... Tim clenches as hard as he can --

Clark *arches* beneath Tim, eyes closed and he's -- humming? No, that's speed-babble, Clark-style.

"Clark...?"

"*Lois* -- does this to me. I -- *please*, Tim --"

Oh. And possibly there should be extra o's and h's for that, but mostly -- he clenches again, gritting his teeth against the -- he wouldn't call it *pain* --

"Oh, please, *please*," Clark says, squeezing Tim's shoulders -- *almost* too hard --

"You feel..." Tim licks his lips. <<I will mourn the loss of you, Clark.>>

Clark's laugh is breathless and a little shocking --

He hadn't meant to be *funny*, per se -- "Clark?"

<<Lovely one, most fine -- I only intend a *small* death.>>

Oh -- ah. Tim blushes. <<The correct word... regret?>>

<<I would leave you *free* of regret -->> "But yes," Clark says, and strokes the sides of Tim's neck with his thumbs. "Please," he says, and the redness of his eyes makes the smile somewhat more *diabolical* than what Tim is sure was intended -- they're just *too* bright for Tim to parse finer detail -- but.

"Inside me, Clark. Let me -- you know I've wanted *that* from you, that I continue to find it pleasurable --"

"I worry -- I doubt I'd have the control to keep my hips still were I to penetrate you that way again. And I need --" Clark shakes his head. "I do... I believe you when you say you enjoy the discomfort, but I wish to take you this way *again*. Soon," and Clark rubs small circles against Tim's neck, arches enough that Tim's knees leave the bed entirely, and --

It's possible that the sound he just made was not dissimilar to a purr. "Flexible."

"At -- *need*. Oh, clench again, Tim, please -- *ah* --

And Tim does it again, and again, and the swelling is starting to go down inside him, but it's much too *slow*. Maybe -- when Clark lowers himself back to the bed, Tim pushes up a little, moaning at the feel of Clark sliding out --

Tim's lips seem to try to *cling* to Clark, and that's painful and *strange*, enough to make Tim shiver --

"Oh, beautiful, beautiful and *sharp* --"

Lois... has undoubtedly been in this very position countless times, and Tim can't help wondering if it's what she prefers. If -- well.

It takes a certain degree of fortitude to *make* himself take Clark in again, to push against the pain and the way his vagina -- always with *something* to say -- is insisting that there's no way in *hell* that Clark will fit now. That's a *lie*, for all that easing himself back down makes him *hiss* --

Makes him *shudder*, all over --

"Tim, you -- please don't *hurt* yourself --"

"*Clark* --" No, he's not really about to tell him to be quiet. That's the impulse of the *insane* part of him, and is thus not there to actually be listened to -- save as a source of various things *not* to do. Tim pants and opens his eyes again. "It occurs to me that there's just not going to be way to do this unless I get accustomed *quickly*..."

Clark's response is a moan -- and his hands are *shaking* on Tim's shoulders. So --

There's definitely *something* about being in a position to *ride* Clark, for all that none of Tim's fantasies about being in this position have gone quite that way. Tim *thinks* about it -- and leans in enough to pinch Clark's nipples, to catch them firmly and *pull* --

And the flex makes Tim gasp, makes him clench in return -- and that was definitely a *growl* from Clark --

And his vagina's opinion of that involves a spasm that leaves Tim -- open. Tim smiles. "Oh, Clark..."

"*Tim*..."

"Hold *still*," Tim says, and braces himself on his hands. The motions are simple --

"*Ah* -- oh, Tim, oh -- *please* --"

-- and apparently devastating. Tim's still a little too swollen for this to be the sort of arousing that leaves *him* breathless and begging, but oh --

"Beautiful one, I *burn* --"

"Hnn -- try not to burn my *bed*, Clark --"

And something about that -- his tone, maybe? -- makes Clark *buck* just as Tim is easing down. It makes Tim shout, and Clark's hands are immediately on his hips, holding them and holding Tim *still* -- "I'm sorry, I'm -- please, Tim, tell me you're --"

<<I am filled, desired one. All is well -->>

Clark gasps and shudders -- *vibrates*, all over, and it's so hard Tim almost bites his *tongue*. But he can feel himself getting wet again, wetter --

"Oh, Clark -- *Clark*, a little less, just -- I can't *move* --"

"Sorry -- *please* --" And the vibration eases *slightly*, just enough that Tim can catch Clark's nipples between his fingers again, pinch *hard* --

And gasp for the feel of Clark arching them both off the bed again, for Clark --

"Lover, oh, *lover* --" He *clutches* Tim's hips, but it's only for a moment. And then Tim can *move*, lifting himself up and *slamming* back down --

Up --

*Down*, and Tim is *slick* inside, so hot -- Clark has to be leaking pre-come *copiously*, and the thought makes Tim salivate, need to *swallow* --

And Clark is moaning constantly, now, bursts of vibration periodically making Tim seize and gasp, *want* -- oh.

Tim lets go of one of Clark's nipples and brings his hand between his legs, instead, slips in his own wetness --

"*Beautiful* --"

Finds his clit and finds a rhythm that lets him keep moving, keep *taking*, because that's what this is. That's --

Clark has his hands clenched together over his head, obviously trying to keep from breaking or tearing anything important --

Like Tim's body --

Tim laughs and *works* himself, watching Clark clench his hands tighter and tighter together and trying to keep himself from following *suit*. Just -- this *rhythm*, and a part of Tim wants it faster and harder, wants Clark to *give* it to him, but taking --

And *taking* --

Clark's eyes are closed, but the *glow* of them is visible through the lids, and it must be... has that pain become *part* of sex for him? It would be an *odd* sort of feedback loop -- getting turned on and burning, getting more turned on *from* the burning...

And on and on until his eyes, perhaps, become some variety of *incandescent* behind the lids and he has to struggle not to *destroy*. So much --

"So much *power*," Tim says --

"*Lover* --"

"Oh -- oh, Clark, I think you'll make me come again --"

"*Please*, Tim, your pleasure, take your pleasure from me --" And the rest of that is *unintelligible*, moaned and *gasped* --

<<I *am*. And you would be -- I would have this love, Clark ->>

*Arch*, and Tim's hand slips -- but not *far* --

<<I would build this solitude -->>

Clark tosses his head, slams them both back down to the bed, and there's a loud *crack* --

Ah, that would be Clark's *knuckles*. Tim shakes his head and presses harder on his clit, tries to work himself *faster* -- <<You will. You will show me *how* -->>

Clark *bucks*, moaning --

*Coming*, and Tim feels his eyes going wide, feels himself -- oh, that --

So *wet* --

And he can't stop *fucking* himself on Clark, not now. Not -- it's so good, and there's no pain at *all*, anymore. Just heat, and the slick *slide* that every part of him knows is good, is *right* -- "Oh. Oh, Clark --"

"*Tim*." And Clark sits up, *moves* them --

Kisses Tim *hard*, licking Tim's tongue into his own mouth and sucking in perfect rhythm to Tim's hips, taking --

*Somebody* is being taken again, but Tim just isn't sure which of them it is -- and he doesn't *care*. He wraps his free arm around Clark's neck and holds on, pinching his clit as evenly as he can, slipping and *sliding* --

And moaning into Clark's mouth for the way he *keeps* flexing inside Tim, keeps -- just --

"Tim. Will you come for me?"

"Oh -- I really, really think so," and Tim laughs, *groans* -- "And that's impressive, Clark. Really -- *is* there increased sensitivity after you come?"

"Quite a lot," Clark says, and -- oh --

His eyes are blue again. He's still *hard*, but his eyes are blue and he's searching Tim's as if they contain the answers to the *universe*. "Mm -- I. I don't *want* to stop --"

"Then don't," and Clark is smiling *avidly*, rocking his hips in perfect counterpoint to the way Tim is working himself --

"Oh. Ohh, fuck, *Clark* --"

<<My fine one?>>

"That -- dangerously *possessive* --"

"And would you stray?"

Stray. *Stray* -- Tim moans and tries to picture it, tries to imagine a world full of people who want *him*, who would beg and plead and *fight* for his touch with every weapon at their disposal --

Tim laughs *again*, and wants to curse because it takes him off his rhythm, off that suddenly *hazy* path to his own orgasm. Tim shakes his head and tries circles again, but that's not quite --

"Frustration, Tim?"

"Ah -- I think I've. Lost it? Well, not *lost* it, really, since I'm still incredibly *aroused*, but... suggestions? Help?"

"Oh," Clark says, nostrils *flaring* -- "With pleasure..."

And perhaps that was meant to be *some* sort of warning, because there's nothing else before Clark's finger is inside him again, pushing *deep* and generally making the wall between Clark's finger and Clark's *penis* seem thin and much more sensitive than Tim suspects it would be --

Or --

He really doesn't *know*, because Clark is thrusting with *both*, rocking Tim back and forth in a motion that a *deeply* problematic part of him finds *soothing* --

"I -- I'm never going to be able to watch you on television with someone's *baby* again, Clark --"

"What -- oh. Oh, that's quite *filthy*, Tim," and Clark's eyes are bright and his teeth are *gleaming* --

"Ah... I blame the mood and by that I mean don't *stop*," Tim says, because Clark is vibrating a little again, all *over*, including his *chest* -- "Oh, my *nipples* --"

"Large and beautiful, so sensitive -- you like this."

"*Yes*, and -- I know that you know that, but it seems -- oh. Ah -- important?" Tim swallows back another laugh and tries to press a little closer, crushing his working arm against Clark's body so the vibration will run right through it to his clit -- "Oh, *please* --"

<<Only the mad would deny you -->>

Tim groans and squeezes his eyes shut, clenches and *shouts*, because it makes the vibration intensify, *drive* through him -- "Please, *please* --"

"So beautiful. So -- mmm. *Close*. Your scent becomes almost *insistent* in the moments before your orgasm, Tim. It feels like you're forcing me to know you in this way --"

"Oh. Clark, that sounds -- I would never -- I want to *shower* --"

"Not yet, please, not --" Clark takes a *deep* breath, deep enough to shift the slight rock, to alter the vibration --

And Tim's fingers feel clumsy and half-numb from the vibration, adding -- more -- strangeness to the way he's masturbating himself, *manipulating* --

Rocking --

And the wave that goes through him is large, uncontestable. It leaves him dazed and a little *weak*, as if he'd fall over if Clark wasn't holding him close, moving Tim the ways *he* wants Tim to move -- "Oh -- Clark --"

"*Yes*, Tim. It will be soon. Surrender to it, let it *take* you --"

Tim opens his eyes and tries to *focus*, tries to sense something other than his own pleasure, the perfection of being filled and touched and moved --

Clark's eyes are so -- if he's blinking, it's much too fast to see, and what dust mote would dare to irritate *Superman*? And he thinks he's going to laugh again, but what comes out is a low and breathy moan, or --

Something that *feels* like a moan, only it's from his entire body, as opposed to just his lungs and throat. *He's* vibrating now, shuddering off-rhythm to what Clark is doing to him, and there's no finesse to what he's doing to his clit, nothing but raw sensation and the drive for more of it.

*More*, and if he could just make Clark --

"F-faster. Clark --"

"Oh, Tim -- *yes* --"

And the rhythm --

The *feel* --

It's nothing he could do to himself, not when he's this aroused. *This* pleasure could only come from someone else's touch, and maybe only from Clark himself.

It's a terrifying thing, something that makes Tim feel small and *weak*, greedy and some variety of *useless* --

Clark *grunts* and --

Wet. Wet *heat*, inside him, and Tim opens his eyes --

"Yes, *again*, beautiful one. I promise I won't stop until you need me to."

Until Tim needs -- oh -- "*Fuck*, Clark, you --"

And there are no words that come after that, only noise and the impossible slickness in his vagina, the burn in his *ass*, and the way he's just *pressing* on his clit, arrhythmic and *vital*.

Tim feels himself throwing his head back --

Hears himself shout, over and *over* --

He'd made Clark come *again* --

And when he clenches, when he can't *stop*, Clark tells him he's beautiful again, speaks of desire and the kind of casual possession that makes Tim wonder what he's doing, where he *is*, because this can't be his room or his bed, can't be --

"*Please* --"

And Clark thrusts up hard and thrusts in *harder*, vibrates --

Tim *screams* -- into Clark's mouth, and it's the last thing he's fully aware of other than pleasure, the rush and perfection, the *heat* --

All over him, all through him --

Black.

Black, and he should be fighting this, should be --

So good, so warm --

Black.

<<... are desired, held to this, but I would join you in this pleasure. It seems so *dark*...>>

He has toes, and he knows this because they're being kissed, and that's just weird.

The kisses continue up his shins to his knees --

*Behind* his knees --

His thighs, and this is more slow, easier to sink into, live in, even when Clark starts using his tongue -- until Tim thinks about *what* Clark is licking off his skin, and he wakes up with a start.

Something of a start -- his abs are telling him that he'd just exercised them a great *deal*, even though he doesn't remember doing anything particularly strenuous with them --

"Tim..."

"Um." Tim rubs his abdomen, digs in with his fingers, a little --

"Ah... may I?"

Tim opens his eyes to find Clark kneeling between his legs, hands hovering above Tim's own, and --

On the one hand, Clark simply hasn't had the massage training *Tim* has had. On the other hand -- *Clark*.

Tim brings his arms back down to his sides and lets Clark -- "Ooh. Oh, that's -- of course you know *exactly* where to apply pressure. I --" Tim laughs, and Clark immediately shifts the massage to make the laugh easier.

All right, it's more of a moan, now.

Just -- "Mm. I... I sense a particular addiction forming."

"Oh... I did have hopes of such a thing," Clark says, and his smile is both pleased and deeply, deeply amused.

"Well, if you *knew* you were going to -- ah -- blow my *mind*, as the kids say --"

"Do they?"

Tim waves a hand. "Some kids. Somewhere. If you *knew* you were going to do this to me..."

"Where's the fun? Tim," Clark says, every so gently chiding as he makes Tim's abs forget they ever had *any* complaints. About *anything*.

"I... think I see your point," Tim says, and brushes Clark's hands away before sitting up on his elbows. His breasts try to point at opposite sides of the room, but he's feeling charitable toward them, at the moment.

"You could consider relaxing," and Clark waggles his fingers at him.

"I'm reasonably sure that if you *relax* me any more than you already have, I'll pass out entirely. As opposed to merely *mostly*."

"I've always wondered... ah, a moment." Clark leans in and kisses Tim's navel -- dryly, which is good, because Tim is reasonably sure he'd scream again if Clark were to use his tongue.

Tim rests on one elbow and reaches down to stroke Clark's hair, a part of him only thinking that *this* time he'd be able to feel the difference, the thing about Clark's hair which would cause it to break scissors fashioned from *diamond* -- nothing but softness, silky coolness on his fingers as Clark kisses and kisses --

And kisses, once more, before looking up. "I've been knocked out, before. And certain magics have caused me to *pass* out, but..."

"You've never been... ah. *Transported* by an orgasm?"

"I'm afraid not. Was it very pleasurable?"

"I... really wasn't *there* for it, Clark. There was a great deal of pleasure just before -- hmm. I can't really describe what that pleasure *felt* like," Tim says, and narrows his eyes, tries to *think* about it... "It was intense, of course, but I never stopped feeling it *as* pleasure... I remember thinking I should *fight* it, try to keep from getting lost..."

Clark nods and looks patient, curious...

Tim shakes his head. "I don't think I can describe it. I think, for a moment, I didn't *exist*."

Clark blinks. "That doesn't sound... it doesn't frighten you?"

Tim smiles ruefully and gestures to take in the bed, the room, the two of them... "I'm rather high on endorphins at the moment. Ask me when I'm not still... buzzing."

"Buzzing?"

"Bzz, bzz," Tim says, and raises his eyebrows. "Do I have to say that was *incredible*? Literally so, Clark -- I'm trying to parse the individual actions and reactions, and I'm left with..." Tim waves his hand again, and isn't really surprised to see himself making the gesture for imminent explosion.

Whether or not Clark knows their hand signs, he seems to understand Tim perfectly -- judging by the smile on his face. He strokes the outsides of Tim's thighs --

And Tim realizes that he was trembling, slightly. Tim checks in with himself more deeply... a lot of exclamation points from all hands, really. Tim grins at Clark because he *has* to --

"Will we... again, Tim?"

Tim's *about* to laugh, but -- that was actually a serious question, for all that it's *ridiculous* -- "I thought you said I reminded you of *Dick*, Clark --"

"Please. Tell me," Clark says, and squeezes Tim's thighs.

"*Yes*. I -- I imagine that once I get my body back I'll go back to having a somewhat fraught schedule, but if you want to -- *oh* --"

Clark *spreads* Tim's thighs wide and starts licking them again, kissing and sucking gently --

That was definitely a *writhe*. "Clark --"

"I'm glad, Tim. I'm --" *Lick* "Many people only want me *once*, perhaps to be able to tell themselves that they've *had* me --" And the sucking kiss is close enough to Tim's vulva that the hairs prickle and Tim blushes again --

"Clark, I..." Tim shakes his head, *focuses*. "I can't imagine... or. Perhaps they think you're only... experimenting? Enjoying yourself?"

The kiss goes on and *on*, and Tim's blush gets deeper. Clark is -- he can feel himself *leaking*, and it feels *copious* --

"Clark, that's really -- uncomfortable, at the moment --"

Clark pulls back with a wet sound. "Was I hurting you?"

Tim shakes his head. "I -- um. Just. I need a shower."

Clark frowns. "You smell -- and taste -- wonderful, Tim."

"I..." Tim pushes a hand back through his hair -- his scalp is sweaty. "I've never quite reconciled with the -- up until now mostly theoretical -- *mess* of sex."

Clark's frown gets deeper for a moment -- and then he kneels up and *cups* Tim's vulva, gently but firmly.

"Oh -- I. All over your *hand* --"

"With any luck," he says, and raises an eyebrow. "Which is not to say that I'll try to *stop* you from showering, but... I was hoping you might wait for a little while."

And the image in Tim's mind, sudden and *completely* unbidden -- himself, in his own body, jerking off onto Clark's chest and watching Clark rub Tim's semen into his perfect skin. Tim swallows and *shudders*, because it feels like his clit had just *moved* itself for that clench --

"Oh. Tim...?"

"Ah... just." A lie would be incredibly comfortable. The *truth*... might get him more of this touch. His body can't decide if it's wonderful or awful, but if it's the former and he gives it up too soon -- Tim swallows again and forces himself to look into Clark's eyes. They're still blue with no hints of red Tim can see, and the expression in them speaks only of hopeful patience. "Certain possibilities not currently available to... us. Came to mind."

Clark's smile is wide and -- there's no better word for it, none that even come *close* -- sunny. "Oh, Tim. I do hope... well. I've thought about taking you in my mouth many, many times."

Tim nods a little helplessly. He is... entirely incapable of not thinking about it.

And Clark squeezes him, pets Tim's mound with his thumb --

Another clench, milder this time in terms of *force*, but it seems to go on for a significant fraction of forever, and it *takes* Tim, a little bit. A smaller orgasm, or perhaps an aftershock like before?

He can still think, which would seem to rule out the former, but it's --

Tim hears himself moaning and closes his eyes.

"I was hoping... would you come with me, Tim? To the Fortress?"

"Un -- nnh. You -- I could question the *timing* of that question, Clark."

Clark laughs quietly and *rubs* Tim with his palm, not pushing between his lips so much as making Tim *deeply* aware of the possibility of him doing just that.

"Oh -- *Clark* --"

"Bruce always said I was *deeply* manipulative," and Clark pats Tim's outer labia with just his fingertips, a light drumming that could very well change Tim's mind about having more sex.

Had he made *up* his mind? Tim reaches down and grips Clark's wrist, squeezing until Clark holds his hand *still*. Then he gives himself a moment to breathe, and *then* he opens his eyes.

Clark is smiling down at him from what seems to be a greater height than what is strictly necessary, given their sizes and positions. Oddly, there isn't very much *Superman* in that look -- and not much Clark, either.

Hmm. <<Kal-El exists on the borders of things.>>

"Oh... at times he's much closer than that. Will you?"

"Ah -- *shower* first."

"The hygiene facilities at the Fortress are quite --"

"Humor me," Tim says, and tugs on Clark's wrist until he moves his hand, and --

Tim can't *not* see the slick shine on his fingers in the instant before Clark pops them into his mouth. If anything, Clark's smile gets wider and *hotter* even though it's only in his eyes.

*Because* it's only in his eyes? Tim shakes his head and rolls off the bed, picking up his robe and heading to... his parents' bathroom. He really *needs* that hand-held.

He can feel Clark following him -- he can *hear* Clark following him. Light footsteps and heavy -- very, very heavy -- sucking and licking sounds. Pleased hums, deep breaths --

Tim pauses just inside the door of the bathroom and looks back over his shoulder. "I can't really -- I taste *that* good to you?"

Clark's eyes *laugh* at him for a moment before he pulls his fingers out of his mouth. "Your flavor mixed with my own, Tim? I could spend quite some time doing *just* this. Though I would prefer a more... direct approach."

Which is the only explanation Tim has for how he winds up backed against the wall of the shower, lifted off his feet while Clark first licks him clean and then just *licks*. Tim is holding the shower head and using it to spray himself everywhere he seems to be sweating --

Tim is holding the shower head and moaning, mostly, because Clark *was* being gentle, but clearly his senses are working more than well enough that he knew when to *stop* being gentle, and --

Clark *hums* against Tim's clit --

Clark shoves his tongue in, again and again --

Clark *moves* Tim until he's directly over Clark's face. He's holding Tim off his feet by the hips and he's --

Just --

There's a banging sound that Tim suspects is the shower head hitting the wall, and the noises Tim is making --

The *echoes* --

Tim gives up and goes with it, reaching down to get a grip on Clark's hair with both hands and holding on. He can't move *much*, but he can *grind* against Clark's face, and that makes Clark clutch him and lick harder, hum *louder* --

Orgasm, this time, feels like something small and desperately important *breaking* inside him, a soundless snap that makes Tim cough out all of his air at once and shudder, pointing his toes and *yanking* Clark's hair --

Clark *sucks* at him --

It's possible that he's punching Clark's head -- probable, judging by the pain in his hand and the fact that Clark is moving him again, holding him against the wall --

Kissing Tim's hand and licking the palm, sucking Tim's fingers -- and looking up to meet Tim's eyes.

Tim blinks and tries to focus through the steam, through that last hum of Clark's which seems to have made it into his *veins* --

Clark pulls Tim's fingers out of his mouth. "Perhaps you're clean enough, now...?"

Tim opens his mouth and nothing but noise comes out. He closes it again --

And Clark is standing, lifting and holding Tim close -- or rather, that's what Tim *assumes* is the sequence of events leading to him having his legs wrapped around Clark's waist and his arms around Clark's neck.

"Clark." Oh, good, language --

"Yes, Tim?"

"Ah... what are we going to *do* in the Fortress, exactly?"

"Oh, whatever you wish," Clark says, and smiles *warmly*. "I've wanted to show you my homes for a long time, now."

Homes. That --

"You have, after all, been so generous with your own."

"I -- didn't even get to offer you the fruit salad."

"Perhaps we can take it with us...?" And the question stays on Clark's face even as he lets go of Tim with one hand to reach back and turn the water off.

No, there really isn't any reason to *waste* it... Tim laughs and sighs. "Let me put on my clothes?"

"Of course," Clark says, and --

Tim is on his feet again, in his bedroom -- and dry. His skin doesn't even feel chafed. Tim shakes his head and stares at his hands -- he can't tell if his fingers are any longer without trying on his gauntlets, and doing that would just remind him too *much* of the patrol he's not taking tonight.

Clothes. Tim throws on a t-shirt and takes another look through his closet, just in *case* it had somehow grown another pair of pants that would fit him comfortably.

The decision to keep his workout clothes in the Cave had *seemed* like a good one -- Dana had walked in on Tim doing pushups in his boxers and had started making comments about sports and urging Tim to work out with *her*, and that just didn't fit Tim Drake, Idle Teenager -- but now...

God, what he wouldn't do for just *one* pair of sweat pants --

"Tim...? Is everything all right?"

Clark could *get* him those clothes, faster than Bruce could protest -- no, he's not going to use Clark that way. Tim sighs. "Just hating my brand new posterior at the moment."

"Oh, don't do *that*, Tim."

Tim snorts. He can *feel* Clark looking at the body area in question *vigorously*. "All right. Hand me those jeans?"

Clark -- takes a deep breath.

And when Tim turns around, Clark is *sniffing the crotch of his jeans*. "I -- *Jesus*, Clark --"

"Mm. You know, I think I agree with Dick. That particular tone of your voice is almost *goading*," Clark says, and *bites* the crotch of the jeans -- before handing the jeans over.

Tim snorts again. "Perhaps your AI could sterilize these while I'm there?"

"If it must," and Clark folds his hands in front of himself.

Tim puts the jeans on, looks around the room -- and admits that he's trying to see if the message light on his monitor is flashing while not looking directly at it. He looks, notes that it isn't, pops the comm into his ear and walks to Clark, lifting his arms around his neck. "Take me," he says, "to the Casbah."

"Perhaps later...?"

And there's a flash of red that Tim knows is Clark's cape, a feeling of closeness that seems impossibly *tight* --

And a loosening that seems to happen simultaneously with Tim's feet hitting the floor. *A* floor, with give to it --

He'd forgotten to put on *shoes*. Clark unwraps the cape and Tim looks down at his feet, bare and sinking in, just a little, to a floor so white it's hard to see where it ends and the walls begin. Or --

There's something of a curve to the walls. Tim looks up -- it's a dome, and there's a slight imperfection -- no, a line going right down the middle. "Is this the... hangar?"

"Yes. There are materials to build vehicles of the sort commonly used on Krypton before the destruction... I've considered introducing the schematics to humanity, but the engines require rather too much in the way of radioactive materials, and could be weaponized all too easily."

Tim winces and nods. "Not the sort of thing humanity is ready for, no," and Tim thinks about it -- curls his toes in, a little. The amount of give increases -- there's a sense that he'd be able to *clutch* at the floor with his feet if he put effort into it, but *only* with effort. As it is, the hold of the floor is more of a suggestion than an exclamation. "No running in the Fortress?"

Clark smiles. "Oh, the AI would be deeply disappointed in that sort of immature behavior from me."

From *him*. Hmm. Tim smiles back. "And the inferior organism currently invading?"

Clark spreads his hands. "Such things can only be expected from a species of children, Tim."

Tim laughs and walks carefully up onto his hands. He's a bit shaky with it, but he manages. Flipping back up onto his feet is easy -- especially since the floor suddenly has a lot *less* give. "Did you... do that?"

Clark shakes his head and holds up a finger --

"Human designate Timothy Drake. I've been directed to inform you that my scans have shown that such activities are not safe for the body you currently inhabit."

Tim raises an eyebrow. That voice -- simulated, but far more perfectly than anything Barbara has at her disposal -- had seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. But -- "Directed...?"

"To be more accurate," Clark says, "I suggested it voice its concerns to you, rather than subvocalizing."

"Well... the latter is rather impolite," Tim says, and smoothes his t-shirt down over his -- hips. "'Currently inhabit,' AI?"

"I have been programmed with information about you, Timothy Drake. While you are currently anatomically female, a scan of your DNA proved your identity beyond doubt," it says, and seems somewhat smug about it.

Well... "Can you... correct me?"

"I have the ability to surgically restore you to a male form with reasonable similarities to your original body, but you would not continue growing to an adult form."

Tim winces. "I see."

"Additionally, your sexual functionality has a forty three point seven two percent chance of being permanently impaired. Do you wish the surgery to be done now, Kal-El?"

"Ah -- I feel safe in answering a resounding 'no' on Tim's behalf," Clark says, and actually raises an eyebrow at Tim.

"Yes, 'no' is the correct answer. Presumably this is why you haven't offered *this* technology to humanity, Clark...?"

Clark nods --

"Kal-El has instructed me to find ways to 'work around' the pathetic lack of redundancies in the human body in this respect, Tim Drake. You have neither the right nor the place to stand in judgment."

Tim blinks. "I was doing nothing of the kind."

Abruptly, there's a light -- faintly blue -- coming up through the floor and engulfing him. He *thinks* about asking Clark for an explanation --

"AI. Please explain what you're doing?"

A pause --

<<Do so,>> Clark says.

"I am taking a full scan of what you would refer to as your 'vitals,' Timothy Drake, both to determine whether or not you were being truthful and to more fully understand your body. I have not been programmed for the uses and effects of what you know as 'magic.'"

Tim nods. "Perhaps I should contact Bruce to let him know that --"

"Ah --"

"Timothy Drake. If you had considered more deeply before speaking, you would know that Kal-El had already instructed me to send my findings directly to the human designated Bruce Wayne."

Well... of course. Tim snorts and shakes his head. <<I would know if prejudice and rudeness have also been taught to you. I do now stand in judgment.>>

Clark laughs quietly and walks to Tim, caressing his face with two fingers and lifting his chin. "Please, don't blame me for this."

Tim smiles ruefully --

<<Your command of the Language commends you, Timothy Drake. While you remain both primitive and animal, it is clear that Kal-El has chosen the worthiest available... human.>>

<<Your approval is an irrelevancy, AI. I would be left alone with the one who has become my lover.>>

Clark raises both eyebrows and smiles more widely. <<You will be informed if you are needed, monitor-servant.>>

<<I obey, Kal-El,>> and there's just the slightest hint of stress on 'Kal-El,' the *suggestion* that the comma wasn't there, at all... the blue light disappears.

Tim shakes his head again -- and then lets his cheek rest against Clark's palm. "Your biological parents must have been fascinating people."

"By all accounts, yes. But this AI was a standard model for my people, in use all over the planet," Clark says, and gestures toward a door which absolutely wasn't there before.

Tim walks beside Clark. "Available across social strata?"

"Not this *particular* model. My family was quite wealthy, my mother's family in particular both wealthy and well-known. It would've been unheard of for them to use a lesser model."

Tim nods. "Keeping up with the... I'm afraid I don't know a suitably common Kryptonian surname."

"Your point is well-taken, just the same," Clark says, and rests his fingertips against the door.

It opens on a world of blue -- no, there are purples blending and bleeding into the rest, here and there. Tim pauses to let his eyes adjust... "A sitting area?"

"Rather pointedly so," Clark says, and the smile on his face is private and sharp. "When last I was here, this was a bedroom."

"So close to the hangar?"

"The hangar itself was smaller. There was... hmm. Something of a museum between the two areas..." <<Clear the upper view, twenty-eight percent.>>

Brightness and shifting shadows -- it's winter, here, and when Tim looks up there's the sort of storm which would be hazardous to nearly all life on earth. "Beautiful. And intimidating," Tim says --

Clark frowns. "Too much?"

Clark -- is clearly reacting to the *degree* of intimidation he must sense Tim feeling. Tim smiles at Clark. "It'll take some getting used to. But I like it."

A questioning eyebrow --

Tim rests his hand on Clark's arm. "*Let* me get used to it," he says, and moves to something which looks like a couch designed for lounging. He makes a point of lying on it -- "Oh. What --"

"It's adjusting to your weight and the curvature of your spine," Clark says, and pushes another of the couches closer to Tim's before lying on his side. "The AI has very little faith in the resiliency of the human form."

"We lack those useful redundancies, yes," Tim says, and carefully brings one knee up to plant his foot -- the couch shifts beneath him again, just slightly slower than his own movements. "It's not... uncomfortable. Per se."

"Mm. The AI is seething at being damned with faint praise," and Clark smiles as he strokes the outside of Tim's thigh.

"It's communicating with you?"

"Oh, no, it won't do that unless there's an emergency of some sort. I just *know* it."

Tim smiles ruefully. "Have I made a distressingly powerful enemy?"

"Oh, on the contrary," Clark says, and -- <<Present meal fifty-three point two.>> "The AI will now pore over all information I've given it about you -- and all information it can glean from the internet -- looking for clues as to how best to impress you with its fundamental superiority until such time as you come to abase yourself before it. Or me. It will, I think, settle for me."

Tim snorts. "You *think*? Has there been very much abasement here, Clark?"

Clark's smile is fond and distant with memory. "Ah... rather the opposite of the sort it would prefer, I fear."

The image in Tim's mind, perhaps predictably, isn't an image so much as it's the very clear -- and profound -- memory of Clark holding Tim in a straddle of his face. "Mm. You're a disappointment to the AI?"

Clark turns his smile on Tim, and it becomes rather *filthily* hopeful -- "Whenever possible, Tim."

Tim laughs and turns on his side to face Clark, forcing himself not to tense *too* much for the couch's adjustments --

Clark nods --

And something like a tree stump grows up between the couches, narrow enough to fit between them and broadening once it's taller than the couches. The top of the 'stump' irises open and two large plates appear, steaming --

No, that's rather more of a fog. Whatever's on the plate -- it seems to be various fruits -- must be quite cold.

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"I forgot the fruit salad, but... I store foods in stasis for when I wish to spend significant amounts of time here."

Tim recognizes a plum, some variety of apple which isn't readily familiar, various species of sliced melon, a healthy selection of berries... Tim shakes his head and smiles. "Now I feel guilty for offering you my sad little fruit salad."

"I'm sure the AI would feel that was a good start," Clark says, and picks up a handful of blueberries. "Remember -- as a member of an inferior species, there's *nothing* you could offer me which would be worthy of my essential greatness."

"Mm. I'll keep that in mind," Tim says, and goes for a strawberry which is large and red enough to star in a cereal commercial.

"Oh, please do. I look forward to you presenting your abject apologies for daring to assault me with your presence."

And really... Tim turns the strawberry in his fingers and thinks about it. What Clark is *really* saying is that he'll be both hurt and offended if Tim does *anything* along the lines of showing a natural -- *entirely* natural, really -- inclination toward... well. Apologizing for not being who Clark *really* wants.

Giving Clark room to back *away* from him.

Being... shy.

Tim shakes his head again and takes a bite. The *outside* of it is still cool, but the inside is room temperature, which makes Tim want to examine Clark's stasis machinery very closely. The strawberry is, of course, perfectly sweet -- the very apotheosis of strawberry goodness -- and it makes Tim wonder, idly, what the world would be like if Clark hadn't been raised on a small American farm.

What would a city-bred Clark treasure? Would the earth -- and its fruits of various sorts -- still be more important to Clark than many other things? What sort of *values* would Clark have developed from a different pair of parents?

A single mother?

A father like Jason Todd's?

Tim shivers and decides to put those thoughts *firmly* aside --

"Tim...?"

Except, of course, that Tim is lounging in the *Fortress* next to *Superman* -- hmm. "Ah... do you think the AI's choice of *how* to present the food was pointed?"

"Oh," Clark says, and smiles. "You're already so well-acquainted with each other. I feel I could leave you alone together with confidence."

Tim snorts and -- blushes. *Because* the distraction had worked to a certain extent and -- possibly too much Clark is dangerous for Bats?

"Tim, if there's something... if you *are* uncomfortable here, I would understand entirely."

"I..." Tim shakes his head. "I'm wondering how your wife felt when Superman first agreed to grant an interview to her."

Another distant and fond look -- "Replete, judging by her scent. But then, I spent quite a bit of time smelling her in those days, and it's possible that I was ignoring some other cues and clues in my pleasure at *her* pleasure."

And that... Tim smiles. "Love at first... scent?"

"Oh, it took *minutes* for me to fall in love with her, Tim. She wore such terrible *perfume* in those days."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "*That's* surprising --"

"Well, to be fair it was quite an expensive scent, and remains popular among women Lois' age. It smelled rather too much like a funeral to *me*, though."

"I... never intend to *wear* perfume, but --"

"Ah -- 'Gladly,'" Clark says, and takes a chunk of melon.

"Noted," Tim says, and considers adding it to a report on Clark... that he has no intention of actually writing. "I imagine your sense of smell must be something of a trial to you on a regular basis."

"There are times when I come here *solely* to be able to control -- to a certain extent -- what I can smell," and Clark looks up and frowns. "Hm. The dome is icing up more quickly than I thought it would. Is it still bright enough for you, Tim?"

Tim hadn't really noticed it getting darker, but now that he looks around... yes, the edges of the room are shrouded in shadow that doesn't shift in any way Tim's able to sense. Here, near the center, there's still that deeply *blue* chiaroscuro, but it is somewhat darker. "I'm... still not uncomfortable."

Clark raises an eyebrow. "What you are... you're trying very, very hard not to be *burdensome*, Tim. I can't say I don't understand the impulse, but I thought we'd moved farther than that...?"

Certainly, they'd *moved*... Tim laughs softly. "All right, I'm overwhelmed. The Robin in me is telling me to stay strong and sure and *Bat*. The Tim in me is wondering where I *fit*."

"*Here*," Clark says, and whispers -- the 'trunk' between them splits enough that Clark can reach across and cup Tim's shoulder. "Or... anywhere I am. I would have you..." Clark frowns and shakes his head. "Is there anything I could do to help you relax?"

Tim raises an eyebrow.

Clark raises one right back. "You're *not* sexually aroused."

"Ah... *have* you made love to other humans here?"

"The only person I've made love to here is Dick," Clark says, and strokes Tim's face with his fingertips. "Before you ask, Lois has never been interested as my wife, as opposed to as an investigative reporter."

"She... makes those sorts of distinctions?"

"Easily and often. I..." Clark sits up and whispers again, a sibilant hiss of sound, and Tim's couch moves toward Clark's own. The 'stumps' sort of spin themselves toward the ends of the couches where they're resting their heads, merge *with* the couches --

When all is said and done, Clark is beside him and the fruit is within easy reach in three bowls above their heads.

"Tim... am I being too... forward? Before you laugh, you should know that the first time *I* made love, I spent many hours of subjective time flying around with a very silly expression on my face. I do realize that I've given you no time whatsoever, but you seemed... all right?"

Tim really, *really* needs to make Clark stop worrying about him. It's just that he's not going to get *there* without being honest, and yes, he's decided. Clark should probably only be taken in *small* doses, lest -- "I think I'm starting to feel somewhat *detached* from myself, Clark. I don't usually spend this much time with..."

"A relative stranger?"

"Ah... *anyone*," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. "Not without there being work to do, some training goal to achieve, some..." Tim gestures, helplessly --

Clark catches Tim's hand and kisses the fingertips. "You have always been a very practical young man."

"I'm worried -- a part of me is *very* worried about being deconditioned."

"You haven't been idle for even a *day*, Tim --"

"I'm... ah. I was talking about emotional deconditioning," Tim says, and smiles ruefully at the hand engulfing his own. "I'm enjoying being with you a great deal, to the point where the little voice inside me listing the things which need to be done when I'm alone again has gone rather disturbingly *quiet*."

"Leaving you with...?"

Tim nods. "Leaving me with only..." <<The pleasures and comforts of our solitude.>>

Clark kisses Tim's fingertips again. "And that's disturbing?"

"You have a life separate from my own --"

"As you have a life separate from *mine*, Tim --"

"I'm not. I'm not jealous," Tim says, and sits up. "I'm *really* not jealous. There's nothing I could -- I would never *want* to take you away from either your responsibilities or your non-Tim-specific pleasures. It's only that this definition of solitude is new, and exciting, and against the grain of my entire *existence*."

Clark frowns again and squeezes Tim's hand. "You... have a girlfriend, and Dick has surely been a part of your life. There are things you've shared with them, parts of you which have been theirs, as there are parts of them which have been *yours* --"

Tim nods. "Yes, of course, and that's -- oh." Tim laughs. "Of *course* you didn't mention Bruce."

Clark raises an eyebrow. "Should I have?"

Yes. "Well... no. I --" *Yes* --

"Tim. We haven't really... we haven't *talked* about your relationship with Bruce, and I've been making certain assumptions that you're aware of. Have I been wrong?"

No. *Yes* -- "I. I had been going on the assumption that we -- that Bruce and I had reached a point in our relationship where we could be friends as well as *better* partners to each other. And I don't know whether... I think I was wrong to make that assumption, but a part of me is rejecting that utterly. *Stridently*," Tim says, and tugs until Clark lets go of his hand and Tim can sit up tailor-style.

Clark frowns a little more and mimics him. "He cares about you very deeply, Tim."

"I -- I know that. Sometimes," and Tim shakes his head. "The things he does with me, the way he chooses to *do* them... I know he *respects* me a great deal. I never doubt *that*."

"But... everything else?"

*Everything* else. That sounds... exactly like what it is. "Bruce was younger when Dick was Robin, and he was very close to Jason --"

"Oh, yes," Clark says, raising his eyebrows in a *very* clear invitation to know...

To know what Tim has *always* known about Bruce and Jason, without ever having asked anyone. Getting confirmation *this* way... Tim swallows and crosses his arms under his breasts, feeling their weight in a bizarre sort of *comfort* -- why, yes, he *is* still in this body, and nothing stranger has happened to him *yet*. Tim laughs quietly. "I -- anyway. He didn't ask to have me in his life, or to train me. I pushed myself *into* his world with Dick's help, and then I was just *there*."

"And you believe he resents you for that?"

"I..." Put that way, it makes Bruce sound so *petty*. And -- while Tim can go with the idea that Bruce isn't always the kindest and most mature and open man in the world, that... Tim frowns. "I intruded on his grief, Clark."

"Someone had to," and Clark rests his hand on Tim's knee. "The way he was, then... no one could reach him. Bruce *hurt* Dick when he tried, and me... he wouldn't talk to *me*, at all. Barbara was working to heal from her terrible injury, and Alfred -- going by what Dick told me -- was barely able to convince Bruce to *eat* from time to time."

Batman needs -- Tim squeezes himself a little tighter -- stops. "I tried... I tried to get Dick to go back to him. I didn't know how badly that had gone --"

"Dick told me all about it," Clark says, and squeezes Tim's knee. "You scandalized him more than a little."

"I was --"

"You were *there*, Tim, when you were needed. And perhaps Bruce wouldn't be Bruce if that hadn't hurt him to some extent --"

Tim winces --

"Tim. You were *needed*. Nothing else had worked, and we were all -- the League had become afraid of what Bruce would do."

"I -- oh." Had he really never considered what the other heroes were thinking about Bruce at that time? Bruce was so *violent*, so brutal and reckless and -- almost heedless. "He needed *a* Robin, Clark, yes, but --"

"It didn't have to be you?" Clark smiles gently. "Perhaps not. But there are many, many people in this world who are glad it *was* you. And Bruce is one of them."

And *that* -- Tim unfolds his arms and scrubs at his face with his hands. It's dry, of course, but he really wants to *know* what expression he's wearing, wants to control it a little -- he moves his hands and smiles at Clark. "It's easier to live in my -- generally quite good -- self-esteem when I'm wearing Robin."

Clark's smile turns rueful. "So little *touches* you then, Tim."

That's the point -- no. Yes. No -- "I've never gotten to talk to Steph about my relationship with Bruce. Too many secrets she's not allowed to know, and she has always... she's never looked very *deeply* into Tim Drake's life, because *she* doesn't want to know."

"No? Secrets like that can be very tempting."

"Steph is the most level-headed person I know. She's not a dreamer like Bruce or an idealist like Dick or a romantic like... me."

Clark laughs. "Bruce a... dreamer? I. I suppose...?"

Tim blushes, but -- "Think about it, Clark. He took a vow when he was *eight years old* to eradicate crime, and lives his life as though that were *possible*, never wavering, never questioning --"

"I'd say he questions a great *deal*, Tim --"

"Never the core of what he does. Not even when Jason -- when he lost Jason. He still kept going out there, *trying* to be the person he created, the *hero* he created..." Tim shakes his head. "Sometimes I want, more than anything else, to be able to see the world Bruce sees in his dreams, to be able to... um."

"Share that with him?"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut for a moment and clenches his hands together to keep them from covering his face again. Just -- *let* Clark see this, and everything else, too --

"You love him," Clark says, softly.

"Of *course* I --" Tim squeezes his hands together more tightly -- and is not in the least surprised when Clark gently tugs them apart and holds them in his warm, smooth -- perfection. Tim opens his eyes again, and Clark's expression is rueful and a little sad. "Clark?"

Clark shakes his head and squeezes Tim's hands. "Tell me about romance, Tim...?"

Tim frowns. "That's not... I don't think that was what you were thinking."

"That's not important, right now --"

"*Clark*, I -- I'm kind of baring my *soul* here, and -- um." Tim bites his lip. His voice was a little too -- fervent, there. Emotional. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean --"

"You're beautiful, Tim. And a part of me wonders what it would be like to earn that sort of love from someone like you."

Or... Dick. That... Tim nods and takes a deep breath, and turns his hands so he can squeeze Clark's own.

It makes Clark smile at him and lean in, slowly and almost *cautiously* --

Tim closes his eyes and leans in, as well. The kiss is soft and slow, deeper by increments until Tim is sucking lightly on Clark's tongue as he thrusts, over and over --

As Tim feels himself blushing harder and trying for more, a harder kiss, something -- something real and something he can *have*, if only for as long as this lasts, this interlude of strange shadows and inhuman warmth --

And something inside him seems to swell and heat to answer Clark, or to deepen the *experience* of this kiss, the sweetness and *power* of it --

Power to change him? Does he want that? And a part of him answers 'it's *Superman*,' and laughs derisively at the rest, but the *rest* wants him to know that it's Clark, loving and open and cautious only in the ways that Tim would never guess at, but still so *capable* of... handling him?

Holding him?

Clark strokes up Tim's arms to his shoulders, squeezing them gently before continuing up Tim's throat to his cheeks. He cups Tim there and moans, and the swelling thing inside Tim *pulses*, stiffening Tim's nipples and making him feel both open and thoroughly reminded of having been full.

The warmth is an impossible thing, and a part of Tim wants the rest to know that it *is* warm in here, that he would be much more comfortable naked, exposed to both the disapproval of the AI and the open, honest *adoration* of Clark. He could -- Tim can *have* this, for more than just a moment, for more than just the time it will take for Bruce to discover what magic-user had changed him --

Clark moans again and Tim shivers, pushing his arms between Clark's so he can wrap his arms around Clark's neck, so he can *hold* --

"Oh, Tim. There's so much --"

And the next thing Tim is aware of is that he's straddling Clark's lap with Clark holding him close with one hand pressed to the center of Tim's back and the other cupping his ass, stroking Tim through the jeans --

Tim pulls out of the kiss, shaking his head --

"Tim...?"

"Naked. I -- please?"

Clark's smile is bright and *so* warm, so perfect and *dazzling* --

And more than distracting enough that Tim has no idea what movements were involved in Clark stripping both of them, save that it ends with Clark holding Tim up by Tim's waist. Clark is looking up at him and still smiling --

<<I would have you *happy*, fine one.>>

"I think I can manage that. I --" <<The love I made was to *you*.>>

<<A precious thing, and new...>> Clark pulls Tim close and kisses his abdomen, kisses down to Tim's mound and nuzzles there, breathes -- "I don't regret not giving you enough time for *soap*, Tim."

Tim laughs and reaches down, pushes his fingers into Clark's hair and tugs him closer still --

Clark nuzzles *hard*, hard enough to make Tim's clit question and complain about the lack of direct attention --

Tim moans -- and Clark lets himself fall back, holding Tim steady until Tim can get his knees under himself --

Clark *licks*, rearing up, and he's not *pulling* on Tim's waist, but...

But. Tim lowers himself down until he can feel the bridge of Clark's nose against his clit, feel Clark nuzzle more, move until he's kissing Tim's urethra, pushing at it with his tongue -- "Nngh -- that feels exactly -- of course you *know* -- oh, Clark --"

Clark says *something*, but Tim can only register it as hot breath and vibration, and he's already working his *hips* --

"Oh. Clark -- is this *okay*?"

Clark *nods*, dragging his face against -- back and *forth*, *slowly* --

"Oh -- okay, I believe you -- unh. *Fuck* --"

Clark's tongue, *deep* inside, and it's hard and slick and Tim feels himself heating up all over, feels himself flushing to the point where his blush is *irrelevant*.

"Clark. Oh -- I'm not sure what I *want*, exactly --"

Another nod -- no, a *drag*, and Clark's lips are against Tim's clit, kissing and sucking and kissing again, *again* --

Tim's already pulling Clark's *hair* -- "You. You can do *that*," Tim says, laughing and shivering --

Clark hums and cups Tim's hips, lifts Tim *slightly* and holds him still, and his tongue --

So hard and so --

He's spelling *something* out, and a part of Tim wants to be coherent enough to figure it out -- it's not *very* fast -- but --

It's like a drum in him, something tight and attached to every sensitive part of his body, and every poke and *slap* of Clark's tongue makes Tim shudder and gasp, pull on Clark's hair *harder* --

Oh, he's *trying* to move his hips, but Clark won't let him --

Clark loosens his grip and Tim can't keep himself from *thrusting* against Clark's face *twice* -- he stops himself --

Clark *sucks* Tim's clit and Tim feels a quake rumble through him, something -- it feels like his clit is getting bigger, like his vagina is *wide* open -- "Oh *God* --"

A hum --

"*Please* --"

And Clark nods and nuzzles, shifts -- stabs *inside* with his tongue, does it *fast* and Tim is grunting rhythmically, *grinding* against Clark's face --

He must be making Clark's cheeks so *wet*. His -- his *forehead* --

And Tim realizes that he's shaking his head *while* pumping against Clark's face. He -- if he had his own *body* --

Clark has *wanted* to go down on him, to. He hadn't even *known* Tim, in more than just the sounds Tim made, the way Robin worked --

*Suck*, and Tim lets go of Clark's hair with one hand and brings it to his mouth, bites down and *shouts* because he can't -- they're in the *Fortress*, and every thing he does is being recorded and analyzed. Salt from his sweat is being filtered out of the air, the doubled couch beneath him is soaking up everything Clark *misses* --

Oh --

Clark's fucking him with his tongue again, forcing his way in against the way Tim is clenching -- he doesn't *want* to clench, but he can't make his body listen. It feels too *good* to be a little tight for this, and --

Kissed, over and over, and Clark is arching his tongue a little, pressing --

That *spot* --

Tim can't --

He's shouting around his own fist again, he's --

Clark's *vibrating* his tongue there and Tim feels himself *spasm*, clench *harder*, open --

Clench --

"*Clark* --"

*Pressure*, and the thing inside him which does and doesn't seem to be part of his actual genitals, that spreading heat and *perfect* tension, as though if Tim found just the *right* way to flex his arms, it would just drive him higher. Just -- his whole *body* is part of this, and he can't change that, can't do anything but take it --

Take *Clark*, and of course Clark is fast enough -- *good* enough -- to follow the spastic motions of Tim's hips, to *force* Tim to take this pleasure until he --

Shouting more, biting harder -- no, he wants both hands in Clark's hair, wants to *mark* this place with himself --

So blue, so --

Tim tilts his head back and there's a cracked mosaic of ice across the entire dome, and the light coming through it is crazed, random --

He shoves his hand into Clark's hair, forces it to grip despite the shaking and *shoves* himself against Clark's face. He feels --

He's *close*, and he wants more of *something*, and surely he should be experienced *enough* in this body to know what it is, to be able to understand the desire more deeply than just knowing it's *more* --

Clark slips his tongue *out* --

"Nnh -- no, *please* --"

Clark moans and shoves it back *in*, stroking Tim's hips in a motion that's probably meant to be soothing, but which just makes Tim feel too small, too -- *something*.

"Please, Clark. I -- I need *more*, or -- *oh* --"

Clark has two fingers in Tim's cleft, Clark is *rubbing* against Tim's hole, and it's a question, but it's also just *good*. That sensitivity, that *possibility*, and what would it be like if Clark fucked him *that* way with more than just his fingers?

The pain would be *intense*, absolutely -- "Yes, *please*," Tim says, and breathes, *waits* --

Motion out of the corner of his eye -- the bed is growing some sort of platform, another bowl?

Tim hears himself making a questioning noise, and -- the bowl is filling itself with some sort of clear liquid. "That -- lubricant?"

Clark *nods* and that feels *wonderful*, but --

"How did you *ask* for it?"

And Clark taps his fingers against Tim's hip -- Morse. Physical communication, all right. That makes perfect sense, really, and Tim is gasping on his own laughter, *wanting* --

And wanting more at the sight of Clark dipping his fingers into the small bowl, rubbing them together just a little too fast for Tim to be able to notice anything but the fingers *moving* --

And then those fingers are in his cleft again, warmer than Tim's body, warmer than Clark's *tongue*, but still comfortable, still --

"In me, Clark, please, I --" Tim swallows and shivers, and shivers again at the feel of Clark almost *painting* his hole with slickness, so *slowly* -- "Please, Clark, you... oh, God, I *miss* the feeling already --"

Clark moans against Tim and speeds his tongue, *takes* Tim that way --

"Not enough. Not -- you *have* lube -- oh, *God*, *yes* --"

In him with *both* fingers, and the stretch is *perfect*, hard and sweet, and Tim's licking his lips and moaning, pushing back to try to get Clark *deeper* --

"So. So good. God, I've wanted -- *please*, Clark --"

And Clark *twists* his fingers, making Tim clench and try to rise up on his knees -- except that staying down means that *tongue* gets deeper --

"Just -- I have to..." Tim *moves*, careful and slow, trying to keep Clark as deep within him as he can while still encouraging more, still -- no, it's not about encouragement at all. He *has* to move, and he just needs --

Clark pushes in further with his fingers, making Tim pant and lick his lips again, clench hard around Clark's tongue --

"Oh -- oh, Clark, that feels -- *fuck* me --"

And Clark moans again and pulls his fingers most of the way out, and the slickness, the drag -- he's holding his tongue *still* --

And then he pushes back in and slips his tongue *out* --

Out and *in* --

"Oh God, oh -- "

The rhythm --

Tim can't *move*, can't risk altering Clark's rhythm even a *little*. His whole body is shuddering and his hands are *buried* in Clark's hair, yanking and shaking -- "Please don't stop, please don't *stop* --"

And Clark goes *faster*, making the burn come back, the sense of himself as something open, available --

"Need -- need this -- oh, *please* --"

Harder. *Better*, and Tim throws his head back again, and for a moment it seems like the chiaroscuro is directly connected to what Clark's doing, what Tim is *feeling*. Every moment of brightness is another flare from within him, every darkness another clench, or --

Maybe the other way around --

Maybe --

And this time the flare blanks everything out, makes --

Tim comes back to himself while he's still shouting and realizes that he *hadn't* come, that Clark is still *taking* him, still --

"*Clark* --"

*Faster*, and now Tim's shuddering so hard the noises come out broken, rough. He's tensed and *aching* with it, wanting --

He clenches again, all over, and Clark doesn't *stop*, and Tim can't release the pressure, can't stop trying to *hold* Clark inside himself, his tongue and his fingers, his --

Oh, he *wants*, and he's losing it, he's --

*Release*, and there's so much light, so -- he's almost blinded with it, lost in the blue, shouting and working his hips and he can't stop, he can't --

Clark can't *stop*, and every moment feels like another chance to lose that perfect rhythm, but Tim is helpless, needy and small and *greedy* --

The light --

The *pleasure*, and Tim comes back to himself in shuddery flashes:

The feel of his hands in Clark's hair --

The colors like being underwater in some ridiculously deep and clean pool --

The warmth, inside and out, everywhere until Tim is drowning under it --

Clark slowing *down*, one thrust at a time until he's *only* holding himself in Tim.

Tim pants and shudders *more* -- and realizes that the light is due to the fact that, at *some* point, Clark had ordered the AI to de-ice the dome. He hadn't actually become Danae to Clark's Zeus. Tim laughs and kneels up, moaning at the loss of Clark's tongue --

"Oh, are you sure you want to stop, Tim...?"

Meaning -- Clark doesn't really want to stop, at all. "I'm sure I want to stop *that*. For... um. The moment."

Do Wonder Woman's gods punish blasphemy beyond the bounds of Themyscira? Tim doesn't particularly want to find *out*. And Clark is breathing on him, hot and wonderful and --

He absolutely hadn't been breathing that whole time. Tim shakes his head. "Could you... ah... come up here? Possibly without pulling --"

And Clark is right there, thighs holding *Tim's* thighs apart. His face is *shiny* with Tim's fluids, and his smile is warm and hopeful.

And his penis is hard and pleasantly *hot* against Tim's abdomen. Mm. Tim wraps his hands around it and squeezes --

"Oh, Tim. Stroke me?"

Tim smiles. "Is the AI scandalized that you phrased that as a question?"

"There are times when it refuses to speak to me entirely," Clark says, and narrows his eyes in a smile. "It usually means I'm doing *something* right."

"Mm. You're tempting me to try D/s activities for the sake of Fortress-specific peace," Tim says, sliding his hands down to the base and twining them together *tightly* --

"For only that reason, Tim...?"

An honest question, with a great deal of open speculation, but... "I imagine you get rather a lot of people who only want to be... overwhelmed."

Clark raises an eyebrow in distinct acknowledgment of what had most assuredly been an aversion on Tim's part.

"You..." Tim squeezes and watches Clark's eyes narrow again. It's not a smile, this time, and it makes Tim clench -- moan and push back against Clark's hand --

"I can't tell you how happy it makes me that you find so many different sexual choices pleasing, Tim."

"This body is rather... willing. It's almost enough to make me forgive it for existing."

Clark laughs and pushes up into Tim's hands, moans and sighs -- "It's a beautiful body. Both strong and somewhat lush --"

"I -- am glad you appreciate it," Tim says, frowning and stroking a little --

Clark stops Tim's hands with his free one. "Tim. Would you forgive me for finding it easy to see *you* in all your new curves? You have so many scars, so much lean, strong muscle..."

"I --" Tim feels himself blushing. "I think I'd be more comfortable with that sort of compliment if you... if the two of us had..."

"If we had made love while you were physically male. I do understand," Clark says, squeezing Tim's hands. "I apologize."

"You -- really don't have to. I *know* this body is attractive --"

"A pretty doll -- without you to inhabit it, Tim," and Clark *crooks* his fingers --

Tim pants and looks down between them, watches a bead of pre-come form at the tip of Clark's penis, licks his lips and wants -- "Clark..."

"A part of me... if I only touched you here, would I be able to keep you comfortable and *sure* for longer periods of time...?"

Tim closes his eyes -- no. It's an *important* question for two people embarking -- thoroughly -- on a sexual relationship. Tim opens his eyes and looks up. "It's -- not the same posterior."

"It's really quite close, Tim. There's a little extra fat --"

Tim winces --

"And I'm really curious as to where that *came* from -- ah. So *body* conscious  --" Clark shakes his head. "Did you ever even *have* puppy fat, Tim?"

"My cheeks. Um -- it was embarrassing."

"Yes, being a *child* often is," Clark says, chiding and almost angry -- "Sometimes when I think of Bruce I only want to lock him away somewhere until he apologizes to *all* of you for being so -- so *damned* obsessed with his narrow ideals of perfection --"

"Clark, you -- it's not like he ever --"

"He *never* praised you --"

"That's not true," Tim says, shifting and kneeling up -- biting back the gasp at the change in position. "I -- he's told me that he's proud of me, that I've reached goals --"

And Clark pushes his free hand into Tim's hair and *pulls* Tim's head back. It's not painful, but it's very --

It's rather *insistent*, and Tim raises an eyebrow --

"He's never told you, not once, that if you weren't already exceptional in *every* way he never would've taken you *on*. And please, Tim, *think* before you protest that. Imagine your place being taken by -- oh, one of your classmates. A young man or woman you've met on the *street* --"

"Jason was --"

"Powerful. Brash and brave beyond reason. Determined, always. *Beautiful*," Clark says and searches Tim's face -- no, he's thinking, *remembering* -- "Bruce took one look at him and *needed*. He told me that, once, in an effort to explain what had happened, *why* he had a new partner..." Clark smiles ruefully and *pets* Tim's hair. "A part of you will never be able to look past the fact that you weren't chosen."

"I don't think..." Tim shakes his head. "That's not so *strange*, Clark --"

"And how would Bruce have *known* to choose you, Tim? You *hid* from him, on the streets and at those awful, awful parties -- Bruce *also* told me, once, that once he took you in, he couldn't stop thinking of your *eyes* on him, couldn't help remembering the quiet boy --"

"But he didn't *see* me, at the time --"

"And, perhaps, you resent *him* for that...?"

Oh. He --

Clark is still petting Tim's hair, looking deep into Tim's eyes -- not searching so much as waiting, patiently.

Tim swallows and closes his eyes, just for a moment --

And Clark is kissing him. It's not a sexual kiss, at all, or -- his body isn't registering it as such. It's soft and *dry*, if not quite close-mouthed, and it wanders from Tim's mouth to his cheeks, to his forehead and eyelids --

Tim still has his hands wrapped around Clark's *penis*, but somehow that's just not enough to distract Clark from his current mission of acclimation... and acclamation. Tim laughs quietly and opens his eyes.

Clark kisses his temple one last time and pulls back. He's frowning again, and now he *is* searching, and Tim just --

"I don't know what I can offer you, Clark --"

"Your happiness." <<Our solitude.>>

"I --" <<I would not breach -->> "Perhaps we've talked too much about Bruce," Tim says, and tilts his head forward again, rolls his head on his neck. "Things always seem to get extra stressful when I try to talk to Dick about Bruce --"

"I am *not* Dick. I... love so twined with fear, with doubt and *shame*..." Clark shakes his head. "I'm *angry* with Bruce --"

"Please don't be --"

"Tim," Clark says, and massages Tim's neck, kisses his forehead again. "I know that he has never *meant* to cause such pain in you, in either of you --"

"Then perhaps you should be angry at *us*. Me."

<<You ask too much,>> and Clark smiles ruefully. "The fact that I see your beauty and *covet* does *not* mean I can't see your youth, Tim."

And *that*... "I. I have to admit I was wondering. A bit."

"Look at me?"

Tim does, and Clark's smile is making the corners of his eyes crinkle. It makes Tim think of Dick, and the *deep* smile lines he already has. Clark is much the same, though the lines seem unreal on his features. Or --

What Tim knows about the *feel* of Clark's skin makes them seem unreal. Tim lets go of Clark's penis with one hand --

Clark shivers, once --

Tim reaches up to touch Clark's face and gets his palm kissed -- licked.

"Clark... I. I don't, particularly, want to fight with you. And -- Bruce isn't *here*."

Clark nods and turns his face away from Tim's hand. "I don't want to fight with you, either, Tim, but... I think I *must* disagree with the latter statement."

And Tim is blushing again -- he doesn't *have* to look away. "He was -- he has been the most important person in my life. My mentor, my teacher -- he gave me a *purpose*, and a mission --"

"Romance, Tim...?"

"I -- I know it's silly and immature, but -- he's the dark knight, and I'm his *squire*. I'm *deeply* aware of the quixotic nature of all of it, but that doesn't stop it from being beautiful and true. *True*, with a capital T. It's *important*, more than anything else. For Gotham and for the *world*. It's... it's *beautiful*, and I get to be a part of it, so long as I try my hardest, do my *best* --"

"It... fills you?"

Tim -- doesn't look *down*. Clark's expression is both hopeful and earnest, sincerely *wanting* -- "There's... I've often thought that there was something missing in me, something that other people have and never even think about. I *told* you about being a cipher when I was younger --"

"And while I doubt that *highly*, I'm willing to accept your judgment on the matter, because I wasn't *there* for you..."

For him. *For* him -- no, he's focusing now. Tim licks his lips and strokes Clark's cheek, smooth and warm, hairless because of -- as one of Bruce's reports states -- a systematic program of Clark using his heat vision to burn out the follicles, one by one. "I... I never had the thing that let me be an individual without thinking about it, but this, to have a place in Bruce's greater story..."

"His... mythos?"

Tim nods and *rubs* Clark's cheek -- "It's -- of *course* he's larger than life. He may be just another man to you --"

"No, not that," Clark says, smiling gently. "Never that."

"Then..." Tim swallows. "You understand? He *is* a man, under everything else. With a man's passions and failings and dreams, but he's made his dreams real, more true than anything else. A city of millions lives and dies on his *moods*, and I think that must scare him *greatly* sometimes --"

"It does."

Tim closes his eyes -- opens them. "It -- he still does it. He can't *help* it, and being a part of that story, that legend and *myth* -- it means I'm worth something, that I will always *be* worth something, so long as I keep trying my hardest. I'm still just a teenager, better trained and more heavily armed than most, but I'm also... special? Greater?

"Even though I can't always *believe* in the whole of the legend," Tim says, and rests his hand on Clark's shoulder, shakes his *head* -- "I know it's... messed up. I know I simultaneously expect too much *and* too little of Bruce, and I know what it does to me when I don't get it, and when I do -- I. He sent me home like I was *nothing* --"

And the next thing Tim is aware of is that he's being held, pressed down onto his side --

Onto his back, with *some* of Clark's weight holding him down against the doubled couch -- well, call it a bed, for now.

Clark's warmth is as incredible as ever, forcing Tim to work to adjust his breathing, making Tim's skin prickle with sweat -- "Clark --"

"I have. I have suspicions about why Bruce sent you away, Tim, but they are *only* suspicions."

"I -- then. Don't tell me."

Clark sighs and kisses Tim's cheek, kisses his way to Tim's ear -- and waits for Tim's shiver to be over before whispering. "I won't say. But you must understand that, after everything the two of you have shared, everything you've been through --"

"He *had* a reason, yes. I believe that with all of myself, Clark," and Tim shifts until he can get his hands on Clark's shoulders, until he can press and rub -- pointlessly, really, but it *is* soothing to do --

"I love the ways you choose to touch me, Tim. So firm, but with pleasure and care. You make me feel closer to human."

Which means that it's *not* time to stop, even though he's blushing again, and -- perhaps he'll just let his hands keep doing what they want to do, which is to move around to the back of Clark's neck, to press and rub against the short hairs there, softer than the hairs near the front of his scalp -- *somehow* --

"Ah... a lighter touch there, please?"

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"At times, I can be ticklish," Clark says, and smiles down at Tim. "I enjoy it."

Ticklish. *Really*... Tim bites the inside of his lower lip and tries the touch that always makes Steph try to punch him when he uses it on her foot --

Clark shudders all over, almost *vibrating* Tim deeper into the gentle *clutch* of the bed -- "Again?"

Tim nods and does it, and this time Clark gives a breathy little laugh -- and breaks out in gooseflesh.

And *grins* down at Tim -- for a moment. The smile fades to something both rueful and anxious.

"Clark...?"

"I knew you were distressed earlier, Tim, and I could see what had happened to you, that you were *alone*... a part of me was *only* interested in taking advantage of an opportunity."

"To seduce me."

"To be *close* to you. I -- Dick has often given me *much* when Bruce has upset him in one way or another. It's..." Clark sighs and his expression is a *plea*, loud and obvious and -- *difficult*.

Tim shakes his head and cups Clark's cheeks again. "Tell me?"

Clark looks down for a moment, whispering -- he stops. "There is a rhythm, a give and take between Bruce and me, Tim. And -- often -- Dick was in the middle of that. It wasn't always like that -- in the early days before Gotham got quite so dangerous, the three of us spent a lot of time together, traveling the world -- traveling the *galaxy*."

"I -- I've seen the reports. I've never really..." Tim bites his lip for a moment and thinks about it. "Yes, I suppose it *had* to be easier for Bruce to leave Gotham in those days."

Clark nods. "Before there was even a Batgirl to help protect the city in Bruce's absence. I... Bruce and Dick and I were close, friends and companions if never --quite -- partners. But then... I always imagined that Gotham became a heavier weight for Bruce to bear, that too many of his fears became real..." Clark frowns and shakes his head, turning them until they're on their sides and stroking Tim's back, his hip and his thigh -- "Tim..."

"Do you want my forgiveness for *being* there when Dick needed someone, Clark? Because that doesn't really *scan* --"

"I want your forgiveness for allowing myself to pretend, for a moment, that you were like Dick, that you *needed* someone -- me," Clark says, and squeezes Tim's hip. "I knew that you were different, of course, that I had never *been* your friend in truth, for all that I had wanted... please, Tim."

And really, there's something *about* that, about the timing and the *place* of this confession -- <<You leave little space for alternatives. Kal.>> And Tim rests a hand on Clark's chest.

"Do I? *Am* I? I..." Clark tugs Tim's hand to his mouth and kisses the fingertips once, again -- <<I am still learning the boundaries of our solitude, desired one. I beg forgiveness for this, as well.>>

Tim feels his expression shifting to a somewhat sharp and *twisted* smile. "A part of me is only interested in allowing this to put *distance* between us, for the betterment of my *true* solitude..."

Clark winces. "Then I have damaged something important --"

"No. Just -- no, Clark," Tim says, and curls his fingers around Clark's hand, squeezes *hard*. "That part is *always* looking for ways to increase distance, to make me safe and... some definition of strong. Even -- even with *Dick*." Often with Dick, because Dick is a force of nature, more so than Bruce or anyone else Tim can even *imagine*. Dick is a kind of welcomed and welcoming chaos, mesmerizing as the dance of a storm -- "Oh... God. I... um. A *lot* with Dick, actually."

"Tim...?"

"I'm -- I'm *afraid* a lot of the time, Clark, and sometimes those fears are ridiculous, and keep me too much away from the rhythms of life.." Tim shakes his head. "Sometimes those fears are just about keeping myself *to* myself, or... no. Keeping a sense *of* myself, because I didn't have one for so long, and what I do have feels... fragile?"

Clark frowns, slightly, and kisses Tim's fingers again. "It's difficult to think of you as *fragile*, Tim."

"No, I... maybe..." Tim sighs and thinks about sitting up, about tugging his hand away from Clark's own and touching more -- that one, yes. The idea is a warmth he can't get *away* from, that he wants *more* of. He tugs, Clark lets go, and Tim strokes one massive arm. The muscles are far less defined than Bruce's, and seem as though they should be irrelevant. No weight-lifting here, no hours of chin-ups or push-ups or long runs...

"Ah... Tim?"

"You... really have to be accustomed to people getting lost in the shallow appreciation of your... charms, Clark."

"It hasn't ever been an especially *comfortable* thing --"

"And yet," Tim says, and smiles, "you constantly compliment the physical attributes of others."

"I do *try* to hold most of those comments in reserve for... hm."

"For those times when you've sufficiently distracted the complimentee in question?"

Clark shrugs, a vast shift and flex of muscle and impossibly powerful bone, a change in the *weather* of the small space they're currently sharing -- "I'm allowed to be shallow, too, I think. And..." Clark frowns at Tim *very* seriously, almost exaggeratedly so --

"Yes, Clark?"

"You spend too much time comparing yourself physically to Dick and Bruce, Tim."

That... Tim lets his mouth twist a little, again. "I think *I'm* allowed, Clark --"

<<It is only your body I see, when we are together.>>

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"All right, *both* of your bodies, and -- please."

"I forgive you, Clark. I -- I'm sure I would've found *something* productive to do with my day if you hadn't visited, but I wouldn't have had much... ah. Fun."

"Oh --" And Clark's smile is both sudden and *bright*...

It's getting darker in here, again. Tim looks around, orienting himself with the shadows at the edges of the room --

"Would you prefer shades of red? I'm afraid I haven't had much success in getting the AI to decorate outside the bounds of the colors of my House."

Tim smiles. "Not at *all*?"

"Oh, it will give me a peach divan, an olive wall -- for a little while. And then the colors will slowly and seamlessly creep back to what the AI deems appropriate. It took a great deal of effort to convince it that different *shades* of red, blue, and gold were reasonable, given the age of my House on Krypton and the lack of color standardization for many centuries."

"Interesting, I -- *was* there a kind of Kryptonian Dark Age?"

Clark smiles and strokes down the center of Tim's chest with his fingers, carefully lifting one of Tim's breasts so that he can slide between --

Tim shivers. "That feels -- ah. You've successfully managed to distract me from your *erection*, Clark --"

<<You are in every way a goad to the mind, a temptation to the spirit -->> "You should note that I'm not objecting to anything you might choose to do with your wonderful hands, Tim."

"Mm. Noted," and perhaps it *shouldn't* be easy to push Clark onto his back and straddle his thighs, but it is, and it feels several different wonderful varieties of satisfying -- especially when Tim considers the pleased look in Clark's eyes, and the way Clark's hands immediately settle on *Tim's* thighs -- "You were saying?"

"A Dark Age, yes... ah. Records are understandably spotty -- and politically sanitized -- but yes, there was a stretch of several hundred years after the dynastic wars which left Houses like my own both prominent and dominant when very little was achieved beyond repopulation and the slow reconstruction of society," Clark says and squeezes Tim's thighs while raising an eyebrow.

Tim smiles and wraps both hands around Clark again, squeezing in rhythm with his own pulse --

"Oh, Tim. Is that... I've rarely heard you *do* that..."

*Rarely*. Tim shakes his head. "I believe you are something of a *pervert*, Clark, and -- I rarely have the control to manage it. Do you like it?"

"It's hardly *perverse* to enjoy the pleasure of the beautiful and -- oh, yes. It makes me feel like a part of you," and Clark strokes lightly over Tim's hands, his wrists -- "Do you have... ah. Other questions?"

"Quite a lot, but -- were there plagues after the wars?"

"The dynastic wars were originally fought with... mm. Conventional weapons, but bioweapons came to the fore quickly, going by the histories. Plague wasn't the problem as much as genetic anomalies in the children born after the wars ended. They were weaker, smaller -- subject to illnesses thought eradicated generations before -- please, Tim, harder?"

Tim does it and -- blinks. "I was imagining a more medieval sort of thing --"

Clark's laugh is half-moaned. "People everywhere, at every stage of their development, are subject to both ignorance and irrational fears, Tim -- oh, that's very -- mm, Tim --"

Tim laughs. "I feel I should be changing the subject --"

"I'll tell you *anything*, but please don't stop --"

Tim feels himself flushing *and* blushing. Clark's eyes are heavy-lidded and he's rolling his head against the bed a little, licking his *lips* -- "This... it seems a lot less *profound* than what your reactions would suggest, Clark --"

Clark's smile shows a great number of teeth. "And if... Dick were to touch you this way? In a way you've known him to touch *himself*?"

"I -- I've wanted Dick for *years*, Clark -- oh."

And Clark's laugh is low and breathy, *full* -- "You're wonderful, and I'm going to enjoy every opportunity you give me to instill confidence in you."

Tim snorts. "You're making it very tempting to *fight* those efforts --"

"Then perhaps I should reward you for every time you *don't* fight," Clark says, sliding his hands to Tim's hips and squeezing.

"Ah... reward?"

"Some... mm. Some suitable rate of exchange would be... ah. If you would, your thumb --"

"Here?" And Tim slides it over the head while still squeezing with both hands --

"Oh, lovely -- I've fantasized about coming to you while you were on patrol, Tim, about coaxing you into one of Gotham's *legion* of shadows --"

"Metropolis *is* very bright --"

"Hardly... hardly the proper place for a young man like *you*," and Clark squeezes Tim's hips, licks his lips and lifts them off the bed --

"Oh, Clark, I --" Tim shakes his head and digs in against Clark's thighs with his knees, holds *on* --

"Perfect, wonderful -- I confess, sometimes I annoy Lois a great *deal* by flying when she's... ah. Working?"

Tim laughs. "I... should I take it as youthful exuberance?"

"Oh -- please do." <<You make me a child, cherished and indulged -- oh, *wonderful* -->>

Harder, now, and Tim's approaching the limit of what he can *do* in terms of force, but -- "Children on Krypton. In the age when you were born?"

"Ah -- conceived and developed in crèche facilities. Marvels of architecture, truly. It. Mmm -- oh, please, *faster* --"

"Tell me about the architecture...?"

"Reminiscent -- *oh* --" <<I would show you all, teach you if you wished -->>

"You already are," Tim says, and rubs a *very* light spiral on the head with his thumbnail --

"*Tim* --"

"But the architecture...?"

"Temples. To the mother-goddess, pre-Rao. Again, records are spotty -- many of them were destroyed by the. The faction which included my mother's ancestors, ironically... oh, Tim, *Tim* --"

"Were you..." Tim licks his lip and *rides* the arch of Clark's body, digs in harder with his knees --

"Yes, *hold* me --"

Squeezes *hard* and thinks, wonders -- "Were you long out of the crèche when Krypton was destroyed?"

"Months, only. The decision to -- to conceive me was made before my father realized the severity of what was happening with the planet, I -- Tim, let me --"

"Thrust into my hands?"

Clark *moans*, opens his eyes wide and stares at Tim, into him --

"Do it," Tim says, and shifts at the feel of the warm thing inside him blooming *again*, at the way he can tell Clark is *close*, even though Clark hasn't gotten appreciably harder or --

*Powerful* twitch, and Tim squeezes hard reflexively --

"I can't -- I'm sorry, Tim, but keeping still isn't an option --"

"I don't *want* you to be still, Clark. Show me..." Tim adds a stroke to his squeezes, slow and hard and as encouraging as he can make it -- "Show me how much you enjoy my hands?"

"Fantasies, so many -- so often you choose *efficiency* over pleasure..."

Tim laughs. "I'm usually *exhausted* when I masturbate, Clark --"

"*Yes*, I could hear it in the quality of your soft sounds, the subvocalization you use. Perhaps you can't even... even hear yourself?"

That --  "That's *disturbing* -- oh, yes, Clark, *use* my hands --"

Clark groans and flies them higher, *pumps* his hips -- "I could pretend --" Clark grunts and twitches in Tim's hands again --

"I love that *feel* --"

"Please do, please *always* -- but." Clark pants and opens his eyes again, *fixes* Tim with a look. "I could pretend those sounds were only for *me*, Tim."

Tim hears himself gasp and has to *struggle* to keep Clark's rhythm for a moment. Just -- "You make me wish they *were*, more often --"

"For Dick, for Conner --"

"*Kon* --"

"He's so rarely interested in his Kryptonian heritage, Tim. That's. It's one of the reasons *why* -- *oh*, Tim, I won't -- you know him so much *better* --"

And Clark is moaning again, eyes closed and mouth open and red, wet... a part of Tim wants to take Clark to task for *not* knowing Kon, but there's such a thing as timing, and --

He can see it. A strange boy, like and unlike to Clark when he was that age. An infant in a teenager's body, a mind programmed by scientists beholden to Clark's greatest enemy. It must have seemed too much, especially since Kon held so few of the same things dear. It -- Tim *thinks* about Kon, about the fears and doubts which are sometimes over the top, but are *mostly* built around several difficult truths.

Difficult truths with *Clark* at their center -- the man currently writhing beneath him, lost to his own pleasure even though Tim is only using his hands. Jealous, perhaps, of Tim's relationship with Kon --

For reasons Kon would find just as difficult as the rest.

<<This tastes of betrayal,>> Tim says --

"Oh, *no*, Tim --"

"In some ways. Kon is my *friend*, and this --" Tim closes his eyes -- opens them and *focuses*. "This would *hurt* him, and if you didn't know that --"

Clark groans again, and there are words in the sound, but Tim can't make them out. He's not sure he *wants* to, but --

"You'll never know him if you keep trying to build a relationship with the person you think he *should* be --"

"Tim, *please* --"

"And -- I know you're hearing me, and that my timing is..." Tim laughs, brief and sharp. "I've wanted to say this to you since you brought Kon to Smallville. There was just never a moment --"

Another groan, and it feels *good* to stroke Clark faster -- better when Tim realizes that Clark was holding himself *back* with his thrusts, waiting almost for Tim's *permission* to go faster --

"Clark, you're so... I'm not sure what I'm going to do --" Without you. No, not that. Not -- "Come for me? Just -- all over my hands. Perhaps on my chest and abdomen --"

"*Yes*, Tim," and Clark sits up and kisses Tim, thrusts into Tim's fists and into his *mouth*, and for a moment Tim can almost taste Clark's pre-come. Will Clark *let* him suck?

Is there some other strange and intimate thing Clark will want before he lets it happen?

And what would Tim's relationship with Kon look like if all of Clark's shameless and *powerful* drives toward intimacy had been directed at *him*?

("Dude, he *never* wanted me to exist, but I think he actually likes me anyway, now. It's just that he doesn't *do* like the way other people do. *His* like? Smells like *cow*.")

Tim laughs into Clark's mouth and pictures a world where he could manipulate a sexual relationship with Superman for the betterment of the life of a friend --

It doesn't seem *right* --

But Clark moans *loud* into Tim's mouth, and --

Wetness --

*Heat* --

And powerful tension that makes it impossible for Tim to stop stroking, just as it must seem impossible for Clark to stop *thrusting*. Clark isn't *quite* kissing him, anymore, but Tim doesn't need to stop. He sucks Clark's tongue until the tension becomes a full-body shudder, and then until Clark pulls back and *stares* at Tim, dazed and perhaps a little wary.

Tim licks his lips and gives Clark one last squeeze, watching Clark's eyes narrow and wanting -- "I want you inside me again --"

"*Yes*, Tim, but -- Kon?"

"He was the first real friend I had in this life, Clark." The first one who was *alive*, anyway. "He's important to me, and you've been... you haven't been your best, with him."

Clark sighs and closes his eyes for a moment, letting Tim see them track behind the lids as he remembers, weighs... considers?

"Clark, I -- should I apologize?"

"Only..." Clark's eyes are open again, and his expression is rueful. "Only if you tell me it's wrong to picture you taking Bruce to task over, say, his relationship to Dick while you masturbate *him*. Then we can apologize to *each other*."

Tim opens his mouth. Tim shuts it. Tim opens his mouth -- shuts it *again*. "I can't really... that's one *hell* of an image, Clark --"

"But you've imagined his touch. Perhaps even seen him aroused in those large and wonderfully *social* showers...?"

Bruce's hair plastered to his forehead and his penis rising in the heat from the shower. Bruce ignoring it *utterly* as he soaps and pays no attention whatsoever to *Tim's* attention -- "Only. Only slightly."

"It would be a lie to say that I haven't considered using similar methods," Clark says, and his smile is fond and all-encompassing. Tim, the Fortress, Bruce -- the *world* --

"I -- Clark --"

"I will take what you've said about... Kon under advisement," Clark says, and cups Tim's face. "And I will never tell him about the two of us, because I *did* know, from the very beginning, that he would find a sexual relationship between the two of us problematic, at best."

Tim swallows. "But you sought it, anyway --"

"I have never been a saint," Clark says. "Would you like to suck me, now?"

Tim gasps and tries to speak -- Tim moans and *nods* --

And Clark flies them back down to the bed, grabbing a handful of berries from one of the bowls and pushing Tim until he settles back on Clark's knees --

"That's not -- it's not an optimal position --"

"Humor me...?" And Clark crushes a raspberry just *slightly* between his fingers until juice runs down -- and brushes the berry over Tim's lips.

"Oh. You... what?"

"There's nothing sexual I don't want with you, Tim. You've shared so much, showed me yourself... how could I deny you in return?"

Tim licks his lips -- tart sweetness. "Easily, I would think --"

"Never that," Clark says, and paints Tim's lips again, and again --

"Did you want me in lipstick?"

Clark makes a face. "I'm forced to tolerate too much of that with Lois, as it is. But I could never protest that which makes her feel as beautiful as she is..." Clark sighs. "I hope you don't *want* makeup?"

"Ah -- not particularly, Clark. Do you really --" No, Clark wants. Clark wants *everything*, though -- "Are you trying to distract me from getting fucked again?"

Clark smiles and raises an eyebrow. "Dick would be *most* upset with me if I left you unable to... appreciate what he has to offer."

Dick -- Dick *inside* him. Not a stick, not a fantasy -- Tim licks his lips -- and the berry between Clark's fingers. "Will you --"

"I'm hoping he'll let me bring him here once he's done with his patrol. I've been... listening. If he doesn't want this, then we can go to your home, or Dick's..."

That... "Not yours in Metropolis? I had... assumed that Lois was on assignment."

"She never wants to make love when she's menstruating," Clark says, and pushes one of the whole berries into Tim's mouth.

Tim chews and considers -- pauses and *looks* at Clark.

A blandly innocent expression and stained fingers.

Tim swallows and brushes Clark's hand aside. "I didn't let you feed me earlier."

"I hoped you'd feel more indulgent now," and Clark looks so innocent that Tim decides to accept, with no further argument, the pure *fact* of Clark's manipulation. It shouldn't, perhaps, work on *Tim*, but --

It's there, and it's such a soft way of being led. Or -- perhaps he means that the *places* at the end of Clark's primrose paths are so wonderfully... inviting. Tim opens his mouth and raises an eyebrow --

And as rewards go, *this* particular smile from Clark deserves a great deal of notice. It's pleased, of course, but it's also loving, open and seemingly related to several different psychotropic drugs.

And Clark feeds Tim another berry. Tim closes his mouth around Clark's fingers and sucks, crushing the berry between his lips and deliberately letting juice run down his chin --

Yes, Clark's smile *changes*. It becomes a deeper thing, more avid and shamelessly desiring.

Tim licks his lips and swallows -- and Clark catches the drop of juice before it can spill off Tim's chin and onto his -- breasts, not lap. "Thank you," Tim says, and makes a point of staring directly into Clark's eyes, of not letting himself be distracted by either shifting shadows or Clark's other attributes.

"I assumed that there were limits to how sticky you were willing to get, even for the sake of arousing me further," and there's a laugh in Clark's voice, both mild *and* hungry.

"When *does* Lois expect you to return?"

"I left her a -- coded -- note. She knows I'm here, and plan to be so for some time."

"And not alone."

"No," Clark says, and pushes another berry between Tim's lips. "Not alone."

This time, Tim crushes the berry against the roof of his mouth. "Forgiving, or...?"

"Or. She's aware of *all* of my sexual activities, if not of the civilian identities in question."

That... makes a certain degree of sense. Tim nods and swallows. "And she never wishes to... join? Supervise?"

"Direct...?" The laugh in Clark's eyes gets louder -- or perhaps that's the redness. "Are you interested, Tim...?"

Steph would murder him, and then be very, very upset about it. Tim shakes his head. "Among other things, sex with someone not allowed to see beneath my mask has never been something I've been comfortable... imagining."

Clark raises an eyebrow...

"Not even with Kon," Tim says, and reaches up to touch his mouth, to feel the stickiness and the swelling... he pushes three fingers in and feels his eyes go heavy-lidded. It's an effort to keep them focused on Clark --

And a rewarding one, because he gets to see the red take over more of Clark's eyes.

Tim thrusts a few times and presses down on his tongue, letting himself focus, now, on the taste of Clark's semen. A mineral sea, Dick had said, and there is that to it. It's just that it's also a *thick* flavor, inescapably male and somehow *adult*, compared to his memories of his own taste --

Tim opens his *eyes*, and Clark's lips are parted. The inside of his mouth is a different red than what's in his eyes, and Tim thinks about blood, about heat and vulnerability, about the swell and *crush* of sex --

Tim pulls his fingers out and opens his mouth *wide* --

And Clark reaches in with two fingers and his thumb to *place* the berry near the back of Tim's tongue -- "Were your early fantasies of Kon built, then, on circumstances allowing you to be open with him?"

An offer of time to consider his answer? Certainly, Clark doesn't seem to be in any hurry to remove his fingers from Tim's mouth, and -- Tim's *other* hand is still slick with Clark. Tim brings it up to Clark's mouth and watches him lick, watches him suck and watch Tim *right* back, and for a while they're sucking together, matching each other's movements for a few moments and then not, and then again --

And when Clark pulls his fingers out, Tim does, too.

And sighs, shifting on his knees a little bit --

"Would you be more comfortable in another position?"

"So you can distract me from sucking you even more?"

<<What brings more pain than the distrust of a loved one?>>

Tim smiles, feeling it tug at one side of his mouth but not the other --

Clark traces the curve of it with another partially crushed berry.

"I... I had something of a framework. There would be a particularly important mission Young Justice would stumble across, something both time-consuming and difficult. We would all perform admirably and *smoothly* -- this was before things started getting difficult for us --"

Clark nods.

Tim shrugs. "*Something* would happen. Kon would save my life where Bruce could see -- where *Batman* could see. The team as a whole would do something meriting the League's praise --"

"I've always felt that Young Justice performed *very* well --"

"Given what we had to work with, Clark...? No, don't answer and don't argue. We were *incredibly* young, and we all made a lot of mistakes. And *one* of them was all about me treating them like associates rather than as my team," Tim says, and rests his hands on his thighs. "Anyway, there was always *something*, and it was never entirely clear what... and Kon got to know my name, that I was just a teenager like him, that I lived in a house with people who didn't know what I did with my life..." Tim smiles a little. "Sometimes, if I wasn't particularly desperate, I would fantasize about just the two of us talking -- the way we do now, when we can."

And Clark's hand is on Tim's face, smelling faintly of berries and so *warm* -- "You're very important to him."

"I don't know what... his friendship has been one of the bright spots of my existence. And maybe it's... *incredibly* fucked-up, but it has almost nothing to do with the sexual fantasies."

Clark frowns. "That doesn't sound... ah. Tim?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "Perhaps the most *important* reason why I've never tried to become sexually involved with him. It would require a breaking inside myself, or perhaps a melding. I... I've been told I compartmentalize rather a lot."

"I... is the Kon in your fantasies *not* your friend, Tim?"

"Oh, no, that would be... that wouldn't *work*," Tim says, and shakes his head. "It would be more accurate to say that the Kon in my fantasies has had a different *sort* of friendship with me. I've never lied to him and he's never had reason to doubt me. He's -- he has never been *afraid* of me, and it's always, always easy between us. In those fantasies, I'm a different sort of Robin altogether, and always have been. The split... the *divergence* happened years ago, and has never come together again."

And Clark's frown is deep and troubled, almost *hurt* --

"Clark, it's --"

"You should *have* him, Tim --"

"He has Cassie now, Clark. He's *happy*, and he's happy having the kind of friendship we *have* developed. I..." Tim raises his hands between them, gestures --

"I don't think I understand?"

"Dick would," Tim says, and laughs quietly. "No, that's not a criticism. I just... wearing a mask *changes* things, and being -- specifically -- *Robin* changes them even more. At this point, he *needs* me to be the scary one, and... he's rejected, albeit gently, my efforts to be more open. He doesn't seem to have much interest in Tim Drake."

Clark almost *rears* back, moving his hand from Tim's face --

"Clark, I've *thought* about this --"

"And you've also thought that *I* didn't want you, Tim. That *Dick* didn't."

It is, perhaps, only predictable that a part of Tim is only focused on the fact that *Bruce* still doesn't want him, and -- and. "All right, I've *been* wrong about my own... desirability, but I've *invited* Kon to Gotham, Clark."

("And watch you pretend to be some normal kid while looking over my damned shoulder every five minutes to make sure the Bat isn't about to *kill* me? No, *thanks*, dude.")

Tim shakes his head. "He was very clear about not wanting any part of it."

"It's *Gotham*, Tim. I -- I know it's your city and that you love it at least as much as you *fear* it, but other people -- other *heroes* --"

"Clark. *Why* are you so interested in me developing a sexual relationship with Kon?"

"Why are you so convinced it couldn't happen? I -- Tim. I don't *like* the idea of you giving up on something which could give you -- *and* Conner -- happiness before you've ever really *tried*."

Tim frowns and closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them again he has something like calm back. He raises his eyebrow.

Clark is still frowning, but he nods. He's willing to listen.

"I can't *live* the way you do, Clark, always moving from lover to lover as if this kind of relationship is *easy*. I -- I will *stipulate* that it's possible that Kon wants more from me than what I've given him. *Anything* is possible around Kon. But even if I'm wrong about everything, if he *could* want a relationship with me -- as opposed to Robin -- *this* stands in the way of all of it."

"Oh... Tim. It shouldn't, it --"

"No, perhaps it *shouldn't*, but it would. Kon would constantly be questioning it. His *performance*, my *reactions*... it would be horrible, even if the two of us never... never made love again, after this --"

<<I...>> "I would not surrender this, Tim. Or -- if you were happier without, I." Clark frowns harder and closes his hands into loose fists. "You wouldn't consider keeping it secret?"

Tim's laugh isn't particularly *nice*, but really -- that's just fine.

"No, of course you wouldn't. You cloak yourself in secrets because it's who you are, but I mustn't forget that *some* of your secrets are built only on what you see as necessity."

"Something like that," Tim says, and scrubs at his thighs with his palms. Much of his additional height seems to be based there, leaving him distinctly non-proportional in a conventionally attractive way. He's going to miss the height. *That*, he has to admit. And... "Look, we *both* know that Kon would want to know about my other sexual experiences. He might even *obsess* about it. And while I could probably distract him from his need to know for at least a little while, it wouldn't last indefinitely. You know that, right?"

Clark sighs and cups Tim's shoulders. "I do."

Tim nods. "It would come *out*, and the longer it took, the worse he'd feel. And every time we worked together, it would be *there* for Kon. He would wonder and probably hate himself for wondering, for doubting my *faithfulness*..."

Clark nods again. "I... will you forgive me for feeling guilty that you are, essentially, choosing me over your good friend?"

Tim lets the smile twist itself onto his face. "No. But you should feel free to feel guilty about the fact that your relationship with Kon is *just* this fraught." 

"Ah. Ouch? I did say I would --"

Tim waves a hand between them. "Yes, you did, and I'll hold you to that. I -- I love him, and I've loved him helplessly nearly since I've known him. You're *important* to him --"

"And you want only the best for him, as is proper for... a good friend."

Tim nods and kneels up, crawling closer until he can press his body against Clark's own --

"Tim --"

"He's not here, Clark."

Clark frowns again and cups Tim's face with one hand. "Do any of your lovers ever leave you, Tim...?"

"My -- you know that you're the only one --"

"*Not* the point. Not for a mind like yours, a soul so *admittedly* romantic --"

"I..." Tim sighs. "I suppose the most relevant question, then, is if it bothers you?"

And Clark is smiling again, faster than a blink and so *soft* -- "You shouldn't take the fact that I've *only* discussed Dick as anything resembling proof that my other lovers don't stay with me. Perhaps for rather longer than they'd wish."

And that -- it makes Tim want to know *who*. Who could leave Clark willingly? Who would give *this* up? "I -- I have a sudden urge to profile our community *thoroughly*."

Clark raises an eyebrow. "Suddenly, Tim...?"

"All right," Tim says, and squeezes Clark's neck with his arms. "Suddenly, I have a rather specific *focus* for my desire to profile."

"Ah, that does seem more accurate --"

"Oh, little *brother*," Dick says, breathy and low in Tim's ear. "I will *cry* if you're not wearing your comm."

Tim smiles *and* blushes, and Clark is all but beaming as Tim reaches up to tap his comm. "While your tears would soothe the arid reaches of my black, shriveled heart, I assure you that they're not currently necessary, N."

"Ooh. Someone's feeling *frisky*. Tell me *all* about it."

Tim laughs. "Ah... Prime has taken me rather far off the grid."

"South far?"

"Yes," Tim says. "I have to say, the views are spectacular."

Dick hums. "Especially up close and personal-like?"

"Well. Since you mention it..."

"Am I interrupting something dirty? *Please* say yes."

"At the moment... ah." How to phrase it for a channel *every* member of his family could be listening in on? "I was about to do my best to take Prime up on his offer of... linguistics."

Dick snorts. "Oh, but wait -- which one of you is supposed to lie back and --"

"N --"

"I'm just *saying*, little brother --"

"Ah -- he is. Though I'm reasonably sure he only made that offer to distract me from... other things."

"Oh... *R*. You do know that *I'll* never make you put up a fight, right?"

Clark is staring into Tim's eyes and -- yes, the red is back and getting stronger. "I'm quite sure Prime would like to... er. Observe your methodology."

"This is just one of the reasons why we *all* love him, R. Mm. But don't hold back on *my* account."

"Ah... N?"

"Why don't you get started, little brother? I'll be right here for you..."

And really, Tim *could* have seen that coming, but... "Um -- what are you *doing*?"

"Watching evil, evil men carbo-load. And you already *know* what I'm wearing," Dick says, and Tim can't see or hear it, but he *knows* Dick is running a hand down his side, or perhaps down his chest.

And he *knows* what that sounds like, that sleek little *whisper* --

"You know Prime *wants* it, don't you? He never offers things like that until he's dying for it. Dying for *you*."

"Oh. I --"

"Like *me*," Dick says, and Tim can hear him breathing because it's just that *rough*.

"Jesus. Um. Hell?"

Dick laughs softly. "I want your mouth *swollen* when I see you, little brother. I want to *taste* Prime there when I kiss you, and then I want you to taste *me* --"

"*N* --"

"This channel is clear *enough*. And if it isn't..." Another laugh. "I don't *care*. It's about time we talked about *good* things over this line, the way we. The way we *used* to," and Dick's voice is serious and a little sad.

"I... but you never. Not *this* --"

"Spoken like someone who never got the privilege of hearing the *previous* R in his shell-pink ear. Look at Prime, little brother. Are his eyes starting to glow...?"

Clark is -- his lips are parted and he's taking *deep* breaths, and --

"Yes," Tim says. "They -- they were, before."

"Mmm. Don't make him wait. Don't make *us* wait."

And moving feels too easy, like he should be stuck in this position, or like Clark should... he doesn't know, and -- air.

Clark is lying back on his elbows with his legs spread, with his penis rising and *dark* and his sac hanging, and --

"Prime looks beautiful like this. Like -- ah. I have the distinct urge to study Greek sculpture."

Dick laughs again. "Oh, I *know* the feeling. Do it later. *Take* him, now. Cup him in your hand and squeeze --"

"God. Jesus. *N* --"

"*Now*, R. I want you to. I *need* you to."

And Tim is moving before he can think about it -- he stops and takes a *breath*.

"Little brother?"

"R for commands, little brother for questions?" Tim shakes his head and laughs. "*N*. For the record, we're not going to do *this* often."

"*Noted*... R," and the smile in Dick's voice is broad and *sharp*. "But you don't mind if I take what I can get... do you?"

And *that* was only a question by the grace of *tone*. "We'll talk about what I don't mind *later*," Tim says, and puts his own sharp smile in his voice --

Clark pulls one knee up, bracing his foot on the bed and generally looking at Tim like a -- most desired -- meal. Tim crawls between Clark's legs and strokes his thighs for a long and somewhat indulgent moment before cupping Clark's sac. And squeezing.

"I have him. The warmth is... it feels like it should be deadly."

Dick moans softly. "Squeeze him for me. Really *hard*."

Tim does and Clark groans and spreads his legs wider. If he's blinking, it's much too fast to see, and --

"Tell me about his eyes, little brother..."

"Red. Brighter than my tunic. I can't make out any blue, at all."

"Oh, you've been driving him *crazy*, haven't you? Mm, no, you don't have to answer -- I can picture it. I've *been* picturing it, and many, many criminals have had to wonder about the smile on my face tonight."

"Ah... noted. Prime has mentioned not wanting to leave me... unable to 'appreciate' you."

"He's a *good* man. Really, like a second father to me..."

Clark *chokes* on a laugh --

"Oh, little brother. Does he have a *very* amusing expression on his face?"

"The word 'scandalized' comes to mind. N... should I squeeze him again?"

"You let up on him? Don't do *that*. Squeeze him and... mm. Tug a little. Rhythmically."

"Oh, that would... ah."

"Mm. You'd like me to do that to *you*?"

Tim licks his lips and follows *orders*, and Clark looks like -- he looks --

"C'mon, *tell* me --"

"*Yes*, I --"

"Just *wait*. You *will* have your body back, and then we're going to -- oh, *everything," Dick says, and his breathing is even rougher --

And Clark is smiling. And eating *grapes*.

Tim raises an eyebrow.

Clark -- is laughing behind the red of his eyes, beyond the increasing *glow* of his eyes --

"N, I think -- I see *heat* haze again --"

"*Again*? You got him this wound up *before*? Jesus, little brother, I can't wait until you put *me* through your paces. And -- what else?"

"He's eating. Grapes, at the moment."

"Ohh, my. So he's lounging there --"

"Quite relaxed-looking, save for the eyes and the -- ah."

"*Giant* proof of affection, yeah. He's *lounging*. And eating grapes."

Tim lets the smile out and watches Clark's eyes narrow and *flare* -- "That seems to be about the size of it."

"Oh, the *size* is something else entirely --"

"N."

"Let me have my *fun*, *R*. I'm the one crouching out here in the savage city, all by my very much *lonesome*, while you --"

"My hand is getting sore, to be honest."

Dick -- *titters*. "Think of it as a *strength*-building exercise. B will be so *proud*..."

It was clearly Tim's turn to choke. "Perhaps after he *skins* us --"

"Oh," Clark says, and pops another grape into his mouth. "I'll *protect* you."

Tim -- splutters. A bit --

"What did he just *say*?"

"Ah -- he offered his *protection*. And ate another grape."

"Ohh. Oh. Oh -- God. You really need to make him *pay* for that, R."

"I'm open to suggestion --"

"Lick your lips..."

Tim does so. "And?"

"*Touch* yourself. Somewhere interesting, please, and... think of me doing it. Being *right* there with you..."

Dick's hands on his nipples, rolling them lightly -- or. "Would you. Be gentle?"

"Mmm. I'd *try*. Sometimes I can be a little..." Dick sighs. "If you needed it --"

"I -- I don't."

"Then no. Not gentle at all, little brother. I know -- I need to know what you can *take* --"

Clark gasps --

And Tim *twists* his nipples, makes his own hips buck and cries out --

"Oh, God, yeah, it's *me*, R, it's just me, and Prime can't *have* you --"

"Ah -- nn. N --"

"The way you were saying my name earlier. The way you were *taking* yourself -- is it like that? Is that what you're doing?"

"N-no. Just --"

"Up top, then. Pretty little -- *big*. Hard for me, so -- do it again, because I wouldn't be able to *stop* myself --"

Tim moans and feels himself *clench* --

Clark is *rolling* a grape between his fingers and staring *avidly*, and --

"Did you -- N. Did you do... this? For him?"

"Put on a little show, you mean?" Dick's laugh is both fond and a little mean. "Prime *used* to ask me to do it for him *every* time -- back when I was young and a little shy about asking for what I *really* wanted. I guess I probably shouldn't *encourage* that kind of behavior, but *somehow*... things seem to be going just fine for *you*."

Clark winces a little. "I really am -- please tell him that I didn't mean to -- well."

"Ah... Prime is apologizing. And I think it's fair to say that you... loosened the proverbial jar?"

"Mmm. With my *hands* even. And I -- have really good hands."

"Oh -- God. I. Just --" Tim twists again and moans, *feeling* those hands, those long, scarred fingers --

"Oh, yeah, *just* like that. I'd sidle up behind you. Press *nice* and close... and whisper in your ear," Dick says, and that last *is* a whisper, sibilant and --

Tim can feel himself breaking out in gooseflesh -- "*N*..."

"Can you feel me, little brother? Feel how much I *want* you?"

Warmth at his back, illusory but so *clear*, and Dick would maybe *lick* Tim's ear while he played with Tim's nipples, while he -- Tim twists *hard* and cries out again --

"Oh, you can feel me, all right. You -- you've *wanted* this, and part of me just wants to *shake* you for making me wait, making us both *wait* --"

"I -- I didn't *know* --"

"But *now* you do. Tell me about that big, big cock?"

God, just -- over the *comm*, but Tim has to admit that it isn't much worse than what they've *been* doing, and Clark -- oh. "Prime is... he's stroking down his chest. Playing with his -- ah. Hair."

Dick moans -- "*Not* what I wanted to know, but so *pretty*. C'mon, little brother. You can do it -- for me."

"For -- always, I --" Tim twists again and clenches, *thrusts* at the air and gasps --

"That's *me*. Not letting you go. Not letting you off the *hook* --"

"I -- it's so *dark*, N. It looks like he's been hard for just -- hours, even though I just... um."

Dick's breathing hitches again. "With... with your hands?"

"*Yes*," Tim says, and looks up at Clark's eyes again, tries to focus past the heat of them --

Clark licks his lips -- and licks his *palm* --

"Oh. Oh. He just... licked his hand --"

"Tell him to touch himself, R. I *know* he can hear me, but I want to hear *you* --"

"*Touch* yourself, C -- *Prime* --"

And Clark's eyes widen, perhaps for Tim's slip --

"Oh, careful, careful, little brother --"

"I know. I -- I'm sorry, it's just --"

Clark's hand makes his penis seem almost *average*, and he's squeezing and stroking so *slowly* --

"Tell me," Dick says, "and play with yourself some more. *Hurt* yourself a little, because I know you have to love it, have to *want* it --"

"*Yes*," and Tim twists and *pulls* --

Clark exhales sharply -- Clark *pants* and strokes himself faster --

"Prime is -- he's going faster, N. He's not -- he hasn't looked *away* from me --"

"Neither have I," and there's a kind of *soft* smile in Dick's voice. "Not in my mind, anyway. Tell him to slow down -- that's *yours*, now."

Tim moans and shakes his head a little, tries to *clear* it. He has Dick whispering filth in his ear and *Clark* is jerking off in front of him, and --

"You still *want* to suck him, right?"

"Fuck -- *yes* --"

Clark *rocks* his hips up, pumps into his own fist -- his mouth is still open --

"Then tell him, little brother. You have to... mmm. You always have to be a little *aggressive* with Prime."

"True, it's. Ah..." Tim forces himself to focus on Clark's *eyes* -- and blinks at the intensity. "Nn -- too bright --"

"His eyes?"

"Y-yes. N --"

"I'm sorry, I -- I've closed them," Clark says, and when Tim looks back, there's just a diffuse red glow where Clark's eyes should be. And Dick is *panting* in his ear --

"Slow. Slow down, Prime. Please."

And Dick and Clark moan *together*, and that --

Too many images at once, too much *potential* in that sound, both for what Tim can believe happened between them in the past and what *could* happen between them as soon as Dick cuts off his patrol. "I -- I want to see you," Tim says --

"You *will*. I promise. *Nothing* is gonna keep me away from you --"

"No, I meant -- see you with Prime. Together, I. The sound of both of you moaning was -- ah. Inspiring?" Tim laughs a little and thinks about moving his hands from his breasts -- no, his nipples have definite ideas about that, and all of them are negative.

And Dick is just *breathing* in his ear, but -- a different rhythm?

"N --"

"Guns out, gotta go," and there's the sound of Dick closing the channel and then -- nothing.

Of *course* nothing, and the fact that he's straining to hear --

"Tim...?"

Clark, and that glow making him look both -- more -- supernatural and blind, which is most *assuredly* an illusion -- he's still stroking himself. *Slowly*. "Um."

"You're... worried?"

Is that what it is?

"I assure you, Dick is quite all right. His breathing and heart rate are normal -- even calm."

"Of course they are. I --" Tim laughs again and *cups* his breasts, shivering at the feel of his palms brushing the nipples --

Clark licks his *lips* --

"I'm not used to... that sort of communication. I think I might be a little -- um. It's not that I didn't know Dick was on patrol *before*, it's just a bit more immediate now."

"Oh... of course," Clark says, and *squeezes* himself. And smiles, soft and nostalgic. "It took a great deal of time and effort to keep myself from flying to his aid every time I heard him fighting a difficult battle when my hearing first became strong enough that such things were possible."

Tim tries to think about it rationally, about always being able to *know* when his loved ones were in danger -- and knowing that he could get there to help, to save them... "I... doubt Dick would've appreciated that."

Clark's smile gets wider. "Certainly not from *me*. I may be his friend, I may have worked with him countless times, but..."

And how, exactly, would *he* feel about Clark showing up to rescue him from a gang of gunmen? The practical side of him would -- be buried and *smothered* under the part of him which is only a *Bat*. "It... would set dangerous precedents."

Clark sighs. "So I've always been told. Would you touch me again? I've always found that sort of thing... helpful in terms of keeping me from doing the things I shouldn't."

Tim smiles and lets go of his breasts so he can cup Clark's sac with one hand rub at the head of his penis with the other. "The power of distraction?"

"I..." Clark hums and tilts his head back a little, exposing the lines of his golden throat, and --

It occurs to Tim that he hasn't bitten, licked, or even *kissed* Clark there. Hard on the heels of that is the realization that there are a *lot* of things he hasn't done with Clark, yet, all of which are some degree of *available*. Fantasy can become reality so *quickly*, and the proof of that is in the heft of Clark in his palm, the slickness on Tim's fingertips --

"'Just because you can, doesn't mean you should,'" Clark says, obviously quoting --

"Your... father?"

"*And* my mother," and Clark looks forward again, smiling at Tim more. <<The light of inquisition in your eyes burns most pleasantly, fine one.>>

Tim snorts and looks away -- there's so much *to* look at --

"Please?"

Tim squeezes Clark's sac and *rolls* the head of his penis --

"Oh, wonderful, but -- I'd rather have your eyes again," Clark says, and when he strokes up this time, he nudges Tim's hand slightly. Warmth, slickness --

"Ah, just a moment," Tim says, shifting and leaning in to lick between his fingers, between Clark's --

"Tim..."

Less of a call for attention than a statement of pleasure -- judging by the way Clark's penis twitches in his hand. Tim licks a little harder, pausing after each to note the taste and to wonder, idly, if he's ruining himself for other men. He can't quite see that happening -- at least not when the other man in question is *Dick* --

"Should I... would you like me to move my hand?"

Tim smiles and *licks* Clark's hand, so smooth and warm, slick with pre-come -- "Not yet," Tim says, and moves *his* hand to Clark's thigh -- squeezing with his other.

Clark moans and floats up an inch, maybe two -- down again and Clark sits up and cups the back of Tim's head.

The world becomes a darker, warmer, and more *fragrant* place, and Tim lets himself moan for it. Shouldn't it be just this way in this place? Shouldn't he be *utterly* surrounded by Clark?

Well, *probably* Kal, but so long as the AI continues following Clark's orders, Tim is perfectly content not to be subjugated -- as opposed to treasured, a bit, and --

"Expose the head entirely?"

"Oh, *yes*, Dr. Drake..."

Tim snorts and *shoves* his tongue at the slit --

"I'm... sorry?"

"Liar," Tim says, and squeezes Clark's sac *hard* --

"Mm, I -- probably? Your breath is so *cool*, Tim..."

That... he hadn't considered that. Tim kisses the head and sucks, pushing entirely fruitlessly at the slit with his tongue --

Another moan suggests that the fruit in question should probably be *redefined* --

Tim pulls off with a hard suck and looks up -- and up. "You... should lie down again. If you want to be able to see my eyes."

Clark's smile is a little dazed, perhaps more than it would seem if his eyes were open. He strokes the back of Tim's head. "Do you *want* me to lie down?"

Yes -- maybe. Tim smiles and shakes his head. "You know I haven't done this before outside of my fantasies --"

"Tell me? Please," Clark says, and slides his fingers down to the back of Tim's neck, stroking and massaging --

Tim closes his eyes for a moment and -- he hasn't really talked all that *much* about his fantasies. Certainly not for as much as he's *mentioned* them. "There's one in particular that comes to mind..."

"Yes...?"

Blushing again, and he hasn't even said -- cope. "It's -- ah. It's winter, and I'm fully suited up. A hard freeze after a snowstorm, and the wind is sending sharp little fragments of icy snow everywhere --"

"Your face..."

"Unprotected, and the domino has that *hard* feeling, like it could cut me if I changed my expression too quickly," Tim says, and he can't really -- Clark would have *no* problem hearing him if he just...

Tim leans in again and sucks the head until it stops feeling strange and starts feeling both wonderful and natural. Heat and thickness, that mineral tang --

And Clark is finding the pressure points on his neck, brushing at them and making Tim tense a little in anticipation, making Tim *want* a harder grip --

He moans around Clark and pulls off --

"You come to check on me, Clark..."

"I've. Oh, Tim, I've *considered* it," and Clark's fingers feel almost restless on the back of Tim's neck.

Gooseflesh again, but more importantly than that -- his body insists -- is the spreading warmth inside him, the need for something to *answer* that warmth -- Tim clenches -- mostly because he *can* --

"Tim...? I -- didn't mean to interrupt --"

And laughing makes the warmth inside feel containable, *controllable* -- or at least something that won't, necessarily, take complete control of him before he can do what he *wants*. Tim licks Clark's fingers again, squeezes again -- "You can see it on me when I look up at you, Clark. How cold I am and how it has nothing to do with the *weather* --"

"Oh... please, Tim --"

"You... that's the most important part, I think. The *best* part, and what makes me *need* to come. You can *see* it, and you smile at me like Superman --"

"Probably -- ah. Probably *not*, Tim. If I can -- well..."

Tim laughs again and leans in to suck on Clark's sac, to lift at it with his tongue, to nuzzle and *inhale*, because warmth has a scent, light has a taste -- Tim pulls off with a wet slurp. "My fantasy. You smile like Superman."

"Ah --" Clark *shudders* --

Tim moans, helpless to *Clark's* helplessness -- "Clark --"

"Would you -- I didn't think you *wanted* me to be Superman for you, Tim --"

"I *don't*," Tim says, and looks up again. "Believe me. Just -- remember the *line* between my fantasies and what I actually want?"

And Clark looks distinctly... there's a sense of consternation there, and Tim thinks he can guess why.

"You... want to know me better, and knowing my fantasies *should* help you with that?"

Clark nods and cups Tim's face with his free hand, strokes all over it with his fingertips as if he's *truly* blind --

Tim follows Clark's fingers until Clark pauses for long enough to let Tim lick them, suck --

Clark pulls out and taps Tim's lips gently. A wordless request, and one...

Well, Tim has been a bit... opaque. "You could... hm. You could think of it as a way to get to know how I *think*, Clark."

Clark's laugh is soft and quiet, more a series of breaths than anything else. "You *have* been clear, today, about what you *do* want from me..."

"I've certainly tried --" And Clark is pressing his fingers against Tim's lips.

"Do you *wish* to be known, Tim?"

Clark holds his fingers against Tim's lips for another few moments -- a *distinct* request for Tim to think deeply about his answer, but -- he really doesn't have to. Tim pulls back from the pressure and licks his lips. "I want to be known at least as much as I want nothing of the kind. It... ah. Comes and goes? Surges and fades?" <<Desired one, I fear our solitude, but that does not make the attraction less.>>

Clark nods slowly and pushes his fingers into Tim's hair, *grips* the back of Tim's head --

"Oh -- *yes*. I -- the fantasies all contain some measure of objective *truth* --"

"Please, Tim. Give me your mouth?"

And the rush inside him -- the *wave* -- Tim moans and leans in again, and by the time he's breathing on the head of Clark's penis again, Clark is *tugging*, a little --

And Clark gasps when Tim takes the head in once more, moans when Tim sucks --

There's -- Clark is *big*, and Tim has to deal with the fact that he's almost certainly not going to get all of him into his mouth -- by all accounts, deep-throating takes *practice* -- but -- mm.

Just --

Clark still has his hand wrapped around the shaft, and Tim pushes against it with his lips once, again --

He could do it rhythmically, he realizes, and he works his mouth on the head, up and down and up again --

"Oh, Tim. You --" A moan, and Clark squeezes the back of Tim's neck so *gently*. It's the sort of care which practicality demands, but Tim can't help wishing for a bit more *force* to it.

Logic suggests that Clark *has* to want more than just this -- but logic also suggests that Clark has had *more* than enough experience with this to keep himself under rigid control, burning eyes and constant leak of pre-come be damned. Tim smiles around his mouthful --

Clark gasps, and -- of course he'd felt that. He's used to *Dick*, and who knows how many others -- no, Dick is the important one for this. Robin should, perhaps, *always* smile when he has Superman's penis in his mouth.

All is right with the *world* when --

All right, perhaps that's a little much, but -- *this* isn't. Tim wraps his free hand around Clark's as much as he can and tugs --

"Tim. You... you want me to move my hand?"

Tim nods, moving against Clark's careful grip on the back of his neck -- Clark could stop him so *easily* -- and he does. Oh --

"I don't want -- Tim, you understand that I must be *careful*?"

Tim hums something which, perhaps, *could* be considered assent --

<<Fine one, you *test* -->> "There are *limits*, Tim. I will not hurt you this way -- oh. Save in the ways I *must* --"

Tim shivers and *clenches* --

"The things which arouse you -- oh, Tim, if you hadn't given me permission to watch you with Dick, I would have perhaps. I would have *disobeyed* --"

Tim moans and *pushes* against Clark's hand with his mouth --

"*Yes*, Tim -- I. I know I can't stop you. I know..." Clark groans and there's more pre-come on Tim's tongue, making it necessary to lick more, *squeeze* with his hand and his lips --

Hum and *push* --

Clark's laugh is *breathless*. "Take as much as you *can*, Tim, I --" <<I am moved, I would be *taken* -->>

If he's remembering properly, that particular construction is more properly something that should only be used by a subordinate to his *better*, which is definitely something to consider, but really --

Clark's hand is moving, finally, sliding down and away from Tim's mouth, and following it is *necessary*. The stretch, the fullness --

Tim clenches again and Clark's moan is wordless, *driving*. As much as he *can* is what Clark had said, and that's *more*, that --

Tim goes down until he can feel Clark bumping against the back of his throat, until he can feel the *suggestion* of a gag, and it's not far *enough* --

"Tim, oh -- beautiful, perfect --" Clark is stroking the back of his neck again, restless and firm enough that he's making the skin there feel sensitive, making Tim's hairs stand up --

Clark *grips* and Tim swallows, coughs and pulls back instinctively --

"*Please*, Tim --"

He goes back down and *forces* himself to ignore the tickle and flex of his throat, breathes through his nose until the urge to cough settles down a little, enough --

He sucks and presses his tongue up against the underside, mourning a little that the taste is milder here, that he has to *work* for it. He wants Clark to *leak* more, and perhaps --

Tim *pumps* Clark's sac in his fist, rhythmic with his sucks and then opposite to them --

"Oh, yes, like that, like -- will you take Dick this way?"

Moaning *makes* Tim cough again, but this time he can keep himself from pulling back --

"Oh -- I feel I should apologize, but your focus is -- Tim, I need --"

Tim tries humming a question --

<<Your mouth *inflames* -->> "Suck me, suck harder --"

Tim nods and does it, working his head a little slower until it feels like he's fighting himself to move on the shaft, until every motion is a *pull* --

And Clark's hand is back in his hair, carding through the strands at a speed *just* slow enough that Tim can pick out the individual motions. Should he call that restless, or is it just what Clark *needs* to do? Is he reducing his speed so Tim *can* feel what he's doing, or --

*Grip*, again, and Tim realizes that he's tensed for a pull that isn't *coming*, that *won't* come, because Clark is --

Dick would pull unless Tim asked him not to. He -- everything Dick has *said* makes Tim believe that, *feel* that, and it makes Tim want to pull all the way back and *beg* Clark. Just for a little pull, a little --

Something to make his *body* beg, and that's more than enough reason to go down fast and *hard* --

"Tim, *no* -- oh. Oh, please, don't --"

He's gagging a little, coughing, and swallowing seems like it would be impossible, like something he's only ever previously managed by luck alone --

Tim growls and feels saliva slipping out of his mouth, pulls back and sucks *hard*, more in frustration than anything else. He *wants* this, all of it, every possible *nuance* of this experience --

Clark is so *hot* in his mouth, so big and so *needful*, needy --

"Be -- be *careful*, Tim --"

He growls again -- tries to. It comes out a groan. And another one, because at some point he'd started clenching inside, fast and *constant* --

"Your arousal for this..." Clark strokes down the center of Tim's back, up again to the back of his head --

Tim hums as loud as he *can* --

"This? My hand on your head -- oh. You'd like me to...?" And the pull is gentle, *careful*, but it's there, and the moan Tim wants to make in approval gets *buried* under the moan he makes because it feels that *good*.

He's *pumping* his hips now, years of ingrained reflex apparently winning over the configuration of this *body*. He's pumping at air, clenching around *nothing* --

"I want your pleasure, Tim, I --" <<I will *have* your pleasure -->>

Tim nods and sucks, slurps and licks -- Clark is still pulling, more holding Tim's head in position than urging, but Tim *can* go down a little further, take more with every slide --

"*Careful*, Tim -- ah --" And Clark *thrusts*, but it's barely worth the description. It's just a little more pressure on Tim's lower lip and his tongue, a slightly harder bump against the back of Tim's throat.

Tim hums again --

"I -- not this, I'm sorry, I'm --" <<You ask too much of my strength -->>

The only possible response to that is to squeeze Clark's sac as hard as he *can* --

"Are you -- oh, Tim, I *understand*, but please --"

Tim bares his *teeth*, just a little --

"I feel everything you do, every -- you seek to *goad*, but I will not *hurt* you --"

And perhaps that sound is more of a whine, but Tim is sweating now and there's only so much he can *take* of this, only --

He'd always thought of this act as an end in and of itself, a pleasure granted to both his fantasy lover and himself, but his body wants more, *needs* more, and he can't --

He whines *again* --

"Tim...? You. Do you need to stop?"

Tim shakes his head and reaches back to touch himself, to slide through his own wetness --

"Oh -- oh, *Tim* --"

Air, *wind* --

And Tim's on his back with Clark over him --

"Clark, I was --"

*Busy*, he says into Clark's mouth, moans around Clark's tongue, tries to lick *against* Clark's tongue --

The motion of it is too fast, wet and *hard*, and Clark has his hand between Tim's legs, rubbing Tim's clit at almost the same speed as he's fucking Tim's *mouth*.

Tim shouts for it almost before the feeling registers, the heat and *good* friction, as if Clark has been studying every motion Tim has used on his clit, every touch that has made Tim cry out --

"Tim --"

"*Please* --"

"The taste of myself in your mouth --"

"I want you *back*," Tim says, and a part of him is only shocked that he'd managed to get the words out, because now he's only moaning, gasping and working his hips --

<<You will *have* me,>> and that sounds like a promise, but --

"Oh --"

*In*, and that's two of Clark's fingers --

Tim's so *wet* --

"The way you feel, your need -- I couldn't *wait*, Tim --"

"*Please* --"

"Harder?"

"I -- oh, God, I want --" And that's a shout, because Clark doesn't *wait* for an actual answer before he's *shoving* his fingers in -- and pinning Tim to the bed with his other hand on Tim's shoulder. "*Clark* --"

<<Your body *demands* -->> "Everything you've asked for, everything Dick said to you and the way you reacted --"

"Want. I -- so much -- *mm* --"

Kissed again, and Clark still has his eyes closed, but Tim can feel their *heat*, can get lost in the glow and moan, try to *clutch* Clark's fingers --

"Oh, *please* --"

"Tell me, Tim. Or show me. The motion of your hips -- you're urging me *harder*. Do you really want?"

"Need -- *Clark*, I can't -- think. Can't focus --"

Another kiss, but this one is brief, *hard*, and Clark licks a stripe up over Tim's cheek, another beneath Tim's eye --

The *other* eye --

"Salt, so human, so *young* --"

The best Tim can do is put a question mark at the end of that wordless noise --

"You'll notice with other lovers, Tim. A sense of -- ah. Physical maturity. The lack of same is *distinctive*," Clark says, and he sounds like a *connoisseur* of sex, which, perhaps, is only rational.

Only -- Tim chokes on a laugh and tilts his head back, tries to *arch*, because it's too good for him to keep moving his hips in Clark's time, too --

"Oh. You're *close*, Tim. Shall I taste you again?"

"Kiss. A kiss, again --"

"Always," Clark says, and this kiss is softer than the last, wet and somehow *insinuating* --

Motion --

And Tim is sitting up in the air, legs dangling as Clark holds him with one hand under his ass and the other still thrusting, still *fucking* him --

A part of Tim wants to *flail*, but it's easier to just wrap his arms around Clark's neck and hold *on*, clench and cry out, suck Clark's tongue and *shake* --

He's not *breathing*, and he's having trouble remembering how, or why it's even important, because Clark's fucking Tim's mouth with the exact same rhythm he's using with his fingers --

Clark's *moaning* --

And Tim feels himself *kick* with both legs, and that's the last thing before the orgasm rolls through him like the kind of storm Gotham never really gets, like something as powerful as Clark himself --

He's *whimpering*, because he can't stop clutching Clark with his body, can't --

<<I must *hear* -->> "I'm sorry," and Clark's kissing all over Tim's face while Tim's body bucks and *writhes* --

He won't fall. Clark won't *let* him -- "*Clark* --"

"Here, beautiful one, fine one, *desired* -- oh, the scent of you --"

"Nn -- *ah*," and Tim's gasping, shivering and -- the tension seems to *fall* out of him, and he has to clutch Clark harder just to stay upright --

And then he's on the bed, on his back again, and Clark is kissing his throat, holding Tim's head to the side and sucking lightly at Tim's pulse point --

Tim feels his *toes* curl and pushes his hands into Clark's hair, pulls because he *can* --

"Tim...?"

"You." That wasn't very clear. Tim pants and tries again -- "*You*."

"Here, Tim, and I will always -- you only ever have to *call* --"

Tim growls and shakes his head, *focuses* --

"It's all *right*, Tim, you shouldn't fight --"

"I want you. To come in my *mouth*," Tim says, and pushes against Clark's shoulders until he can sit up, and then until Clark lies down. There's *enough* space on the bed -- it still gets bigger as Tim watches --

Clark is cupping Tim's breasts. "Ah -- they were swinging quite attractively."

"Specifically attracting your *hands* -- mm, oh, that squeeze -- *no*," Tim says and digs his fingers in against Clark's shoulders. "You said I could have you, Clark."

Tension in Clark's jaw -- released. "Forgive me, you make me want so *much* --"

"The feeling is mutual, which is why it would be good to retain enough focus to do *everything*," Tim says, and pulls back slowly enough that Clark can squeeze his breasts again. A couple of times.

"Oh. I do like the sound of that, Tim," Clark says, and sits up on his elbows. "Perhaps you would consider staying here, for a time?"

"A vacation, Clark...?" Tim shakes his head and strokes Clark's chest, trying and failing *again* to get used to the warmth, the smooth perfection -- he leans in and sucks Clark's nipple --

"Tim. You... I would monitor your home. If your parents were to call, I could have you there in an instant to pick up --"

And Clark moans when Tim bites, arches when Tim scratches down his chest to his abdomen --

"Please, I --" <<This place... perhaps you have guessed that the word 'solitude' translates but poorly into English...?>>

Tim blinks and pulls back. "It never occurred to me to -- oh. It really *should* have. Clark, I..." <<You ask...>>

"Too much," Clark says, and cups the back of Tim's head again. "I know. But we will be friends here, and wherever else you would like." And it's odd to watch someone raise their eyebrow over a blankly red glow, but a question is a question.

Tim licks his lips and nods -- and closes his eyes for the feel of Clark pulling him back down.

This time, Clark bucks the moment Tim has the head in, forcing Tim's mouth wide and *clutching* the back of Tim's head --

"Oh, I -- I'm sorry, Tim --"

Tim *bites* and pushes back against Clark's hand until Clark lets him drag his teeth up the shaft --

"You don't *want* me to be sorry, I -- mm. I understand, but. I'm not *Dick*, Tim -- oh, don't --"

But Clark doesn't actually *stop* Tim from pulling off. "I'm not asking you to be anyone but yourself, Clark. I just don't want you to treat me like I'm anyone but *myself*."

And Clark raises both of his eyebrows, and there's a brief intensification of the light near his eyelashes --

Nothing Tim has to look away from. "It's... it means more. If you take what you want because you *have* to," Tim says, and *deals* with his blush. "It's not like you're particularly rough with me in the fantasies --"

"But the fantasies -- they aren't what you truly *want* from me?"

"There's that," and Tim smiles and strokes Clark's thighs -- and loses himself, a little, in the way they're trembling. "Oh, Clark --"

"I -- please, Tim. Please. I promise --" <<Is this punishment? Have I transgressed?>>

Tim shakes his head and -- he really is *demanding* a lot of Clark's control, even as he spends precious moments trying to get him to stop *using* it. It makes sense in Tim's mind just the same, and...

And. Tim lifts Clark's sac and squeezes it almost idly, just because it's in his hand and *feels* as though it should be soft. That has more to do with the hair than with anything else, he thinks --

Tim leans in and sucks on it, again. There's a sudden, *powerful* temptation to try to leave a hickey, but of course that won't happen.

Would Clark heal instantly from a wound inflicted under a red sunlamp if he moved into the light of the yellow sun? Almost certainly, though Bruce's reports are clear that he'd never been close enough -- fast enough? -- on occasions like that to *see* the individual wounds heal and disappear. Tim nibbles a little, stroking Clark's thighs to ease -- no. To *enjoy* the feel of Clark trembling.

Another suck, and Tim thinks about how Clark has gone down on him... he nuzzles --

"Tim --"

"You feel -- strange. Wonderful. I really hope," Tim says, and sucks *hard* for a moment -- "I hope I don't get used to giving this degree of... sensation."

"Please, Tim. I -- your mouth is so cool, so giving and generous --"

"Generous? Perhaps *gregarious*," and Tim licks, and licks up Clark's shaft, pausing to bite at Clark's fingers --

Clark gasps and arches, strokes himself *fast* -- too fast for Tim to *count*. Tim grabs Clark's hand and pulls --

*Hard* --

"I -- I need. Will you hold me?"

"*Yes*," and Clark's hand -- is digging in against the bed, fingers pushing *in* to the material and getting briefly *gripped*. Tim swallows and wraps his fist around the base of Clark's penis, testing the feel of it against his fingers and palm, the heat and slickness --

Clark moans, and that -- Tim *has* to, but --

"Perhaps you enjoy a certain degree of being teased?"

"I must --"

"In my fantasies you *fuck* my mouth, Clark, slow enough -- I want it. You *know* I want it --"

"*Please*," and Clark's voice is almost *hoarse*, begging and demanding at once --

It's almost *too* easy to take Clark in his mouth again, as if his body was waiting for the feeling as much as Clark is --

"Just --" <<A little, fine one. There should be no. No *pain* -->>

And Clark groans *loudly* as he pushes in deeper, as he pulls out again so slowly, as he *shakes*.

Tim nods and sucks, pushing on Clark's thighs until he spreads them wider, until Clark arches again, pulls his knees up and plants his feet. It *feels* like there's a slight shift in the scent, but Tim can't put his finger on exactly --

Finger. Tim looks up at Clark from under his lashes --

"Tim...? I -- may. You feel --"

Another slow thrust, and this time Clark is really *pushing* against the back of Tim's throat, holding himself there for a moment, another --

Tim *wants*, and it's kind of a serious stretch to work one finger into his mouth *next* to Clark's penis --

A long hum with a lot of notes -- speed-babble, but Tim thinks, at this point, that he gets the gist of what's being said. Especially since Clark is holding his head *tighter*, pulling Tim in slow and *hard*.

If Tim tried to pull back now --

Tim shivers and pulls his finger out, curling it away from his face to keep from wiping off the saliva. And Clark... he has to know what Tim's doing, has to have *guessed*, but this sort of thing really isn't made for surprises. Tim smiles around Clark --

More speed-babble, and -- <<I *beg* -->>

Tim hums and nods more, *sucks* more -- and pushes his finger inside --

"*Tim* --"

Tight *heat*, and Tim wonders what it would feel like to have his *penis* in there, if he'd just get lost in the feel until he came without moving --

And *Clark* is moving, thrusting faster and just slightly *harder*, hand shaking on the back of Tim's head --

Tim *can't* move his head anymore. Clark is holding Tim in position, keeping Tim exactly where he wants for his thrusts, that thick *push*. It's a little challenging to match Clark's rhythm with his finger -- he's so *tight* -- but Tim manages, forcing the issue a little bit, forcing himself *in* --

And gagging at the feel of Clark *shoving* himself at Tim's throat, forcing --

Tim coughs and stays still, holds *on* --

"Tim, I can't -- the feel of you --"

Tim nods his understanding and tries to work his finger deeper, tries to get *more* of Clark in his mouth -- he swallows and sucks at once, and then there's no air, no way to *get* air --

Clark shouts and holds Tim right *there*, hand warm and impossible to deny, to get *past*. Clark's thrusting over and over, too *fast*, and Tim feels his lips getting numb, feels himself gasping deep in his chest and getting nothing, *nowhere* --

Clark is lodged in his *throat*, and a part of Tim is just waiting for Clark to pull back enough that he can breathe again, but the rest is insisting that this is right, proper and perfect -- he's definitely running out of oxygen, and this will *be* a problem --

But not yet. Not with Clark moving his hips in those *deadly* little thrusts, not with Tim's throat clenching and fluttering almost like -- oh. Perhaps this is what he'll do if he ever finds himself *missing* his vagina --

And trying to laugh makes *things* happen inside him --

"*Tim* --"

Clark thrusts hard and *holds* himself in Tim's throat, pets the back of Tim's head so fast it feels more like a strong, warm *wind* than anything else --

Air. He needs --

He's clenching and trying to moan, scratching at Clark's thigh as he tries and fails to keep anything like a rhythm for his thrusts --

"What you *wish*, Tim, what --" And the noise that follows that is somewhere between a groan and a growl, and Clark is so *deep*, so --

Tim's forgotten how to swallow again, and Clark's heat is all around him, touching him everywhere, making Tim feel *slick* with sweat, like he could slide right over Clark's skin, off the bed and onto his knees, his belly --

("You will fall a thousand times before your body begins to learn what it must, Tim.")

*Black* --

And Clark is gasping, grunting loud and breathily -- *heat*, right --

Right in Tim's *throat*, and Tim knows that his eyes are rolling back in his head --

Black --

"-- mouth, Tim," and Clark is pulling out, pulling back, Tim can breathe, he --

*Splash* of come against the back of his throat, and Tim knows that if he *had* managed to remember how to breathe he'd be coughing and gagging right now, as opposed to just tasting, *feeling* --

"Beautiful, beautiful one -- *suck*."

And Tim hears himself whining and does it, swallowing and gasping through his nose, sucking *hard* and -- *more*, right on his tongue. Both of them are shaking, and Tim couldn't pull his finger out if he *tried* --

"Oh. Oh, that's -- mm. That's everything I can *give* right now, Tim," Clark says, and pets Tim more slowly, *firmly*. Tim closes his eyes and thinks about staying on until Clark is ready to come again, but the way his jaw feels at the moment...

Yes, that's definitely *solely* for the realm of fantasy at the moment. Tim pulls his finger out and -- *tries* to pull off. And makes a questioning noise.

"Ah... just kidding," Clark says, and the smile in his voice is *fondly* bladed. And still there when Tim does pull off and kneel up.

"I suppose I deserved that."

"Oh, I really think you did," and Clark cups Tim's face and smiles a little wider. "But then, there's *much* I think you deserve, Tim."

"Promise? Threat? Statement of neutral fact...?"

Clark purses his lips slightly. "Not that last, I don't think. Tim, how are you?"

"I..." Tim deliberately opens his mouth wide and works his jaw a little bit. The pain isn't in the bone, really, but the muscles are fatigued. "There's some discomfort. More than I expected -- which is not to say we won't be doing that again as soon as I'm recovered enough."

Clark's eyes widen and *shine* -- not glow. The blue is back and eminently... tempting. Attractive.

Tim could easily stare into those eyes and fail to read *anything* of consequence, as opposed to merely... enjoying. "Clark, I -- thank you. For --" The yawn *attacks* Tim, making him blink and wince for his jaw.

Clark raises an eyebrow.

"Oh, I'm -- sorry about that. That was. Um. I seem to be *tired*."

"It did have to happen eventually, Tim," and the lines at the corners of Clark's eyes are back and the light in Clark's eyes is *pure* amusement.

"Really, I -- it's *early* --"

"It's nearly two in the morning by your time."

What? He would've said midnight, at the latest. His time sense is usually *perfect* --

"Ah... Tim? In my experience, many people can *lose* time when they are... pleasantly engaged...?"

Tim blinks and -- yes, his eyes *do* feel a little dry. "All right, that makes a certain amount of sense, but I'm still usually out patrolling at this time of night, Clark --"

"If I may, *how* many orgasms do you normally have in a given day...?"

That -- okay. Tim snorts. "You have a point." He shakes his head. "I suppose I should... hm. Dick wanted to --"

"Oh, he really did. *After* his patrol, which I think will last another two to three hours?"

Tim nods.

"A nap, then, wouldn't be amiss," Clark says, raising his eyebrows and slowly pulling Tim's body against his own, and --

Hm. "Were you expecting protest?"

"To be quite frank? Yes," and Clark moves Tim until Tim is straddling one of his thighs --

And then they're lying on the bed, tangled together quite comfortably. Though... "You might be too warm for me to sleep this close to."

"I confess there are several things I plan on doing once you *are* asleep, Tim."

"Leaving me at the mercy of the AI?"

"I'm reasonably sure I can convince it to leave you in peace, though... you may very well wake up significantly cleaner," Clark says, and strokes a finger through the sweat on Tim's neck. And sucks it off.

Tim shivers -- a little. "Well, if it's something that can take place while I remain unconscious, it probably can't be that traumatic...? Note the question in my tone."

Clark smiles. "Noted. When I asked Dick how he felt about it, he brought up the number of times Bruce had stripped and showered him when a patrol had left him too exhausted to fend for himself."

Bruce had... Tim swallows. Bruce had done that exactly twice with him. Once when Tim had had the Clench, and once when he'd gotten the flu during No Man's Land. The memories are so hazy that both times blend together, from the stubble on Bruce's face, to the carefully *practical* touches of Bruce's bare hands.

The warmth, and --

Bruce. "I... have fewer memories of that sort of thing."

Clark nods as if he'd heard all of that *and* knows more about what it means than Tim does.

Tim smiles ruefully. "I suppose I really should... ah. *Deal* with my feelings about Bruce sooner rather than later."

Clark's smile is gentle. "Or you could join Dick and me in doing nothing of the kind."

And that... all right, there's a *point* there. Tim shakes his head and laughs quietly.

Clark strokes Tim's face -- and closes Tim's eyes with a brush of his fingertips.

An excellent suggestion, but... "Do you... do you and Dick talk about Bruce often?"

"No, not often. It's always rather... difficult, when we do. Though not, I don't think, the same sort of difficulty you've had when you've tried to have those conversations."

He doesn't feel like laughing, anymore. "Um... well, yes. I've pretty much decided... *not* to. With Dick, anymore."

"I understand," Clark says, and shifts until Tim is resting his head on Clark's arm.

It makes the scent of Clark rise around him to something *worth* more than a simple oxygen mix. Tim breathes deep --

"I can't tell you how happy it makes me that you've come to enjoy my scent, Tim. I always worry about not smelling human enough to my lovers. Scent is such an important part of attraction."

"And seduction," Tim says, and pushes just that slightest bit closer. "You've given me any number of positive associations for your scent, Clark."

"Well, according to Bruce, I *am* deeply manipulative."

Tim smiles and -- yawns rather hugely. "It... mm. It suits you. Much like plaid, really."

"I honestly don't see what the problem *is* with plaid. It's such a cheerful pattern, and quite practical in terms of stains."

"Practicality isn't *everything*, Clark --"

"Oh, I'm happy to hear you say that, Tim," and Tim doesn't need to open his eyes to see Clark's *triumphant* smile.

And really -- "I've hardly been championing the cause of efficiency and practicality *today*, Clark."

"Very true, and yet it's been something of a *theme* with you for quite some time."

"I did mention that our relationship would've been significantly different if you'd just been --" Another yawn. "Been more *clear*."

Clark kisses Tim's forehead. "Please, allow me to retain my pettishness. I like to think it makes me more human."

Tim smiles and rubs his cheek against Clark's arm. "All right. Kal-El."

<<Tim Drake, you would give the monitor-servant ideas and ambitions above its -- and your -- station.>>

And Clark's voice *was* actually slightly different for that. Harder if not deeper, more... something. He's a little too tired to be sure. And -- <<This one does plead ignorance.>>

Clark -- chokes. Though that might have been an abortive splutter.

Tim smiles and lets himself yawn again --

" -- dangerous. Ah, you sleep."

"What...? I -- oh, I was asleep --" This yawn makes his jaw *ache* --

"Rest, Tim. I will not let you miss anything important to you."

Tim nods and --

Black.

The first thought in his mind is that the AI's cleaning protocols are a little *grabby*. It can't bode well that he's pinned and his wrists are being held against the bed.

The second thought is that he's *pinned*, and that the AI's servos are clearly very advanced and *creepy*.

The third thought --

"Mmm, *there* you are, little brother. I was starting to worry that Clark *had* knocked you out for the night."

Naked. He's naked and Dick's right there and is he *hard*? How is he going to -- to. Tim blushes and groans.

"Oh, hey, *that* didn't sound like a happy sound at *all*," Dick says, and shifts until his legs are between Tim's own and his mouth is just behind Tim's ear. "What can I do to *fix* that?"

"Um -- ah. I don't suppose -- oh. *You're* naked."

Dick grins -- Tim can *feel* it against the sensitive skin Dick is currently nuzzling. "I really, really am. Clark stripped me the *second* we got here. Tell a guy *once* that you miss running around mostly naked in a circus and he gets *ideas*," and Dick shifts again, *grinds* against Tim's ass --

"Oh. *Dick* --"

"*Speaking* of ideas. Let me just -- nnh. There," and Dick's penis is *nestled* in Tim's cleft --

"Oh -- *hell*, Dick --"

"Not a fuck? Not even when I do --" *Thrust*, and the head of Dick's penis is nudging Tim's hole, again, *again* -- "This?"

And Tim's hot all over, just that *quickly* -- "Um. I take it you don't find this body off-putting?"

Dick snickers and *bites* Tim's ear. "I gotta say, it was weird looking at some strange woman sprawled out on one of the Fortress' instabeds. Checking out her curves, the swell of her big, *pretty* breast --"

"Oh -- God. You don't have to *remind* me --"

"Your ass is *almost* the same, little brother, and if you don't *mind*..." Dick grinds and thrusts again --

Tim moans and pushes back against Dick --

"Ooh. You *don't* mind. That's... I'm gonna *show* you how good *that* is, little brother. Your ass and I are *going* to get acquainted."

"That's -- I can appreciate that thought. A great deal. Clark --"

"Is hovering behind and above me, where he has a great view of *everything*, Tim."

"Oh, yes. Though I wonder if you might not let Tim turn over onto his back for a time?" And Clark's voice --

Tim wonders if it's possible to hear the heat in his eyes, because --

"I just don't know, Clark." Dick *bites* Tim's ear. "Tim?"

"Um. Yes?"

"When you fantasize about me fucking you, what position are we in?"

"Gnh -- I --" Tim tries to move his arms, to get them *under* him --

"You think I'm letting you go *anywhere*, little brother? You *do* things when you're all on your own. Stealing my escrima sticks --"

"It was just the one --"

"And there's a *reason* why they come in *pairs*, Timbo. And anyway, you do things like not even letting me know that you *swing* this way --"

"Well, I -- I was hardly. I didn't *lie* to you, Dick -- *ow* --"

Dick *hums* against Tim's ear, holding it between his teeth -- letting it go. "Lies of omission are still lies, you know."

"I."

("If nothing else, Tim, you leave yourself in a very vulnerable position when you sleep that way.")

No *kidding*, Bruce --

And he's really not imagining Bruce in Dick's position. He's -- he's *not* --

"*Oh* --"

Another *thrust*, and another after that, and Tim's skin is prickling all over with fresh sweat, and if the AI *had* cleaned him, it's surely deeply disappointed with him now.

Or maybe inferior creatures have the right to rut like the animals they are. He'll have to ask the thing someday, and --

And Dick is *hard*, and somehow that thought hadn't sunk in with all the others until just now. Dick is hard and panting a little against Tim's ear, keeping Tim's legs spread with his own, and the feel --

"Tease. I --"

"*What* was that, Tim?"

The smile in Dick's voice *glitters*. "Um -- nothing? Or. Something. You could consider letting me *move*, Dick --"

"I *can't* risk letting you get away --"

"If I may, Dick, I really don't think Tim would get very *far*," Clark says, and yes, Tim has gotten to know him well enough to know that that tone -- there's a *laugh* in Clark's voice.

Very much at Tim's expense, which -- well. *Clark* knows exactly how turned on Tim is, and Dick is making a well-educated guess. Possibly the education is graduate level. "Um... I imagine that knowing what you do, about me --"

"Is making a *lot* of my memories of you make more sense? You are *absolutely* right, Tim," and Dick licks Tim's ear once --

Tim shivers and Dick does it *again* --

"Now answer my question."

About... positioning. Tim licks his lips and closes his eyes --

"And *don't* leave me," Dick says, biting Tim's ear again and making Tim need to *move*, to --

Dick's penis is right *there* between his cheeks, and it's warm and hard and not slick enough, but Tim can *change* that --

Dick sighs and grips Tim's wrists tighter, *grinds* his hips against Tim's ass -- "Don't make me *wait* anymore, Tim. You don't know -- God, you taste like a *woman*."

Tim winces --

"Ah, Dick, maybe -- Tim has seemed to be rather *upset* --"

"It's okay, Clark," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. "I don't need you to -- or. Um."

"He's only running interference because he's very invested in *this*," Dick says, and grinds *again* -- "going smoothly. And I can't blame him. I *want* you, Tim."

Tim -- doesn't close his eyes again. And he doesn't stop breathing, *either* --

"It was easier over the phone -- and the comm. I get that," and Dick nuzzles Tim's ear. "And I'm *going* to say stupid things -- it's kind of my *thing* -- but... tell me. Tell me about your fantasies and I'll tell you about *mine*."

There's no holding that moan back. There's --

"Oh, *yeah*, little brother. *Let* me get you going, I promise I'll take care of you, that I'll make you feel so *good* --"

"On my back. I -- mostly. *Oh* --"

The interesting thing is that it's even better to be aware of all the moves that lead to him *being* on his back, to be able to feel Dick squeezing and pulling on him, to be able to *help* until Dick is grinning down at him, eyes a little wild and hair wilder, like maybe Clark hadn't wrapped Dick up in his cape *entirely* --

"Dick..."

Dick's grin gets *wider*, and that's definitely Dick's erection on his abdomen, warm and hard, so *good* -- "Right here. Where you *want* me."

Tim smiles helplessly --

And the kiss feels almost cool at first after all of Clark's, but Tim's body catches up to it, to the knowledge that Dick is pretty much *exactly* as warm as he is, that his tongue is mobile and *tongue*-like --

This is going to make him stupid *quickly*, and it's possible that the process has already started, because Tim is *reasonably* sure that rearing up to make the kiss deeper won't actually do anything to *help* his intellect --

Dick moans and *coaxes* Tim's tongue into his mouth, and moves -- *moves*, rolling them onto their sides and letting one of Tim's wrists go so he can stroke Tim everywhere he can reach, so he can pinch and push and *grip* --

Tim's ass.

Well-acquainted.

*Dick* --

Tim groans and tries to get Dick's tongue back into his mouth, tries to get something to *suck*. There's a twinge in his jaw, but it feels minor, eminently ignorable -- Dick pulls back.

"I -- Dick?"

"You kiss your girlfriend like that, little brother?"

"I."

"Oh, I love that blush. Even though it makes you seem *way* too young --"

Clark moans quietly --

"And we're just going to ignore Clark moaning for *that*, I think. Unless you'd prefer to mock him *mercilessly*?"

"*Really*, Dick. You would've been *very* upset with me if I'd ever treated you like a *child*."

Dick grins, broad and sharp, and even though he's looking at Tim, Tim knows that the smile is at least *partially* for Clark. But -- Dick's lips are wet. They aren't swollen but --

"Oh. Perhaps the two of you might kiss again?"

Dick laughs quietly and leans in -- and brushes his nose against Tim's. "What do *you* think, Tim? Another kiss for the-man-who-has-everything?"

That... heh. "Well. He *has* been pretty... super."

"Oh, he's *good* at that," and Dick pushes a leg between Tim's own --

"Oh. That feels --"

"Gonna get my thigh all wet? Here's a hint -- say *yes*, Tim," but Dick doesn't give Tim a chance to say *anything* before they're kissing again, and this time Dick is licking the inside of Tim's mouth as if there's something --

Can he taste Clark there? Had the AI hosed out his mouth with something terrifying while he was asleep? *Tim* can't taste anything, but what does that really mean against --

Oh, *against*, and that's a *good* word, because Dick is rubbing his thigh in a way that makes Tim need to *buck* --

Dick moans and kisses Tim harder, stroking his hand down Tim's side until he can grip Tim's hip and *pull*. The strength is human and somehow more noticeable for being so. Tim *could* fight the grip and possibly even get somewhere -- Dick lacks leverage -- but.

It's a lot better just to feel it and to follow, rocking his hips in the rhythm Dick wants --

Dick bites Tim's *lip* and the warm thing inside him, the apparently *insatiable* thing inside him swells and flexes -- makes *Tim* flex --

Another kiss and Tim realizes that, at some point, he'd pushed a hand into Dick's hair and started tugging, petting -- Tim *sucks* Dick's tongue and Dick pumps his hips, sliding his penis along Tim's hip, making Tim *want* --

Oh.

He pulls his hand out of Dick's hair and reaches down, instead, stroking just a little with his fingers, feeling the shape he's known since that *first* shower together, when Dick was being Batman and Tim was being as circumspect as he could *manage* --

Dick shivers and pulls back. "If you wanna stroke me, little brother, I get to return the favor, and -- ooh. Get my hands all wet and *sticky*. And *don't* tell me you're not used to that, yet. You've had Clark all *day*."

"I -- um. Well?"

"To be fair, Dick, we did have a fairly long lunch first," and Clark is -- a little bit -- closer.

"Because Tim took you to the place where he was supposed to take *me*," Dick says, letting go of Tim's hip to shake his finger in Tim's face.

"The restaurant didn't *close*, Dick --"

"Yes, but I come *first*," and the light in Dick's eyes is *dancing*, which....

"Well, if you *insist*," Tim says, wrapping his hand around Dick and *squeezing* --"

"*Nnh* -- oh, *yeah*, little brother, show me what you do when you're thinking about me --"

"I -- I can *do* that," Tim says, laughing a little and stroking slow and -- hmm. "Ah... you could get on your back...?"

Dick's eyes are closed, tracking fast behind the lids -- "I want to feel you all *over* --"

"Or we could do that, too. Um..." Tim leans in and kisses Dick, feeling his heart *pound* -- and just keeps doing it when Dick kisses him back, cupping Tim's face and thrusting into Tim's fist --

"Oh. Both of you, so beautiful --" And Clark whispers something --

The bed softens enough to make Tim gasp, but it's only getting larger again -- and curling up at the edges.

Dick laughs and moves his thigh to allow Tim more room to stroke --

Rolls them until Dick is on his back --

"C'mon, straddle my *other* thigh --"

"Oh -- Dick." Tim shakes his head and does it, and Dick *immediately* pushes his thigh up against Tim and starts *flexing* it -- "*Dick* --"

"Don't -- don't stop stroking me, little brother, little sister --"

"*Not* that --"

"Give me some room to *play*, Tim, this is a new and exciting *development* --"

"*Dick*," and Tim squeezes hard --

"Oh, *ooh* -- fuck, yes. Did Clark teach you to be that mean?"

Tim braces himself with his free hand and -- he can't keep his hips from moving. He's *getting* Dick's thigh wet, and --

Dick opens his eyes and smiles, searching Tim's face -- smiles wider and *bounces* his thigh against Tim --

"Jesus -- *Jesus*, Dick --"

Dick laughs and pushes his hand between Tim's legs, *holding* his fingers against Tim's clit so that his thigh pushes them against it harder -- again --

*Again* -- "I -- you're going to make me lose *focus* --"

"I have *faith* in your -- mm. Ability to *multitask*."

Tim laughs helplessly and strokes a little faster, and really -- "I. I think most of my protests... I don't want to forget any moment of. Doing this. With you."

And Tim can hear Clark take a breath --

And Dick opens his eyes again. The smile is a little softer, but his eyes are still *wild*.

Tim swallows --

"Oh... Tim. Focus on *this*: we're going to be doing this a *lot*. *More* than you do it with Clark, because..." Dick's grin gets wide again. "Family is *important*."

"Oh... Dick. I..." Tim shakes his head and tries not to get lost in the look in Dick's eyes, the feel of him so hard -- so *differently* hard -- against Tim's palm. He's leaking a little pre-come, and --

"I can only hope that the two of you spend a great deal of time together in the future," Clark says, and now he's close enough to cast a shadow over both of them. "I will, of course, do everything I can to be of assistance."

"Mmm. Because you're a *dirty* alien and now that you've gotten a *taste* of my beautiful little brother -- who definitely isn't a sister, even if he *would* look good in something tight and slinky --"

"*Dick* --"

"Shh, I know," Dick says, and pats Tim's cheek. "I hated the dresses, too. But I *did* look good in them --"

"Quite often," Clark says, and Tim has to --

He hasn't even *looked* at Clark since Dick had arrived, and that's not really right at all. Where they all are *alone* -- Tim turns his head, and Clark is smiling at him, *precisely* as though he'd seen Tim start to move this way and knew...

Well, all right, it's *Clark*. Tim smiles back and shakes his head, and when he turns back to Dick --

"First threesome going okay, little brother?"

First... it. Well. "I -- I'm going to say yes. To that."

"*Good*. Now how about you... mm," Dick says, and strokes Tim's mouth with his thumb. "How much of that is swelling and how much is just your terrifyingly hot outer woman?"

I look like my *mother* -- is what Tim's not going to say. "Ah... I think it's about... even?"

"*Really*. That's -- oh, little slower, Tim, I don't wanna come yet --"

"But family comes *first*, Dick --"

Dick snorts and *taps* Tim's mouth with his fingers. And does the same with the fingers resting against Tim's *clit* --

"I -- oh. I'm not sure if you're telling me to apologize or *not* --"

"No apologies needed until I *spank* that sweet ass of yours, Tim -- *nn*, God, squeeze me like that all you *want* -- except right now," Dick says, brushing Tim's hand aside and sitting up --

And Dick is *exactly* flexible enough to be able to do that *easily* even though he still has one leg bent up and *rubbing* Tim. "God, Dick -- I. You really are doing a great job of not letting me get away even a *little* -- um. I mean --"

"We're not *all* superpowered, Tim," and Dick pushes his hand into Tim's hair and tilts Tim's head back. "There you are. And -- I'm willing to work to keep you *focused*."

"*Unfocused* --"

"Focused on the *right* things -- I. Damn. Those really are *big* breasts for a -- person your size."

Tim snorts --

"I mean -- wow. I've never really been a breast *man*, but I could definitely..." The expression on Dick's face turns *thoughtful*.

Kind of *disturbingly* so -- no, that's his personal proximity alarm, because Clark is kneeling behind Tim on the bed --

"I'm sorry, but the two of you -- your *scents* --"

'Thoughtful' gets to be rather closer to 'evil' on Dick's face. "It's a party in your nose and the Batkids are invited?"

Clark breathes *deeply*, *right* behind Tim's ear -- "I won't interrupt. I can move... hm. Very quickly if the two of *you* need to move --"

"*I'm* not complaining, Clark," and Dick turns back to face Tim. "Are you?"

"Ah -- it would be rather silly --"

"Serious question," Dick says, and tugs lightly on Tim's hair.

Right. And honestly, a *part* of Tim could question Dick's timing for getting *concerned*, but -- *Clark* helped raise him. And now Tim knows *exactly* what that means. Tim smiles and reaches back to squeeze Clark's thigh.

"Oh, Tim..."

"I'm fine," Tim says --

"*Good*," and Dick bends himself up a little more and kisses Tim again, holding Tim's head still and making the kiss deep, *hard*, and while Tim is aware that he has options --

Tim feels himself squeezing Clark's thigh again *reflexively* --

And Clark is kissing the back of Tim's neck, and there aren't any options, at all. He *has* to rock his hips, slide himself against Dick's thigh, feel the prickle of hair and muscle built of hard work --

*Dick* --

Dick breaks the kiss and Tim's moan seems to echo through the space they're in, seems to make Clark kiss him harder --

Dick's kissing Tim all over his face -- no, his throat, because he's holding Tim's head back --

Clark's kissing his shoulder --

Clark's kissing *Dick*, and Tim can't see it, but he can hear it -- Dick's pleased moan and Clark's hum, and it feels a little like pushing too hard to keep rocking against Dick's thigh -- he can feel how *slick* he's making it -- but he can't stop, and --

And Clark and Dick are kissing the opposite sides of Tim's throat, and Dick's using his teeth --

Clark is *sucking* --

Dick's sucking *harder*, and focusing on what they're doing just means that Tim doesn't become aware of the noises he's making until he runs out of the air *to* make them. Just --

Tim freezes --

Dick *bites* and pulls back -- "What's wrong?"

"Um -- I. That was a little out of control and -- oh, Clark. Clark's *mouth* --"

"Still in the process of kissing you -- don't worry, he *won't* give you a hickey."

"Oh -- okay --"

"But *I* want to, and..." Dick cups Tim's hips. "Keep moving. I want to see if you can come this way."

Clark moans and scrapes his teeth so *lightly* --

And Dick smiles when Tim shivers. "Or... we could do a *lot*of things, Tim. Clark told me -- it took some *effort*, and I had to let him strip me first --"

"*Dick*," Clark says, and his breath is *hot* against Tim's throat --

"Fine, fine, you only asked me if I wanted to get *comfortable*, but you said it in *that* way," Dick says, squeezing Tim's hips and dragging him slightly closer --

"Oh, that feels -- ah. Really good."

"That's good to hear, because I want your scent all *over* me when I go back home, little brother --"

Tim moans because he *has* to, and Clark kisses him again, makes his mouth *hard* to do it -- "I -- Dick --"

"*Right* here, and Clark looks so good kissing you I can't really *deal*, but -- heh. He *told* me all the things the two of you got up to, told me that you felt incredible when he was inside you --"

"Warm, welcoming -- beautiful," Clark says, and kisses his way up to the space behind Tim's ear, pressing -- oh, that's his *tongue*, and Tim wants to close his eyes, wants to just *feel* --

Dick takes one hand off Tim's hip -- cups Tim's breast. "Do I get to suck on these a little, Tim?"

Suck on. Dick -- "If -- you want to. Clark said -- ah. That I was more sensitive."

"Than me? *Lots* of people are. Mm. Did you make Clark tell you all about me? Did it get you off?"

"He really didn't have to *force* --"

"Hush, Clark, I want Tim to *talk*," Dick says, and the wildness in his eyes has become something almost hard, something *hungry* -- which goes well with everything Dick has been saying and doing since *before* Tim woke up.

Tim bites his lip -- stops. "I did ask about the two of you. It -- the images it put in my mind were. Very inspiring."

And Dick's smile should be classed as a lethal *weapon*, but it just makes Tim feel wetter, more *open* --

Dick catches Tim's hand and squeezes it -- "Nuh-uh, little brother. There are two multi-orgasmic people in this Fortress and *neither* of them are me."

Which -- Tim really was reaching for Dick again. "Ah -- sorry --"

"Do *not* apologize for reflexes like that," Dick says, and smiles again. "It's the wrong time to ask, but... ever want to fuck *me*?"

Tim *grunts* --

"Ooh --"

"For the record, Dick, Tim just clenched *impressively*."

Dick laughs and brings Tim's hand to his mouth, licking the palm and biting Tim's fingertips. "Don't hate me, Tim, but I'm *really* tempted to keep Clark around so he can *read* you for me."

"I -- I was hardly being *subtle*, Dick --"

"Not *then*, no... God, there's so *much* I want to do with you, to you, *on* you --" Dick licks his lips. "Let me suck your breasts?"

"I -- I'd have to move. Off your thigh, that is --"

"*Very* true, but -- Clark can finger you a little. Can't you, Clark?"

Clark *licks* Tim's throat, a line up to his ear, and his breath is hot, ticklish, *wonderful* -- "If Tim will have me."

"*Please* -- I. Oh, I didn't expect to beg right then."

"No...?" Dick squeezes Tim's hand again and brings it down to his penis, dragging Tim's fingers along the shaft.

"Dick. I've wanted you -- I. You're so *hard*," and Tim bites his lip again --

Clark brushes his fingers over Tim's mouth to make him stop --

"Oh... Tim," Dick says, and pulls Tim's hand away again. "You remember when I had to be Batman for a while."

"I -- yes. We didn't really -- we got to know each other then."

Dick's smile is a little distant, and -- probably -- unconsciously *Bat*. "You were... if I didn't have you, I would've fallen *apart*, Tim. And I felt so... you don't know how you looked with those bruises on your face from that beating you had to take to keep the secret. You were so angry, but you didn't let that *stop* you, and you never let it change how you were on the street."

Tim shakes his head. "It wouldn't have -- it wouldn't have been right."

"See, I was all *ready* to haul you back if you *did* try to go too far, and part of me -- *most* of me -- was waiting for it, waiting to see your anger. Your -- heh. Passion."

"Oh. I... Dick --"

"It *ate* at me, little brother. I thought about it at night in that big bed in the manor, that *cold* bed. What it would take to *make* you lose it, to *give* me everything inside you, everything I could *take* --"

"I would've -- um. I wanted you --"

"See," Dick says, and turns that Bat-smile *on* Tim. "I *thought* you did. Maybe. The way you'd look at me a little too long when I was untying my hair for the night -- all that damned *hair* --"

"I really. Liked your hair. Wanted -- I wanted to *touch* -- *oh*," and that's Clark's hand holding Tim's *other* breast, lifting it up --

Dick groans. "God, you. Hearing you *say* that is hot enough, but the way Clark looks..."

Tim turns, but he can't really see Clark in more than partial profile -- and Dick turns Tim's head back. "Sorry, I --"

"He's giving me that pseudo-patient look, little brother. The one that's all about how he *can* wait for more, but really doesn't want to, at all. God, I can't believe you got him to *fuck* you."

"He was... insistent," Clark says, and the kiss to Tim's shoulder is more breath than anything else, and -- yes, it's *supposed* to make Tim think that Clark's just fine, but all it really does is make it incredibly clear that Clark *isn't* doing... a lot of things.

"Insistent? *I* was insistent --"

"And you hadn't been pleasuring yourself that way for years, Dick," and Clark's voice is low, serious -- hm.

"I didn't exactly have a *vagina* to play with before," Tim says --

"This is my *point*," and Dick reaches past Tim's shoulder --

"Ah... for this, you pull my hair, Dick?" Clark sounds so *mild* -- but also amused.

And Dick's growl is *mostly* playful -- "I'm just going to choose to believe that you learned *better* over the years between the early days of *our* relationship and your brand new one with *my* little brother."

"Oh... what does Bruce always say, Dick...? 'Learning never stops?'"

"'Training never ends,'" Tim says, and digs his fingers in against Clark's thigh a little. "It's possible that I would've become frustrated enough to make you *leave* if you hadn't... ah..."

"Given it up?" Dick laughs. "Okay, *that* is the kind of insistent I never would've been able to manage. Admit it, Clark -- he had you by the short hairs."

"All *day*," Clark says, and the amusement is somewhat rueful. "To be able to recognize the *powerful* arousal of someone you desire, to be reasonably sure that arousal *is* for you -- and to be denied." And Clark nuzzles Tim's ear, but mostly Tim can feel him *looking* at him. Into him, perhaps.

"Ah... you have an interesting definition of *denial*, Clark."

Dick laughs. "He's *greedy*, Tim. *Utterly* insatiable, and the only thing that makes him stop is the possibility of hurting someone he cares about. Which is a damned good recipe for a first time. Or a second. Or a ninety-eighth, for that matter."

Tim considers it and strokes Clark's thigh a little more, letting his hand drift up over Clark's abdomen, brushing his knuckles against Clark's chest. He twists enough to be able to touch Clark's face -- still perfectly smooth. Still --

Tim shivers. Clark had just brushed Tim's nipple, fast enough that it's possible --

"Tim...?"

That Dick hadn't seen it. Tim shakes his head and smiles. "Clark seems to be slightly more impatient."

"Ah..." Clark turns and kisses Tim's palm. "You seemed to be... drifting. Somewhat."

Drifting. *Really* --

"Oh, we can't have *that*," Dick says, and bounces his thigh again --

"Oh. Dick --"

"Tell me more about wanting me, little brother. Or -- tell me how you *did* get rid of that anger?"

Both of those things are difficult, and maybe neither of them *should* be -- he doesn't bite his lip again, but he does *moan*, because Clark licks his palm and tugs it back down --

"Clark, are you *distracting* Tim?"

"Well, he seemed to want -- I *hope* he wants -- mm. Oh, Tim, your hands are wonderful..."

And somehow -- and Tim isn't sure he wants to *know* how -- it's easier to think about Dick's question with one hand wrapped around Clark's penis. It has a kind of innate *focus* to it... he doesn't know and he doesn't have to. "I stalked the kids in question and waited until they were gathered in an otherwise deserted alley," Tim says, and watches Dick's eyes widen --

"Wait, you went after them as *Robin*?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "That would've been wrong. But Tim Drake borrowed a few of Robin's moves."

"*Jesus*, little brother. That's -- what, your girlfriend couldn't see you, but a bunch of punks could?"

"I know... I knew I was walking a pretty fine line, and possibly even crossing it, but." Tim shakes his head and squeezes Clark --

"Oh, Tim, yes, harder. Please..."

"Tim, you... you kind of *have* to tell me this --"

"I know," Tim says. "And this isn't an excuse, but there was something eating at me, too. You were -- you were *you*, but you were also *Batman*, and I knew that you needed me to be as professional as I could be --"

"*Not* all the time, Tim --"

"*That* I didn't know," and Tim shakes his head. "And if I did, I might've gone after them, anyway. They weren't gang-affiliated and they had no one to report to. There was no one they could tell about the skinny rich kid who beat the hell out of them."

"That's..." Dick snorts. "That's kind of *ruthless*, Tim. So did you make it harder on them because you couldn't let your girlfriend see how hardcore you were?"

Tim squeezes Clark --

Clark lifts Tim's breast slightly and kisses Tim's shoulder --

"*Not* distracting me," Dick says, and *grips* Tim's jaw.

"I... didn't break any bones."

"That's it? That's all you're going to tell me about what you did?" And Dick's grip on Tim's jaw gets *serious* --

And apparently serious enough to make Clark reach to tug Dick's fingers away. Dick frowns. "I'm not *hurting* him, Clark --"

"You were... close to bruising the flesh. I wasn't sure you wanted to do that," Clark says, and kisses Tim's shoulder again.

The expression on Dick's face is all about silent communication with Clark, and Tim can almost *feel* the innocence -- and *earnestness* -- of Clark's expression. It's all over the *wry* look on Dick's face --

"Okay, fine. No bruising the little brother -- not *that* way, anyway. But --"

"Um..." Is he really squeezing Clark's *penis* to *reassure* himself?

"Oh, wonderful -- mmm --"

Dick laughs. "*Spill* it, Tim. Or I *won't* bruise you in any interesting places."

"Oh -- that would be terrible. I didn't go any further with them than I would with a low-level drug dealer who was armed with something less dangerous than a gun."

"You can be kind of *hard* on those dealers --"

"I didn't -- break any bones. And maybe they'll think twice about bullying the next well-meaning kid just looking to show his girlfriend a good time."

Dick sighs and firms his grip in Tim's hair, tugging a little. "Fine. But if one or two of those guys show up in a year or two with serious martial arts training and a hard-on for black-haired teenagers, I'm blaming *you*."

"Noted," Tim says, and -- "I... perhaps I should move. To... facilitate. Things."

"Things?" Dick raises both eyebrows. "It's time for *things* now? Do you think you *deserve* things...?"

"If I may, Dick...?"

"No, you may *not*, you giant horndog. You scared *Jason* off. Do you know how hard that was to *do*?"

Jason? What brought... oh. Had he *reminded* Dick of Jason with his revenge? Tim reaches down to cover the hand Dick has on his breast --

And Dick *glitters* at him.

"Um?"

"Answer the question, little brother. What does a mean, reckless, *angry* boy like you deserve?"

"I -- was hardly *reckless*, Dick --"

"Everyone gets angry sometimes," Clark says, mild and somehow *obscene* -- it's possible that that has something to do with the way he's twined his hand with Tim's own and started guiding the strokes.

Dick squeezes Tim's breast and tugs Tim's hair again. "Well?"

"I... I did follow orders earlier. It's possible I've... expiated my sin...?"

Dick cocks his head to the side and purses his lips a little and generally looks exactly like someone Tim would throw aside everything for a chance to *follow*.

"Dick. You're so... you're beautiful," Tim says, blushing and fighting as hard as he can not to look *away*.

Dick blinks and opens his mouth -- closes it again and smiles, shaking his head. "So maybe it's possible that I'm still a little gone over you wanting this. Wanting *me*."

Tim frowns. "Clark did say that you could sometimes be... ah. A little unsure?"

"Oh, I *know* I'm attractive -- people tell me that all the *time* -- but family..." Dick shakes his head again and shifts, letting go of Tim and scooting back. "Yeah, I'm not gonna make us wait. That would be... wrong," and Dick turns to Clark. "Why don't you lay Tim down between us? Then we can do *things*."

"I *can* move myself -- oh --" He's on his back -- Dick has an arm under him.

Dick is kissing him and stroking Tim's chest. Stroking *around* Tim's nipples, and it manages to feel both soothing and frustrating --

"Forgive me, but --"

Except that Tim has come to the realization that it's hard to be frustrated while Clark is licking one's genitals. That *tongue* --

Dick is laughing into his mouth, and his hand isn't on Tim, anymore -- he almost certainly has his hand in Clark's hair, and thus knows exactly what Clark is doing -- assuming the noises Tim is making didn't let him know. Dick *fucks* Tim's mouth --

*Clark* is fucking him with his tongue --

Dick pulls back just in time for Tim's moan to be *loud* --

"God, I kinda *love* that, little brother."

"Nn -- good to know. As I'm going to be -- oh, *fuck* --"

And Dick is laughing aloud, but that's a relatively minor concern against the feel of Clark all but *slapping* Tim's clit with his tongue -- no, he's just licking, but --

"His tongue --"

"Hard and like *no* one else's," Dick says, and grins. "I'd tell you to try not to get too accustomed to that feeling, but it's not like Clark's letting you *go*."

"Ah -- um. *Fuck*, sucking now -- oh --" And Tim tries to arch, tries to sit *up* --

Dick pushes him back down -- "*Sucking*... sounds like a really good idea," and Dick strokes over to Tim's nipple and pinches *hard* --

"*God* -- yes, Dick, you -- please --"

"Oh, say please again --"

"*Please* --"

"*Absolutely*," and Tim doesn't know if it's random chance or not that Clark pulls back just as Dick leans in and *breathes* on Tim's nipple --

No, Clark would want to *watch* this --

"Oh, Dick. He seems to prefer quite a *hard* suck --"

And Tim's whole body *spasms* when Dick -- when he *latches* on, humming and *pulling* with his mouth, twisting the other with his fingers --

*Lifts* Tim with the arm under him, pulling him to Dick's mouth, and the sensation is exactly like being teased from the inside, touched and almost *driven*, and Tim realizes that he was working his hips at *air* when Clark cups them and squeezes --

"Tim. Would you like my fingers now?"

And perhaps he should worry about the way his body responds so *quickly* to Clark's voice, to that *tone* in Clark's voice and the way it manages to seem both sincerely solicitous and utterly *hungry*. Tim feels open and *wet*, and never mind that Clark had just licked him...

Some variety of clean. Tim laughs -- *sobs* at the feel of Dick's *teeth* --

Dick's hum and Dick's *twist*, and Tim can *feel* Clark looking at him, waiting for an *answer* --

Tim spreads his legs and arches *up* --

"Oh, *beautiful*, Tim, so ready --"

*In*, just a little too fast to feel the slide or notice the sense of welcome breach. *Full*, and that has to be two of Clark's fingers, maybe three -- no, Tim thinks he'd feel a little more discomfort for three, because his vagina is telling him that it was fucked *recently*, by something a lot more -- more -- than fingers.

It's also telling him that this was a *good* thing, and worth some degree of --

Celebration? Would that describe the noises he's making? The noises he's letting Dick *hear* him make, and that makes him freeze, tense -- *clench*, and *that* makes him shake, and he can't --

Tim gasps in a breath and lies *back* --

Dick hums again and leaves off twisting Tim's nipple to pet him more, over his chest, down to his navel --

"Tim likes to be touched there, Dick --"

Dick hums a questioning sound and dips *in*, making Tim spasm and try to reach -- Tim realizes that he's clutching at the bed. Rather, that the bed is *letting* itself be clutched, as if it's only a matter of surface area that's keeping Tim's body as a whole from being submerged -- possibly *subsumed*.

Tim tugs his hands back, and the bed lets go *almost* immediately. Just enough of a grip to be a little *disturbing*, really, and Tim can't stop himself from writhing a little, testing to see if the bed is *about* to eat him --

Except that that leads to Clark gripping Tim's hips and fingering him *faster*, and that -- that feel, so jaggedly *intense*, so slick until it's not, so --

There *must* be limits to what his vagina can take, to how far it will give until it resists, and in that is the stretch, the *slam* -- something. Tim pushes his hand into Dick's hair and tugs a little --

"You're absolutely right, little brother -- it's time for the *other* one," Dick says, laying across Tim's chest and wrapping his free arm around Tim's waist --

"You don't feel -- ah. There's no self-consciousness for this -- ooh. Um. Clark --"

Dick laughs and bites the *side* of Tim's breast. "People are always telling me I have Daddy issues -- a few Mommy issues add *balance*, little brother."

"I really -- really. Oh, God, I *look* like --"

"Your mom? Yeah, you showed me a picture once. You're cuter, though," Dick says, licking Tim's nipple once, again --

"I would *love* to share photo albums with you sometime, Tim." And Clark sounds so *mild* again, despite the fact that he's *fucking* Tim with his fingers --

Tim gasps on a laugh, hears it crack and gasps again, trying to work his hips for Clark, against Clark, *something*. Clark's grip means that he's twisting, Dick's weight means that he's getting exactly *nowhere*. Dick pulls off --

"Clark, are you holding Tim still?"

"Ah... it seemed like the thing to do?"

Dick snorts and *presses* down against Tim -- "Yeah, okay, I can't argue that. Keep it up."

"Dick -- oh, *God*, mouth. *Teeth* --"

"Fingers?" Clark sounds hopeful and *desperately* amused --

"Yes, *damn it*, *fingers* -- one of you needs to let me -- let me -- *oh*," and there are a lot more sounds after that, there's a lot more *noise*, and Clark is doing *something* with his fingers that makes that spot inside Tim *demand* that he move, that he make Clark go faster, harder, give him *more* -- "*Please* --"

Dick moans against him --

*Clark* moans and gives Tim another finger, and now the stretch is incredible, blinding, and the faint rawness from earlier, from losing his damned *hymen* --

It's buried under everything else, meaningless save as something like added *spice* -- "Oh, *no* --"

"Easy, little brother, I need to see your *face* when you come," Dick says, shifting and hugging Tim, leaning in to nuzzle Tim's face --

"That --" Oh, he's close. He's -- there's really no way his body is letting him be sure whether he was close *before* Dick had spoken, because as near as he can tell, orgasm seems to come from multiple parts of his body at once.

That blooming and spreading thing inside him, the way his legs are shaking just the right way to make his clit stand up, the breath in his *lungs* -- it's *impossible* to be sure, though he supposes he might --

Might be able to. Oh -- something. Something --

"Mmm, oh, I *like* the way you're pulling my hair, Tim --"

"Sorry. I -- oh God, Clark. He's -- his thumb --"

"*No* apologies," Dick says, and bites Tim's jaw. "His thumb is inside you?"

"Clitoris. Oh --" Tim moans and feels his eyes try to roll back in his head --

"Stay with me, now. I want to *see* you. I *need* to feel you, but that can wait," and Dick licks his cheek right *up* to Tim's eye --

Tim opens his eyes and tries to focus on more than Dick's smile, Dick's warmth, Dick's *scent* -- "*Fuck* --"

"Dirty, dirty *mouth*. What are you doing to him, Clark?"

"A little vibration for his clitoris. He seemed to enjoy it so much --"

And it's *possible* that Clark is saying something else, but Tim's body doesn't care. There's nothing but the pleasure radiating out from his vulva, or maybe shooting back in *towards* it --

He's arching and jerking, *fighting* --

Dick is speaking, *touching* --

It's still *happening*, and he wants to get used to it, wants to -- oh, so much, so *much*, and Tim knows that he's screaming, that he's clenching and shaking his head --

"Holy *hell*, that's awe-inspiring," Dick says, and Tim's reasonably sure there are words he'll be able to say in response sometime after he stops spasming.

"Nnh." That's a start.

And the spasm and *clench* of his vagina takes him *completely* by surprise, making him shake again and -- fatigue. Definitely --

Some of that. There.

Dick laughs quietly again and kisses Tim, slow and hard and *good*. He's bracing himself on one elbow, and his other hand is stroking Tim's abdomen, moving up to cup one breast -- break. "You have a *fantastic* body --"

"Dick --"

"But you always have. You --" Dick shakes his head and smiles. "I was talking about that time when I was trying to be Batman. You were *Robin*, and suddenly everything made sense -- how Bruce could need a partner and still not want one, how he could go a little crazy to see Robin flying off to fight crime *elsewhere* -- God, I *needed* you, and you were right there, being *mine* -- at least for a little while."

Tim licks his lips, taking a deep breath -- clenching again around Clark's *fingers*, which are still right there, and --

Is he really *capable* of getting aroused again? It's a terrifying thought, for all that it would allow him to still *give* himself to Dick, to both of them --

"Ah... hm. *Should* I pull out, Tim?"

"I'm not -- sure. Entirely --"

Dick laughs again. "Yeah, that's *always* kind of a tough question -- for all that I've never had to try to answer it with a *vagina* -- how *does* that feel?"

"Vehement. Entirely willing. Ah -- 'insatiable' is also a good word for it. Whenever I try to think about everything I've done today, I just kind of hit a wall of disbelief," Tim says --

Clark hums. "I'm willing to do whatever I can to *help* you believe, Tim."

"Oh, he really, *really* is. And so am I. I just... oh. I was going to tell you about my fantasies, wasn't I...?"

Tim -- his eyes are definitely wide right now, and --

"God, *look* at you. I --" Dick touches Tim's mouth with his fingertips. "Purse a little bit for me...?"

"I --" Tim does it, effectively kissing Dick's fingers --

Dick narrows his eyes and *licks* his lips. "You look... extremely innocent like that, little brother. Knowing that you *aren't* just makes the whole thing very, very dirty," he says, shifting until he can rub his penis against Tim's hip -- "And hot."

Tim blinks a *lot* -- "I. I think I'm still. It's just that it's *you*, Dick, and I'm not -- quite sure. That I'm not. Dreaming -- *Clark* --"

"I'm terribly sorry, but I thought a certain amount of direct stimulation would... hm. Help keep you in touch with reality?"

Dick *snickers*, and that would be worth a serious blush *and* a punch, but Clark is vibrating his thumb against Tim's clit again, and doing anything more than arching and clenching --

Clark's fingers feel so *big* --

And Dick isn't laughing, anymore. He's -- God, that's *Dick's* thumb in his mouth, fucking his mouth -- "Gorgeous. *Hot*. I -- believe me when I say that there is no *end* to what I want to do to you, little brother..."

"You were. You were saying -- oh, *please*, Clark --"

"You're so very tight around me, so much warmer than anywhere else on your body. Perhaps if I --" And Clark *twists* his fingers, curling them *up* --

And for a long moment the only thing Tim can do is kick and grunt, struggle for leverage so he can fuck himself on Clark's fingers --

That *would* be his g-spot --

Dick pulls his thumb out of Tim's mouth and leans in -- doesn't kiss -- "I watched you in the shower, Tim. You were so, so careful to only look my way when I spoke to you, and then only into my eyes, no matter how many times I moved my hands, shifted my stance... and you *were* being careful, weren't you?"

"*Yes*, I -- I didn't want you to know, I couldn't let you *know* --"

"And all I wanted was one *moment's* proof that you were attracted, but you *resisted* every single little ploy I've learned over the years to catch a person's eye, every moment when you could've given me a *little* --"

"Sorry -- I -- Dick, I'm *sorry* --"

"I've been thinking about it all *night*, and how hard that must've been... you knew me, but *I* didn't know *you*. You were right when you said that's when we *started* getting to know each other, and I *know* that it's better that we didn't make love then, but oh, did I *want* to bend you over that car --"

And Tim can't do anything about the noises he's making, he --

He can *smell* himself, and that means Dick and Clark have to be smelling him, too, have to be almost *drowning* --

He's so *wet*, and now he doesn't feel tight as much as he feels *ready* --

"*Please*," he says, and getting that out feels like a victory, because Clark is fucking him again, because Dick is petting his mouth almost restlessly --

"What do I want, little brother? Your mouth? Your ass? Your pussy? Where am I gonna come?"

Tim cries out and *arches* -- "Oh, God, *no* --"

"I'm sorry, Tim," Clark says as he pulls out, "but Dick needs you so much right now --"

Tim growls and fights -- nothing, he's not being *touched*, and he can't --

He *lunges* for Dick and gets swept up in a kiss that rolls them over the bed, moves them until he's pressed against the curved side of the thing and trying to wrap his legs around Dick's waist while Dick tries to *grip* Tim's thigh with his own --

Dick bites Tim's lip --

Tim growls and bites *back* as soon as Dick lets go --

And this is something he should, perhaps, think about. He is, yes, *rewriting*, building an entirely new chapter with everything he does, practically with every *noise* he makes --

He should be more *careful*, more --

"Oh, little brother, *fuck* yes --"

He couldn't *be* more sure, and that's the important thing to consider, that's --

There's so *much* good in thrusting against Dick's thigh, *riding* his thigh --

"You --" Dick grunts and *wrestles* Tim down onto his back, pinning him again and staring down at him -- "Do you know how *many* times I've thought about sucking you off? Can you even --" Dick shakes his head. "You can't, can you? It's not even *registering*," and Dick sounds so frustrated, so close to *anger* --

Clark clears his throat. "Tim isn't the only one in your family who has had to have certain things pointed out as bluntly as possible, Dick."

Dick frowns -- and blinks rapidly before smiling ruefully. "Point to the very super man hoping that I cope *quickly* -- I. You have to know I won't let you go, Tim. That I won't let *this* go."

Tim shivers and arches because he *has* to --

"Yeah. *Yes*," Dick says, dragging Tim's arms to his sides and spreading Tim's legs with his own --

"God, *Dick* --"

"All this time. My *stick* -- and was it always my dick in you? My fingers? What?"

"Your dick, I -- if I was so far gone I needed the stick --"

"Then it *had* to be all of me, as much of me as possible --" Dick narrows his eyes, licks his lips -- "I'm taking the stick back."

"I -- um --"

"Because if you need me that much? You come *get* me. Or *call* me. You can even -- heh. Use the *phone*."

That -- "Dick, it's a simple fact of our existence that you won't always be *able* to --"

"*That*, little brother, is why you make the most of me when you *have* me. And you've known for a long time that that's not just a fact of our existence, but a *law*."

There's no argument with that. His body wants him to know that he's an idiot for even wanting to *try* -- "Fuck me --"

"*Where*?"

Tim shows his teeth --

"Ohh, I like *that* look --"

"*Start* with my vagina. And then... my ass."

Dick opens his mouth and his eyes grow very, very intriguingly wide as he nods. He kneels up --

He pulls Tim *with* him -- "Dick --"

"Suck. Me. *First*."

Tim groans and shoves his hands in Dick's hair, pulling him in for the kiss he's wanted --

The kiss he's *wanted*, and so he resists Dick's efforts to coax his tongue into his mouth and yanks Dick's hair hard enough that he *winces* -- and hard enough that he starts *fucking* Tim's mouth, shoving in and in --

Starts twisting and pulling on Tim's nipples --

*Dick* groans and fights against Tim's hold until Tim can convince himself to loosen his grip *slightly*. "I gave you an *order*, Robin."

Fucking --

Clark moans before Tim can say a *word*, and the sound of him stroking himself is *unmistakable* --

Dick's smile is several different kinds of evil at *once*. "And no, I *haven't* used that voice since that last night... but now I know exactly what it does to you, don't I?"

Tim takes a breath --

Tim *tries* to take a breath and realizes that he's panting, flushed again --

Dick *twists* Tim's nipples --

"*Fuck* --"

"*Robin* --"

"Say it *again*, B -- *Dick* --"

Dick shows his own teeth in a smile that needs *blood* even more than it needs a cowl. "Suck. My. Dick."

Tim thinks --

Tim *shoves* Dick back and doesn't bother waiting until Dick can straighten before he leans in and *takes*.

There's a name neither of them are saying --

There's a *truth* both of them are admitting to far too much, far too freely for where they are and who they're *with* --

But what do you do when it's a truth which can never be spoken to the right person? A truth which *must* be known but is nonetheless unworthy of either them, both of them, *all* of them --

Dick growls and shoves his hand into Tim's hair, and he doesn't *need* to straighten his legs, doesn't need to do anything but --

The pain in his jaw is surprisingly *sharp* when Tim sucks, but there's no way around this, no way to do anything but --

Rewrite their past.

The beginning they have which *Dick* knows about, and God, but this should be in the Cave, on the mats, *in* the car --

He would've done this in a heartbeat -- *less* --

"This -- this is what I *wanted*, Robin," Dick says, almost *snarls* --

God, the words -- there shouldn't *be* a doubling in his mind for them --

No, a *doubling* would be fine -- fantasy and reality. It's the trebling that's going to break him, break him *open* --

Tim moans around the head and sucks harder, tries to *plead* --

And gives up on doing anything but whining and whimpering when Dick uses his other hand to cup the back of his neck. He feels surrounded, *engulfed*. He feels --

He knows, intellectually, that the shadows are only this thick and changeable because of the storm outside and the icing 'window' above them, but --

It's almost *difficult* to focus on the taste of Dick in his mouth, the fact --

It's Batman. It's just --

They both need to *believe*, if only for this moment, and so, maybe...

Maybe it would be all right if he *doesn't* do this the way he's always wanted to for Dick. Maybe --

Tim moves his hands behind his back and clenches them together. Dick gasps --

But it's Batman who grunts, because Dick has always known that the assumption of the Voice means more than just speech, and more than even just *aggressive* noises --

God -- oh, God --

"Robin..." Batman's voice is a pleased and somehow *jagged* purr. Something with enough sharp edges to cut, something --

That Dick would *do* this --

Tim bobs his head on Batman's penis, doing it fast and doing it thoroughly, using the motion of his own head to ramp himself up, *ready* himself --

Please, *please* --

"*Swallow*."

Yes, *now*, and he almost doesn't make it, almost has to *choke* -- but Dick is not --

Batman is not Superman, and never, ever should be, besides. This is manageable, perfect --

And more perfect than that when Tim looks up into Batman's eyes and finds *avid* pleasure, sharp and undeniable, *necessary* --

"Shall I take your mouth, Robin?"

Tim groans and feels it get caught at the back of his throat. Just -- *take* -- he nods --

And Batman holds his head *still*, holds him in a grip they both know Tim could never break, that Tim would never *want* to break -- "Now," he growls, and the first thrust isn't hesitant or tentative, the first thrust makes Tim's eyes widen without his *permission* --

Tim is aware that Clark is somewhere close, that Clark is watching and *learning* -- maybe as much as *Dick* is --

Maybe a lot more than that.

Tim closes his eyes --

Dick *moans* --

And Batman growls and starts thrusting *fast*, hard little grinds that never take him wholly out of Tim's throat --

Tim knows that's a *gift*, that it's --

Batman *knows* he's not ready to take the real thrusts --

Batman knows he's not *ready*, and Tim whimpers and tries to suck, tries to use his tongue *effectively*. He has to make this good, he has to make this *right* --

There may never be another -- "*No* --" But he's gasping too much to protest more, *losing* himself too much --

And it's better when he's on his back -- no.

It's better when Batman flips him over onto his belly and he can move up onto his knees, *brace* himself --

"*Ask* for it, Robin."

Tim tenses and groans, tries --

"Ask for what you need or you won't *get* it --"

A *troubled* sound from Clark --

Movement out of the corner of his eye --

"Clark, not *now*," and the Voice is slipping, *Dick* is slipping --

"Yes, *now*, Dick. I -- please, both of you, not like *this*," Clark says, and he sounds *distressed*.

Tim kneels up and starts to turn --

And Dick cups the back of Tim's neck and squeezes *hard* --

"Oh -- please --"

Dick growls again. "I. I have to give him what he *needs*, Clark --"

"He needs *you*. You both need -- please. Please don't *lie* like this. Not -- not to each other."

Dick laughs --

And Tim has to say he can understand the humor of the situation, black as it is. "Clark. We -- sometimes lies can lead to a deeper truth," he says, as gently and as *clearly* as he can --

"What he said. What -- we need this, *too*," and Dick's squeeze this time is more reassuring than commanding --

"Forgive me," Clark says, "but you both... Bruce would never *do* this with you --"

And perhaps it was Tim's turn for a humorless laugh. "That's the *point*."

"And a very stabby point, it is. Clark... we don't have to do this here. I know -- I can guess why it's so uncomfortable --"

"I don't think either of you *can*," and suddenly Tim just *is* facing Clark and Dick both. Clark is holding Dick's wrist and squeezing while Dick frowns. "He loves you. He loves you both so much it *hurts* him, *blinds* him --" Clark looks back and forth between them for a moment, and there's an urgency to his expression -- "Dick. He loves you so much that his *jealousy* of your other loves drove him to push you away out of a misguided sense that his heart would be safer that way. And Tim... oh, Tim, he doesn't *trust* himself around you right now. I told you it was only a suspicion, but I *lied*. He has *hours* of footage of you *sleeping*. He watches you, he *sketches* you -- I've *seen him do this*."

Tim shakes his head. He can't really think of what --

"Clark, you can't... you can't *know* this --"

"Can't I? I've known him longer than either of you -- nearly as long as the two of you *combined* -- and, yes, he is my *closest* friend other than my wife. Right now, in this, I know him better than either of you do. I..." Clark takes one of their shoulders in either hand. "While it's true that he has never said these things directly to me --"

"Clark --"

"*Listen* to me, Dick. Not long after Jason became Robin, he and Bruce became sexually involved. You *both* know this without ever having seen direct proof, because you *understand* Bruce in this way. *I* know because I overheard... and because he talked to me then more openly and honestly than he ever had before." And Clark seems to be *willing* them both to listen to him, but this --

It's only too much for the part of him which is hopelessly childish and small. Tim looks up to catch Dick's eye --

And Dick is smiling ruefully at him.

"You... ah. Did mention that sometimes Clark can lecture."

"I'm not --"

"So I did, little brother," Dick says, and settles back onto his heels. "Go on, Clark. Tell us. Just -- try not to break Bruce's *confidence* --"

"I don't *care* about --" Clark stops himself and squeezes his eyes shut... but only for a moment. "No. I care about Bruce in every possible way, and, yes, I will *miss* having his confidence. But for this moment, for the two of you... I love you both so *much*. And I can't let this stand for one moment longer."

Dick shivers and hugs himself, staring down at the bed, and --

Tim can't. He moves closer to Dick -- and immediately gets held in the kind of unbreakable grip Bruce would never --

Never?

"Go on, Clark," Dick says without looking up. "Please."

Clark's sigh is sad and low. "At first, he talked only about Jason's burgeoning abilities, and never met my gaze. When he did... he was as naked as I'd ever seen him. As *wracked*. He told me what I'd already known, and tried to get me to define the differences between love, need, and obsession. *Then* he spoke about loneliness --"

Dick flinches --

"Yes, Dick, *that*. He told me what he had told you... and a great deal of what he hadn't. He spoke of *desire*, then, and he never admitted it in quotes I could share, but he didn't *have* to. He spoke of his great gratitude to me, and his jealousy *of* me. He told me... he told me that he had known, for a very long time, that many of his sexual desires were entirely inappropriate and that he felt his romantic desires were even worse. Even more *despicable*.

"And then he spoke about helplessness... and told me that there was a freedom to it... I already knew that, as well." Clark shakes his head and turns to Tim. "With you... he kept you apart from all others, even trying to keep you a secret from *Barbara*. Once again, he waited until I'd all but demanded it to allow us to meet. He didn't *let* you have a team the way Dick had, and if I had known that..." Clark smiles ruefully. "He let me believe you were merely even more restrained than you appeared. He can be... possessive."

Dick snorts and then covers his face with both hands and *rocks*. "I knew -- God, I knew how he *felt* about Jason. I -- I searched his *bedroom* after Jason died --"

"I. I had pictures I never showed to any of you," Tim says. "Nothing... explicit. But."

Dick snorts again and bares his face again. "Clark... you're saying that he wants -- that he *wanted* --"

"That he *wants*. That he *aches* when you're not near, that he craves every moment and every *touch*. Dick, *please*, you -- I know the desire wasn't powerful enough to show when you were first starting out, but I also know how *much* Bruce can hide when he wants to. And Tim... haven't you ever *wondered* why he allowed you more freedom to be Robin and hardly any freedom at all to be *Tim*?"

Tim frowns again. "There were always *reasons*. Young Justice wasn't --"

Clark stops him with a *look*, but --

"All right, yes, I *told* you that one of the reasons why we didn't work was because I held myself apart on Bruce's orders, but --"

"The love you feel for him. The *need* -- oh, loves, *Robins*. I would take you both to him right *now* --"

"Maybe you should," Dick says, and now his expression is hard, *determined* -- and he turns it on Tim. "You should at least get to see *what* he's been sketching all this time."

Tim blushes. "I don't -- look, Dick, I don't know about you, but I'm not sure I really *want* to know this particular truth --"

"Spoken like a Robin who had started putting the pieces together on his *own*."

"Dick --"

"No, don't, Tim, because --" Dick smiles wryly and shakes his head. "*You* were always the smart one. All of this -- it can't possibly be coming as a *complete* surprise to you."

He *wants* to point out that this is all *supposition* on Clark's part -- but there aren't very many people who *trust* Clark the way Dick does, trust him with everything --

And for good cause.

Tim swallows and forces himself not to look down. "It is. It is a surprise. And I still don't -- God, Dick, do you think I would've *reacted* that way to what you were doing if this *wasn't* rattling around my brain turning my neurons to exclamation points?"

Dick blinks -- and nods. "I -- all right. I can see that. *Jason* was the only one of us with halfway decent self-esteem," he says, and smiles again. "According to Babs, anyway."

And some of the things Clark had said today --

"Oh. Oh, God. You're about to say that fucking Bruce actually *helped* Jay, aren't you, Clark?"

"I --"

"Stop *right* there," Dick says, rolling off the bed and into a pace which doesn't have much of his usual grace --

Until it does. Hm. "You hardened the floor, Clark?"

"Ah... yes," Clark says, and squeezes Tim's shoulder again. "Tim... you can't... you have to *force* him to acknowledge this. You understand, don't you?"

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Have you?"

Clark laughs softly. "Oh... often. I have known for a very long time that he loves me. And I have known for slightly less long a time that he would always fight us *both* about that."

Dick spins on his heels and paces back to the bed, chewing on his thumb hard enough for it to show tooth-creases -- he stops. "This is why you don't talk about what you do with Bruce when we're together, isn't it?"

"You -- you never asked, Dick --"

Dick makes a slashing motion through the air. "But this is the *real* reason. You knew you wouldn't be able to keep the *rest* of this back."

Clark sighs again and nods. "I tried... I wanted. I wanted to be as much his friend as he would let me."

Dick closes his eyes again --

And Tim covers Clark's hand on his shoulder with his own. "It's... understandable. There are a large number of landmines inherent to this topic."

Clark smiles at him ruefully. "So many people have no true idea of how gentle you can be, Tim."

"Gentleness... has its place."

"*I* think -- heh." Dick grins at both of them. "I think we've been *too* gentle with Bruce."

But... "Dick, if this is all true --"

"Do *not* pretend that you don't know it is, Tim."

"I'm not *pretending*. I -- all right, I'm not letting myself think about it very deeply --"

"*Think*, Tim. *Use* that supercomputer you have instead of a meat brain --"

"*Dick*, I -- the *last* time he opened up and let himself love the way he wanted to... I. All right, it's this -- one thing I *did* always know about Bruce? Is that he *needed* me to be as unlike Jason as possible. He needed to get as far away from *love* as possible, because it hurt him that deeply --"

"He's hurt *us*, little brother --"

"*Yes*, and I'm not -- I'm not defending him. It's just that I think I understand. And I think you do, too. Because we *both* know what grief -- of *any* kind -- does to him."

Dick bites his lip and winces, turning away. "God, he -- he built a *world* on grief. *My* world... and yours, too."

Tim looks to Clark, and he's staring at Dick like he'd do *anything* to take Dick's pain -- "Clark... this is also why you never said anything. Isn't it?"

"When he hurts... when he hurts, so do I."

Tim nods --

And Dick hugs himself again. "I love him. I'll always -- God, Tim. One of the reasons why *I* didn't push you back then was because I wasn't sure *you* loved him."

Tim smiles ruefully. "Well, at the time... I was mostly madly in love with Batman."

Dick's snort sounds painful. "Oh, well, *that's* perfectly normal. Especially because Bruce was acting like an *ass* right before..." Dick sighs. "I know he pushed you away. I used to hate you a little for letting him. Because it was easier than hating myself."

Tim resists the urge to bite his lip again. "I... figured there was something of that in the way you were relating to me."

"Again, because you're the *smart* one. Okay. Okay. What the hell do we *do* with this?" Dick looks back and forth between them with his eyebrows raised.

"I think you should go to him --"

Tim stops Clark with a squeeze. "Clark... *we* have to consider the question of how we'll all *work* together if and when we have this particular conversation."

"Oh... God. I suppose we can't just hypnotize each other if it goes wrong?"

Clark frowns. "Dick --"

"He has a *point*, Clark," Tim says and squeezes Clark's hand. "The last thing we all need -- God, *all* of us know how badly things go for the entire *city* when Bruce is in a bad mood."

Dick smiles wryly. "Or even in a *Bruce* mood."

"God help us all. Well, some god. Somewhere -- all right, no, I take that back --"

Dick snorts --

And Clark pulls free and floats up into something like his usual 'stance.' It's surprisingly effective even with him naked --

All right, no, it's not a surprise, at all.

"Dick, Tim... you both need to have this out with Bruce. If only for the sake of the relationship you're trying to build between you."

Tim winces --

And Dick covers his face again -- "This -- this is the kind of thing Babs talked about. Right before she dumped me."

Tim winces *harder* --

"Little brother... I want to promise that I can love you just fine without ever *touching* the pile of issues with Bruce's name on it," Dick says, uncovering his face and smiling bleakly.

"It. It's a promise I'd like to make, myself."

Dick nods. "I think your promise would have a much better *chance*. I -- really do."

Tim smiles ruefully and glances at Clark. "I think Clark would like to disagree with you about that. Vehemently."

"That --" Dick blinks. "It was messing with you and *Clark*? Seriously?"

Tim doesn't *have* to look at Clark to know that he's probably doing an absolutely terrible job at hiding the fact that he has something to say to that --

And neither does Dick. "All right, so the most important person in our lives tends to have an *effect* on our love lives. Cursing and pretending otherwise -- Jesus, do I ever need to apologize to Babs."

Tim raises a hand. "If I can make a suggestion to that end? Maybe that can wait until after you've thought for a good long while about your conversation with Bruce."

Dick does his own wincing. "All right, point -- assuming we're going to do this."

"Assuming that, yes. And... we probably can't get Barbara to do it for us."

Dick scrubs a hand back through his hair. "I'm tempted to get *Cass* to do it for us."

That... is a lovely little fantasy right there. Especially if Bruce gets drugged and Batgirl *doesn't*.

"Ooh. I do like *that* look on your face, little brother."

Tim lets the smile on his face get wider for *just* a moment -- and then he sighs. "Ultimately, we'd just feel like cowards. Like cowards *unworthy* of Bruce's respect."

"*Gah*, I -- yes. Damn it. Let's do this, little brother. You'll have my back and I'll have yours. Between us, we'll either get Bruce to talk... or be able to comfort each other when it all goes to hell."

"Or both."

"Or both, yes," Dick says, and smiles up at Clark. "Let's do this, Clark."

Clark manages to look both sad and *deeply* pleased at once in the moments before he's just hovering there -- fully suited-up.

And all of their clothes are right there on the bed -- including the shoes Tim hadn't actually brought with him the first time.

He and Dick dress, and there's a kind of wonderful moment when they're easing themselves into their jeans and wincing at once -- together.

"What's that face even *for*, kiddo?"

"Memory. And the placement of the seam whenever I take too long a stride."

Dick blinks, obviously thinking about it --

Thinking *deeply* --

"All right, I'm back to wanting to bounce you on my thigh."

"My clitoris wants you to know that it's a date," Tim says, and wishes for product for his hair.

"You really should look more like a lesbian with hair like that."

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"I'm just saying, little brother. You'd look *wonderful* with Steph's face in your --"

"Stop. Just -- I'm going to call this conversation --"

"Because of the gentle rain in your non-standard places?"

Tim snorts. "Yes, that's a good *enough* reason," he says, and turns to smile up at Clark. "Take us home?"

Clark smiles down at him -- and then flies down close, cupping Tim's hips and kissing his forehead -- <<I would give you a second home, fine one.>>

"Ooh. That sounded *filthy*, Clark."

Even having known that Dick knew less Kryptonian than Tim does... it's still a surprise. What was Bruce trying to say with *that* particular change in curriculum? Does he want to know? Tim shakes it off internally and rests a hand on Clark's chest. <<The solitude between us grows stronger, Kal, and this is pleasing to me.>>

Clark shivers and kisses him again.

When Tim looks, Dick is smiling at both of them -- and the curiosity in his expression is both mild and gentle. Still --

Isn't all of this *about* not lying to him, anymore? "A somewhat formalized way of saying... farewell."

Dick nods, smiles wider, and raises an eyebrow at Clark --

Clark wraps Dick in something which *doesn't* look like a cape -- it *seals* -- and then Tim is wrapped, too --

And then Tim is wobbling on his feet in the Cave. He drops into a crouch to brace himself. He can see Dick setting his feet out of the corner of his eye --

And he can see Clark gripping Bruce's shoulders. "Don't run this time, my friend. Please. Don't run."

Bruce doesn't frown. He doesn't even *blink* --

And Clark's expression crumples in on itself. "You'll have my apology whenever you wish it --"

Bruce stiffens, chin jutting slightly. "Clark. What --"

"You know, Bruce," Dick says, reaching down to help Tim to his feet. "You know what he told us."

Tim stands --

Bruce shows his teeth -- to Clark.

Clark shakes his head. "I'm sorry. And I'm nothing of the kind."

Bruce twists free and turns his back.

Clark reaches out -- and clenches his hand into a fist. "I am available for any call," he says, stepping back and looking at both him and Dick. "To any of you."

Tim nods and Dick does, as well --

And Clark is gone.

Dick sighs softly, starts to hug himself -- he stops and squares his shoulders. "Look at us, Bruce. Please."

"This -- is not an appropriate conversation," Bruce says, and makes the gesture for *scatter*.

That -- really. "Bruce," Tim says, and doesn't bother trying to find a gesture other than crossing his arms under his breasts. "If nothing else, it would be entirely more *efficient* if we were to have this conversation as quickly as possible."

"What he said. I -- you know, it's not that I can't *see* why you'd call it inappropriate --"

"It *is* inappropriate, Nightwing."

"'Nightwing.' I -- Jesus. No, we're not getting distracted, Bruce. We're just --  not. It doesn't matter that conversations like this should never happen, because this one *needs* to."

If anything, Bruce tenses even more, and the hand he'd used to gesture twitches once, twice --

"*Bruce* --"

"Robin," Bruce says, straightening and turning to face him.

Tim doesn't back *up* --

"The information Clark's AI sent was the key. You have a toxin in your system I believe I can cure, though you may find the cure in question very difficult to deal with."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Tell me."

Bruce nods slightly, and just that --

Bruce shouldn't *need* that kind of reassurance. Not from *him* -- and it hits. It's true. It's *all* true --

And Bruce can see it in his expression. His smile is little more than a hallucinatorily rueful twitch. "You'll be at least somewhat ill for two to three days -- and unable to track the source of the infection. I have already asked Oracle to have her operatives take point on the case until such time as you're street-ready again."

"I -- all right. And thank you. I'll take the antidote as soon as we've... hashed this out."

Bruce takes a breath. "Is that truly necessary?" Bruce's voice is so *gentle* -- "With you?"

Dick shifts beside him -- but Tim knows what Bruce wants him to say. More than that, he knows what at least some *part* of Bruce *needs* him to say. And --

There is so much of him that's *predicated* on what Bruce needs, even at this late date -- God. Just -- fuck. Batman orders, demands, lectures, *teaches*.

Bruce has never asked him for anything.

"*Bruce*," Dick says, practically *grits* -- "Don't do this to Tim. Don't you fucking --"

Tim holds up a hand. "I -- need to think. For a moment."

"Tim --"

"Please," Tim says, and lets all of it be in his expression when he looks at Dick. "I need to think."

Dick frowns -- but he nods. Gives Tim *room* --

And possibly the rope to hang himself. Not that Dick would ever -- ever. Tim smiles ruefully at nothing at all. The question, at this point, is how *much* Bruce needs his silence -- versus how much their *relationship* needs this conversation.

It's a balance which *must* be taken into consideration --

And, deep within, Clark is asking him to add his *own* needs to the equation, which --

All right, he's blushing, and he's taking too much time, and Clark doesn't *understand* --

Except for how he does. Tim wants to be Dick's lover *badly*, and they've made a *good* start at that --

And it's not going to go anywhere without... this. There's no balance, at all. Tim looks up and meets Bruce's eyes, *takes* the request --

The fucking *plea* --

It hurts. "I'm sorry, Bruce. I -- I can't. This has gone on for too long, and I need --" Tim can't finish that sentence. "I think I could live without you, without any more than what we've had. I have... enough within me for that. It's just that it needs to be *said*. Even if it's only once. I love you."

Bruce takes another audible breath and shakes his head. "And that was easier to say to me than admitting to a need?"

Tim smiles again. "I've had a revelatory day -- in every sense of the term -- but, ultimately, I remain myself."

Bruce clenches both hands into fists -- and releases them before turning to Dick and simply staring.

Dick lets out a relieved sigh and laughs without much in the way of humor. "God, Bruce. This is me, trying to decide if the strategy was to take out the weakest link or the strongest one."

Bruce frowns. "Dick --"

"Yeah, that was pretty much asking for something I've come to terms with the fact that you *can't* give, so -- don't," he says, and raises a hand. "You let me believe I failed you -- and the *Mission*. And then you let me believe that maybe -- just maybe -- you were just a father who didn't know what the hell he was doing. And *then* you made it official -- right about when I was starting to think hard about everything I'd given up all these years ago *for* the Mission. I can *guess* how much of that was the truth, given the fact that we all know how much better you've gotten about admitting your feelings over the years... but now you have to tell me the *rest* of the truth. And you damned well have to do the same with *Tim*."

Bruce shakes his head again --

"*No*, Bruce. Don't -- don't *deny* me, anymore. Don't deny *us* --"

"You believe you want the whole of me. You -- somehow, you and *Clark* have convinced Tim that *he* wants the whole of me --"

"It only. It only has to be for this moment, Bruce," Tim says, and takes a step closer. "In the end, it's a matter of necessity. This *block* you've given us, this *lack* -- it. It was hurting my relationships with *both* Clark and Dick. As it was hurting Dick's relationships with Clark and *me*. Please."

Dick looks *stricken* for a moment -- almost certainly for the 'only tonight' comment -- but he nods.

And Bruce looks... wounded. Young. *Scared* --  and he turns away again.

Dick growls and uses *all* of his speed and strength to grab Bruce and spin him around --

Bruce *lets* himself be spun -- and he kisses Dick hard, cupping his face and stepping into him enough to knock Dick off-balance --

As if the kiss wasn't *enough* to do that --

Did he know that Dick would have to clutch at him to keep from tumbling out of the kiss?

Is that even a *question*?

Dick is holding Bruce's shoulders and squeezing his eyes shut --

And Bruce wraps one arm around Dick's waist and bends him *back*, gripping Dick's hair and holding on tight -- tighter --

And then Bruce spins them enough that he can. Open his eyes and stare into Tim's own. That's enough.

That's *enough*, because it's not Batman and Robin and it *is* Bruce and Dick, and Tim wouldn't be himself if he didn't want to leave, if a part of him didn't *need* to leave -- God. Just -- give them this. Both of them. Let them have it and leave him *out* of it --

But those thoughts aren't the ones which are making the back of Tim's neck hot, and it's not even the kiss itself, or wanting that kiss, or wanting to hack Bruce's footage so he can have it --

Dick *moans* --

And the Clark in his mind wants him to know that he should take this for himself, that it's *available*, that Bruce wouldn't be looking at him with threat and *promise* in his eyes if it wasn't --

If there was any real *room* to walk away.

Dick shoves Bruce. Dick *tries* to shove Bruce -- and then just turns his head in a way that *has* to be hurting his neck in that position -- "Let go."

"Dick --"

"Let *go*," Dick says, and he sounds angry -- and panicked, as well. He should never --

And Bruce tilts them back up and releases Dick, stepping back enough to give Dick room to straighten his clothes and mutter something not quite incomprehensible *enough* about timing, which --

Tim bites back as much of the laugh as he *can* --

"Oh, don't *you* start, little brother. Not until he lays something like that on *you*, anyway," Dick says, turning to him. There are two different smiles on his face, and *both* of them are making Tim worry about the crotch of his jeans.

Again. "No --" Thank you, he was about to say. Except for how that would be a ridiculous lie. Tim shakes it off internally and girds himself to look at Bruce --

Pointless. Completely and utterly --

Bruce could close the distance between them in a heartbeat, pin him in another, and break him into several pieces with a kiss like that, and never *mind* what he's been doing for the past twelve hours.

He wasn't doing it with *Bruce* --

And Clark is a touch on the back of his neck, a promise --

A solitude which almost certainly won't feel secure to either of them until -- until. Or is that just an excuse?

"I think," Dick says, moving close enough to cup Tim's shoulders -- but not enough to block Bruce's view. Or Tim's view of Bruce. "I think you should tell Bruce at least some of the things rattling through your brain right now. I'm not sure he'll *say* anything useful, but he just might find some other way to communicate."

Tim swallows and keeps looking at Bruce --

Bruce isn't *blinking* --

And Dick leans in and sighs against his ear before whispering: "If it helps... *I* need to know what it looks like when it's you. I need..." Dick moves around behind Tim and locks Tim into a loose enough half-nelson that Tim can still look up.

"Ah... Dick."

"I gave you to him, little brother. I gave you to him and then I ran the fuck away, not even bothering to check on you. Not even bothering to come in and *train* you the way I knew I could --"

"You had your team --"

"Yeah. But they still would've been there, and I knew it with every part of myself I didn't care to look at. I could say something about how I was still wrecked from the punch Bruce laid on me when I tried to talk to him after Jason died... when he didn't even tell me about it until after the damned *funeral*..."

Bruce looks down -- no. He hangs his head.

"Don't *do* that, Bruce --"

"I'm sorry," Bruce says, looking up with a *wild* look in his eyes. "I'm sorry and I can never -- I was selfish. Foolish. *Wrong*. And I know it. Please don't." Bruce shakes his head again --

And Dick pulls Tim against himself. "Don't what -- no. No, you were right not to finish that sentence, because this.... this," Dick says, and kisses Tim's scalp. "Little brother... I'm giving you to him again."

"*Jesus*, Dick --"

"No, not even that's gonna work this time, Tim. It's just -- a part of me knows that I have no right to claim you this way -- especially because I did it all wrong the *first* time -- but the *rest* of me knows that I have every right. Because you're you... and that means I'm *greater* than just a man, doesn't it?"

It shouldn't. Every halfway sane thing *in* him -- "Aren't we. Aren't we supposed to try to be *healthy*?"

Dick laughs softly. "No, little brother. We're supposed to be the family we deserve. We both know that's not the same."

Tim closes his eyes --

"Let me be the man you always wanted, little brother. I need that. I need that like --" Dick laughs again and *rolls* his body against Tim's. "Do you feel me?"

"Fuck, I -- yes --"

"I still wanna fuck you over the *car*. But I don't want to do it *first*."

Tim grunts and squeezes his eyes shut --

Bruce makes a low sound, a sound Tim's never heard before, a *hungry* sound --

"Is that the noise you make when you're watching him jerk off, Bruce?"

"*Dick* --"

"*Tell* me, Bruce, or so help me I will --" *Another* laugh. "No, I won't make that threat. But only because I know that *you* know exactly what it is."

And there's silence, but it's the *kind* of silence that always means --

Bruce's hand on his face is so *gentle* -- "We can't --"

"*Bruce* --"

"We can't *hurt* him, Dick. Only. Only that."

"Well, see, boss, here's the thing -- we've already *done* that. We turned Tim into the kind of kid -- the kind of *man* -- who can take *anything* the world dishes out, and we didn't have anything *like* a good reason for it," Dick says, hitching Tim up higher by the shoulders --

He's almost on his *toes* --

"Tell him you can take it, Tim. *Show* him you can. For me."

*Fuck* -- Tim opens his eyes and lifts his chin --

And Bruce cups Tim's cheek, pressing hard on Tim's cheekbone with his thumb. "Tim..."

"*Tell* him, Bruce --"

"I'm sorry, Tim. For -- for every failure. Every -- I wanted to *protect* you --"

"*And* yourself --"

"*Yes*," Bruce says, glaring -- but not really at either of them. "I had to send you away. It was. It was too much."

Tim -- doesn't close his eyes again. He *wants* to -- he doesn't. "Because I'm a woman."

"Because you came to *me*."

That -- Tim snorts helplessly. "Where else would I *go*?"

Bruce winces for that --

"Yeah," Dick says. "Kind of the million dollar question right there. Never mind his team, never mind *my* team, never mind *Oracle* -- you, Bruce. *You*."

Bruce nods and strokes Tim's cheek, leans in -- stops. "Tim, I. I've gone over and over this in my mind. I used to -- there are, at least, some few *moments* which can come close to explaining why Dick... why Dick feels the way he does --"

"I suppose you can say I'm lower-maintenance," Tim says, and shows his teeth when Bruce just blinks at him, because --

Yes.

Yes.

Tim lifts his chin a little higher and lets his eyelids droop --

Bruce's lips part.

And Dick *rocks* against Tim's ass. "Oh, little brother. I *want* to see what you did to make Bruce make that face, *badly*."

"Check the footage later," Tim says, and smiles somewhat lazily. "Expressions I never use around Bruce. In truth, expressions I *only* use around Kon... because I know he'll never call me on them."

"Heh. That's *mean*, Timmy --"

"I'm not a nice person -- Clark's good opinion notwithstanding." Tim shifts on his feet in a wholly unnecessary way --

"Tim..."

"Bruce. You've never seen me look like this. I hardly manage much in the way of seductiveness when I'm *actually* masturbating --"

"I -- disagree."

Tim shows his teeth again. "All right. But you have to admit that it's an entirely different *kind* of seductiveness when I'm already on my back. Or on my knees."

Dick shifts his grip until he can hold Tim's wrists in one hand and Tim's hip in the other. So he can thrust against Tim *effectively* --

And there's color in Bruce's cheeks. *Heat* --

"Do you see what I have for you, boss? Do you see how good he can *be* for you?"

"Always. Yes, I --" Bruce's nostrils flare. "You smell like *Clark* --"

"Oh, don't get pissy now, Bruce --"

"Stop, Dick. Please," Tim says, and licks his lips. Not slowly. Not *showily*. He just does it, and it could be because they feel dry. "Bruce. When he took me to the Fortress --"

"You *let* him --"

"We spoke about you. I told him how I felt. I told him how it felt when you pushed me *away* --"

"I had to --"

"Oh, yes, you *really* did," Tim says, and smiles again. "Because it would've been so *very* easy for us to fuck like animals until I passed out and you could focus on getting me back to normal... and back to the point where I would *assume* you didn't want me, anymore, you sick, manipulative *bastard* -- don't you *dare* step back --"

Bruce stops, and his jaw is tight enough that it looks like his teeth should shatter in his gums. "If you want me to love you --"

"I don't have to want it. You *do* love me. You just let me believe otherwise..." Tim shakes his head. "You know what? I think Dick is right. I'm not going to waste time being mad at you. Tell me what you *think* about when you're thinking about fucking me."

Dick grunts and slides his hand from Tim's hip to the space between his thighs, cupping Tim's mound through his jeans and pulling *up* --

Tim shouts and smiles again. "I'm sore, Bruce. I'm -- I *hurt*. And I want to hurt more --" Tim isn't fast enough to avoid the kiss entirely, but he can turn his head. "*Talk*."

Bruce growls --

It's *impossible* to tell whether or not he bucks before Dick --

"I want. I never let myself. When you used Dick's baston I never *let* myself."

Tim closes his eyes and pants, letting himself keep doing it while Dick strokes up over his abdomen to his breast --

"They're soft, Bruce. Even softer than they look..."

Bruce kisses Tim's ear so *softly* --

"*More*, Bruce --"

"I've imagined you in Dick's arms countless times. In his bed. In your own. In the Tower --"

Dick moans -- "Don't *stop* --"

"Dick never fails. Never -- never *ceases* until your pleasure blinds you, until you tell him every secret --"

Tim opens his eyes and doesn't -- he wants --

He can't beg *yet* --

Dick grunts again -- "More, Bruce, give us -- God, don't make us *wait* anymore --"

"Your hands, Tim. Your mouth on Dick's penis --"

"I did that --"

Bruce growls and covers Dick's hand on Tim's breast. It feels --

So much more *heat*, and it's not like Clark, at all. It's not --

It's an emotional *illusion*, but --

"I've dreamed you both with *Jay*," Bruce says, and the name is more a cry than a word, more important --

So *important* --

"God, Bruce, did you -- you never saw the two of us together."

"*No*. He -- he told me. He *teased* me with it, promised to tell me everything..."

Dick lets go of Tim's wrists and brings his hand down to Tim's jaw, cupping it and turning Tim's head until he can see Bruce's face again, see him crouched and almost --

Almost *hulking* with need --

"What." Tim licks his lips again. "What would you have had to give him?"

"The admission that I wanted it. Only that. Only ever --" Bruce winces and straightens, looking away --

But he never moves his hand from Tim's breast.

"You locked him in that *Case* --"

"He could never. It would never hold him, and sometimes his ghost is so close, so." Bruce swallows. "There were times when he would *urge* me to show you everything I had showed him, Dick. There were times when he'd grow *enraged* at my refusal, frustrated --

"He knew my *weakness*."

"Then..." Dick breathes sharply and starts to *rub* at Tim's vulva through the jeans --

"Dick --"

"Shh, little brother, shh. Just -- you have to give it to us, *too*."

Yes. *Yes*, damn it -- "We need this, Bruce. We -- so much --"

And Bruce doesn't turn back to face them, but his hand starts to wander. Up to Tim's shoulder for a squeeze, down again to Dick's hand to tug and pull at his fingers, flattening itself to Tim's breast when Dick moves his hand --

Then up to his throat to *press* -- before moving to Dick entirely --

Wet sound --

Bruce *shudders*, and Tim knows that Dick's sucking his fingers, that he's --

Dick's moan is so *muffled* --

"Bruce. Bruce, *more* --"

"Dick's mouth on your throat. Your cries as he. As he entered you." Bruce turns back to face them both, eyes widening at something in Dick's expression before he looks down at Tim once more. "The friends you made despite everything. Every petty thing I used the Mission to *hide* --"

"You've fantasized about me and my *teams*?"

Bruce's smile is vicious. "I would not ever call them fantasies. Once. Once, before Jay and I made love -- *just* before the first time -- we spoke of dreams. He was of the opinion that all dreams were cut from the same cloth. I disagreed. I still do. But yes, Tim. Every time you smiled where -- where Kon-El couldn't quite *see*... you would've had to do so little to make him yours in every way. And I feared that the same was true in reverse."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "I note... the past tense."

"You've changed," Bruce says, and this time his smile is almost *triumphant* -- until it shatters into something bleak and awful -- which...

It is, perhaps, only right that it do so. "You changed me."

"With malice aforethought. You... you taught me, once more, what the Mission should mean, Tim. And you taught me that I was never truly suited for it --" Bruce grunts. "Dick is expressing his disagreement with his teeth," Bruce says, and smiles wryly. "I'm entirely too emotional. When I lose control there is no end to it. I lie and I covet and I fall into myself when I should most be able to avoid doing any such *thing*, Dick. And I am not capable of looking at the beauty in my life and not desiring everything -- everything I must not *take*."

Dick growls and apparently bites *harder* -- Bruce is *wincing* --

"I believe what Dick is saying at the moment, Bruce, is that you're *human*, and I -- no, wait, Dick, stop fingering me for a moment so I can *think* --"

Dick snorts and moves his hand back to Tim's hip.

"Thank you. I -- ah. Where was I? Oh, yes. I was pointing out that you're a *jackass*, Bruce. Sometimes we have to be more than human in our focus and care -- I have *never* disagreed with that -- but if we try to do that in our personal lives --"

"Then you let Dick offer you to me like a sacrifice on the altar of your childhood dreams?"

"Hn. Point to the man who's dangerously close to losing the use of... two fingers?"

"Three."

Tim nods. "Earlier tonight -- *just* before Clark decided he couldn't let us torture ourselves... well. It was a fantasy we were enacting, Bruce. Dick pretended to be the Batman from all *sorts* of fantasies and nightmares, while I pretended to be the Robin I always wanted to be for you. The Robin you wouldn't *let* me be. Undoubtedly at a certain point we would've switched off. I'm -- you *do* get the point, don't you?"

Bruce frowns. "It would've been. Whenever I forgot to remove the cowl before kissing Jason it was a *crime*. A greater crime."

Oh. That --

*Those* images are impossible to work around, impossible to even --

Wet sound -- Dick is releasing Bruce's fingers. "Bruce, you... never? Never with Jay?"

Bruce swallows and shakes his head.

"I --" Dick laughs softly. "I just. It feels *small* to ask this, but -- not even for *kink* purposes?"

Tim blushes *precisely* because it was the question he wanted to ask --

And Bruce smiles ruefully. "He saw... he saw beneath the cowl at every moment. Whenever I tried to... to *hide* from him... he was not above doing his level best to knock me down and *rip* the cowl off."

Dick laughs again. "Oh -- *God*, I miss that increasingly-not-little punk. Of *course* he wouldn't ever --" Dick wraps his arms around Tim and squeezes. "You would've loved him so much, little brother. And wanted to stab him. And wanted to blow him. And --"

"I -- I get the gist --" Tim stops himself. "All right, I can't believe I just tried to stop you from talking about *Jason*. I wanted -- I *do* love him. Every glimpse I've gotten, every *moment*. My pictures..."

"You had quite a few of Jay," Bruce says. "I've kept them all --"

"No. You didn't. Because I burned two of them."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Which?"

"There... you were on the roof of Central before the signal came on. You were alone with him, and you were looming over him --"

"Squeezing his jaw and leaning in to berate him for turning his back on a man with a knife in order to focus on the man he wanted to maim that night," Bruce says, and smiles. "He spent the course of the lecture with his eyebrows raised behind the mask. When I stopped talking... he blew me a kiss."

Dick snorts --

And Tim nods. "The other picture... it was the Klein building. You'd buried your hand in his hair --"

"I pulled several hairs free --"

"His head was tilted back, and the smile on his face..."

"Beatific in his moment's triumph."

"He spread his arms like -- ah."

Bruce smiles wider. "A particularly colorful crucifixion, perhaps?"

Tim feels himself blushing again. "I knew -- I knew. It. It gave a shape. To my fantasies."

"If he'd ever caught you... he would've been brutal. Until he saw your fear."

"There would've been a great deal of it. Ah... yes."

Bruce nods. "Your fear drives you, urges you, *makes* you... and Jason would've done everything in his power to ease it. He would've smiled, perhaps insisted you eat ice cream with him -- or smoked a cigarette --"

Dick hugs him tighter. "And then he would've laughed at you as you puked on his pixie boots. And cleaned you up. And... I can't decide whether or not he would've brought you to Bruce."

"No. Neither can I," Bruce says, and sighs. "He treasured his secrets from me. More and more as time went on, as I failed him more *consistently* --"

"As this life fucked his head *sideways* --"

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut, but only for a moment. "I think, perhaps, he would've wanted you all to himself, Tim. We... there was much in him which I recognized all too well."

Tim starts to shake his head -- stops. "I wanted. I wanted to prove myself to him. Sometimes even more than I wanted to prove myself to you, or Dick. I never tried to be the kind of Robin Dick could be proud of -- not in any way beyond the usual drive to *perfect* myself -- but Jay... he was with me sometimes, Bruce. In... in the early days. Sometimes it felt like he was *in* me."

Bruce shivers and nods. "You loved him. You should've *had* -- but perhaps you can see why I've imagined the three of you making love?"

Tim bites his lip -- stops. "There... there really is going to be a point when I'll want. When I'll want one of you to make love to me the way he would."

Dick kisses his temple. "I don't think I can curse that much, little brother."

"That's -- entirely fair --"

"I could," Bruce says, and suddenly the smile on his face is a wet thing, his eyes are wide with shameless *greed*, and he jerks his chin at Tim with a wink. "I could fuck you 'til you cried, baby."

Tim hears himself make a *strangled* noise --

"*Gah* -- I --" Dick lets go of Tim and hugs himself, rocking back and forth and *staring* --

Bruce hums a laugh. "Perhaps not quite that much verisimilitude."

"It's just -- he's *said* that to me! And to *Kory*. And then he tried to *prove* it --"

"How well did he do?"

"*Gah* -- okay, no, actually that's one of my best and warmest memories and also -- no, I'm back to gah. Jesus, Bruce, that's worse than *Matches* -- do *not* --"

Bruce raises a hand and smiles much more normally. "Jay... spent a great deal of time helping me fine-tune Matches Malone. Nearly as much as he spent restraining the urge to -- and I quote -- 'break his nose all over his stupid fucking fake-tanned face.'"

Tim can't help but hum for that. "I'd always hoped the two of us would have something in common."

"Oh, Tim..." Bruce comes closer once more and cups Tim's face with both hands. "He was brave, like you. He longed for a better world, like you. He doubted his ability to *make* a better world, like you. He fought until the very end, like you will. He loved with a passion that never dimmed, like you. He had an unhealthy obsession with sharp -- and explosive -- objects, like you. He could always find something to laugh about -- though he was much louder about that than you. And. And he loved to make love with all of himself, even if he knew it could only happen once."

Tim frowns. "I haven't --"

"You make love to your friends in every moment. You touch the air they breathe and you live in their pleasure with you. You offer yourself with joy if they could only think to *take* --"

"Bruce --"

"Would you offer yourself to me?"

"Would you do any more with it than you did when Dick was offering?"

"Oh," Dick says, standing and cupping Tim's shoulders. "I still *am* offering. He's *mine*, Bruce."

Bruce strokes Tim's cheekbones once and gazes down into Tim's eyes. "He belongs to many people. Including the boy who should've known him. Including the man... who kept my secrets for far too long."

"He -- he loves you --"

"Yes. Too much. All of you --" Bruce shakes his head *decisively*. "No, Dick, I'm -- I will not fight you, anymore. Tim... I did not watch you with Clark."

"I -- oh --"

"But I listened to every moment I could. You were ruthless with him, demanding and greedy --"

"I *want* that footage --"

"It's yours," Bruce says, and moves one hand to trace his fingers over Tim's mouth. "I will say no to you only if I need to hear you *curse*."

"I'm not -- I'm not *him* --"

"No. But you make love the way he did. *Dick* makes love like no one else --"

"God, *Bruce* --"

"Dick can be febrile, wild, entirely *heedless*, and I have dreamed of making him that way with me, dreamed of cries pitched higher than reason and growls low enough to need a cowl. I have watched him enter you a thousand times and I have --"

"*Please*," Tim says, and he'd meant that to be Bruce's *name*, but --

"Yes. Yes, Tim --"

"You -- I can't. You should --"

"C'mon, little brother. Give this to *both* of us. You know how much I've *needed* you and Bruce to have each other."

Need. It's always *need*, and so it's a simple matter to tilt his head back once more, to reach down and open the top button of his jeans --

"Tim..."

"Show me --"

This time, he doesn't fight the kiss. Almost certainly, Bruce knew he wouldn't, because the kiss itself *isn't* brutally hard. It has other methods at its disposal in order to be undeniable. It --

Their eyes are open for it, and Bruce is covering the hand Dick has on Tim's left shoulder and is slipping the other up under Tim's t-shirt. The motion of that hand is odd, *strange* --

And then Tim realizes that Bruce is searching for the scars he knows *should* be there, the ones which have shifted with the stretches and curves of this body --

For a moment Tim had *forgotten* --

But there will be no way to forget *this*, no way to do anything save for finally closing his eyes and tilting his head to make the kiss deeper, to make it easier for Bruce to *explore* his mouth. Tim can *feel* Bruce still watching him, still *learning* --

And there's a part of Tim which only wants Bruce to have watched today so he'd *know* everything Clark had done to make him lose his mind, to be able to skip *past* all of the care, the study --

They've known each other for *years*, and this should be easier, should be --

Tim grunts for the feel of Bruce firming the kiss to something much better, something which makes Tim *aware* of the swelling in his lips, the twinge in his jaw --

And Bruce starts rubbing at the muscles there, *easing* there -- of course he'd know. Of course he'd be able to *tell* -- and the only real question is why Clark hadn't done it. There's a part of him which is absolutely positive that Clark had *left* that for Bruce, despite having no idea --

Tim grunts again -- Bruce is biting his lip, and when Tim opens his eyes, *Bruce's* eyes are dark and very, very...

Demanding.

Tim pulls back, holding the position until Bruce lets go of his lip. "I refuse to believe that you don't allow room for distraction at times like these, Bruce."

Bruce raises an eyebrow.

"Jason had any number of beautiful people in *his* life, too --"

"Ultimately," Bruce says, "it did not take long at all to make his world a much smaller place."

Dick sighs. "You can't do that to either of us."

"No, I can't," and Bruce smiles at both of them. "Some might say that that is all the more reason for me to avoid doing this."

"Yeah, and I'm sure you have one *hell* of a certificate from the We Hate Growing Up club, boss, but --"

Tim coughs on a laugh --

Dick tilts Tim back so he can smile at him upside down. "*Somebody* never expected me to think things like that."

"Well -- honestly, Dick, can you *blame* me?"

"I probably shouldn't, but -- yes. I absolutely can. *Alfred* told me that Bruce had never grown up when I was *thirteen*, little brother. I didn't get it at the *time*, but..."

Bruce clears his throat --

And Dick looks up -- without tilting Tim forward again. "What can I do for you, boss?"

"I don't suppose you feel tempted to share what prompted that particular statement from Alfred...?"

"Heh. What do *I* get for spilling the beans?"

"What would you like." And --

Oh, that was really --

"Ooh. *That*, little brother, is apparently what happens when two exceedingly sexy people -- if I do say so myself -- have been taunting, teasing, and smooching the Bat for an extended period of time."

"And the that in question..."

"Would be that thing where it sounds like Bruce is trying to talk around his own dick, yes."

Tim chokes --

"Dick."

"What? We already *know* the wildly crass and inappropriate talk *works* for you, boss."

"Hm. Jason much preferred the term 'cock.'"

"Ah, but he *told* me that he used 'dick' *exclusively* until he met me. And then there was some foolishness about not wanting to encourage me. Somehow I couldn't bring myself to pay attention to the rest."

Bruce hums.

Dick catches his breath -- and tilts Tim forward again just in time to see Bruce releasing the last catch on the chest armor. For a moment, it's difficult to comprehend *why* that should be so --

Except that Bruce is staring directly into Dick's eyes.

And then Tim's own.

"Uh. Okay, now that I can talk again -- uh. Tim?"

"Talking is... ah. Something other people can do. Right now."

Bruce *smiles* --

"You -- totally did this to Jay all the time," Dick says --

Bruce *nods* -- "But neither of you should think that I didn't appreciate -- in several wildly inappropriate ways -- the efforts both of you took to better disguise your desires to watch me in this way. You both have taught me much."

Dick chokes. "You -- are an *asshole*."

Bruce inclines his head for a moment -- and then opens his belt. "I've especially made use of Tim's trick of pretending to check me over for injuries. His expression was rarely anything but perfectly clinical."

"I -- sometimes I *was* just looking for injuries --"

"Which made the expression all the more perfect. It took a great deal of time for me to discern when you were simply... enjoying yourself," Bruce says, and moves to lay the belt carefully down on the console.

"I -- okay, wait, Tim uses that look on me all the -- oh. Oh, little brother, I *love* you."

Tim rejects the blush and all of its works, and that's about as useful as it ever is. "How *were* you able to tell?"

Bruce smiles and stretches his shoulders and upper back --

Tim narrows his eyes *reflexively* --

"That particular nuance of the expression. Right there," Bruce says, and Dick tilts him back *quickly* --

"That's the look that always makes me wonder if I'd swum through a sewer while I wasn't paying attention --" Dick growls. "I love you and I *hate* you."

"Mm. The bonds of family."

"You -- all right, no, *don't* shut up, but still -- something," Dick says, tilting Tim up and spanking him twice *immediately* -- "Oh. Wow. Your ass is all. Uh."

"Why don't we take that as read? And I still want to know --"

"You once used that precise expression when Kid Flash was bending over the car you stole, Tim. The cameras picked up every detail."

Damn -- "I'm always far too relaxed at the Tower."

Bruce's smile is lazy and broad enough --

"You're tempting me toward gestures I believe Jason would approve of."

"Perhaps I could tempt you -- both of you -- toward other things entirely," Bruce says, folding himself down to a seated position on the mats and removing his boots.

"I feel -- uh." Dick squeezes Tim's shoulders. "We're going to have a talk about the proper way to perv on your fellow heroes, heroines, and otherwise, Tim, but *first*..."

"Yes, first," Tim says, and when Tim starts walking closer, Dick comes with him.

"Beautiful boys --"

"We're *so* not gonna talk about your kinks, boss," Dick says, and drops to his knees to Bruce's left side.

Tim takes the right. "I think that might be somewhat limiting, Dick."

"Oh, I -- okay, you're right, but -- maybe not *all* of Bruce's kinks."

"Boundaries are definitely important. I, for one, am entirely unsure as to whether I'd like to know *when* Bruce began making love with Jason --"

"Oh, hell, now I'm *thinking* about that --"

"He was," Bruce says, "younger than either of you when he began training --"

"Yes, *that* --"

"One of the pictures I didn't burn was from his middle school yearbook," Tim says, thinking about it... he takes off his shirt.

Bruce looks him over precisely as if he has to be *sure* that Tim isn't injured. And then looks him over in another way entirely. "Tim. You are..." Bruce shakes his head. "You were not this flushed yesterday morning."

"Abject terror and crippling confusion tend to be very good for my complexion, Bruce," and Tim strokes the scar which always catches his eye. It had been made by a serrated blade at least four inches long, and it had come very, very close to removing Bruce's left nipple. "This one. This is the one which most made me *think* about my... ah... lifestyle choices."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Because of its severity?"

In the late fall, the scar often gains both lividity and swelling. Entirely alarming, really, but -- "No. Solely because of its placement. I am, actually, attached to my erogenous zones."

"Still...?"

Well... heh. "Bruce, if I were stuck in this body, I would never actually stop having sex. I've yet to find a limit my vagina will actually listen to. I am, in fact, very curious about whether or not I've managed to retain my male sexual peak despite being in a female body --"

"You are not genetically female. It's a blend of magic and a toxin I plan on studying extensively before allowing it anywhere near a government."

Tim blinks --

"Hey, you didn't mention the magic *before*," Dick says, midway through shimmying out of his clothes.

"Hn. I am in now in possession of, quite possibly, the world's only syringe blessed by Hecate. Zatanna has been branching out."

"Well. Ah. Good for her?"

Bruce shows his teeth. "That, of course, remains to be seen. Dick. Tim. What would you like to do with me?"

Dick's moan is only somewhat exaggerated. "It would probably be a bad idea to keep periodically punching you in the face *after* we've had sex, wouldn't it?"

"Jason --"

"Didn't think so, yes, I *know*. Still. Work with me here, boss."

"I..." Bruce shakes his head and cups Dick's cheek. "Please, let me kiss you again."

Dick's smile is shy and sly at once. "The right way?"

"*Every* way. I wish I could find a way to tell you how much I miss the days when you would get up to a running start and then fling yourself at me, always trusting that I would catch you --"

"And sometimes *throw* me --"

"Only," Bruce says, and smiles again, "when I had an erection I wanted to hide from you."

Dick opens his mouth -- and closes it again. And shakes his head vigorously. "*Only* you would be able to turn an erection into a training situation."

Bruce hums and turns to look at Tim.

"Oh, what -- Tim, what are you *doing* with your team?"

"All too little, Dick. Though Kid Flash and Superboy reach new heights with their powers seemingly every weekend."

Dick frowns at him. "We'll talk about *that*, too. *Down* time is important, little brother."

"Yes, well, so is avoiding down-on-my-knees-and-moaning time. In terms of *fighting crime*, that is."

Dick sticks his tongue out at him.

Tim raises an eyebrow --

And he was, in fact, ready for the flying tackle, but Dick was *also* ready to keep him from using any of the escape moves Tim has been taught. They wind up rolling several feet away from Bruce, and, when they stop, Tim is flat on his back and Dick is kissing him hard, *roughly* --

Not brutally, not *yet* --

Dick spreads Tim's legs with his own and *drives* against Tim's groin, and the buttons on these jeans aren't positioned to cause him *egregious* pain, but they're not especially comfortable --

And none of that is important against Dick fucking his mouth in the exact opposite rhythm than the one he's using for his hips --