The More We Get Together
by Te
March 19, 2010

Disclaimer: No one and nothing here is mine.

Spoilers/Timeline: Many, many vague references to older storylines. Takes place sometime between ROBIN #120 and the War Drums storyline.

Summary: Titans Together, and then some.

Ratings Note/Warnings: There are sixteen scenes in this story. There are sixteen sex scenes in this story. That content does and does not dovetail with the content some readers may find to be disturbing.

Additionally, I feel it's necessary for me to warn you all about the exactly 0.5 pages of plot.

Author's Note: The bunny for this one -- Dick obsesses about Tim and hijinks ensue -- has been around for years. To date, I've written about six stories which were *supposed* to be for that bunny -- including "One is silver" and "A hundred thousand hours" -- that just completely failed to get the mood I was going for across. This? Is a failure, too. I'm okay with that.

Acknowledgments: Much love to Mildred, Pixie, and the Jack for audiencing, encouragement, and beta.


"You're not doing this even *half* right, 'mano."

Dick squeezes his eyes shut and holds on -- with grim, implacable force, because *sometimes* he can manage that -- to his count. He's -- he's up to eighty-three push-ups. Sixty-seven more to go.

Roy sighs and drops into a crouch beside him. "You can at least tell me what it is *this* time."

"You -- already know," and Dick keeps working.

"See -- that would be." Roy sighs again. "Okay, look, I know too much. Am I comforting you about Oracle? Bruce? Your unholy love for short pants? Your entirely holy love for *Short Pants* --"

"You should've been wearing panties back then, Roy. You need -- ah. The perspective."

Roy snickers at him and brushes Dick's hair behind his ears. "I *like* still having functional nerve endings in my thighs, Dickie. They come in *handy*."

Dick growls. He --

He didn't --

He really didn't mean to growl --

Roy taps the center of Dick's spine. "It was one of *those* dreams, then."

"Roy --"

"*Please* tell me you at least jerked off *before* you started the insane workout routine."

Fifty-three more to go. He's good. He's gold --

"Uh, huh. What am I gonna do with you?"

Dick keeps his eyes closed. "You should go back to sleep. We have a lot more training --"

"To do as a team, yeah, and I'm *glad* to hear you say that, 'mano, you don't even know, but --"

"I'm not. I'm not running away. From my problems."

He doesn't actually need to open his eyes to know that Roy's expression is quintessentially skeptical. He --

Tim does that look better. It's a question of subtleties, and the fact that it's *Tim*, who doesn't believe anyone about anything without the kind of proof that would've made Harvey *fucking* Dent ruin his jockeys once upon a time when the world was new and fresh and --

And he doesn't really want to think about Bruce.

Dick stops at one-fifteen, and decides to just -- lie here. The floor is cool -- under the rugs Roy all but whipped him into purchasing for his bedroom here.

They're nice rugs. They --

"What woke you up, Roy?"

Roy pushes Dick over onto his back and rests the palm of one hand over Dick's sternum. The interesting thing -- Roy is holding his face in shadow. No.

Dick sits up and twines their fingers together. Roy has his own bad dreams sometimes and -- "Was it --"

"Yeah. Yeah, 'mano."

Dick squeezes tight and presses close -- "Tell me what I can --"

Roy's laugh is sharp and old -- but he turns an entirely real smile on Dick, and it --

Well, it pulls a smile out of Dick, too. "You don't have to keep -- taking care of *me*."

Roy raises his eyebrows and cocks his head to the side.

Dick snorts and blows out a breath. "Okay, yes, it always better when it's somebody else's problems. I -- promise to always have at least a few."

Roy squeezes Dick's hand. "I know it. So. Who was naked in your dream?"

"He *wasn't* naked --"

"And that was the problem, yeah. So..." Roy raises his eyebrows again.

Dick sighs and flings himself back down to the floor, pulling Roy with him. "I haven't seen him naked in two years."

Roy's expression is an interesting blend of a wince and exasperation. "You know you gotta hit that, 'mano. At the very least before he grows any more."

Dick makes a face. "Roy --"

"I'm serious --"

"He's my *little brother* --"

"And you have to take *advantage* of that. He's not gonna be little forever."

"*Roy* --"

"Well, okay, it's *him*, so -- hunh. How tall *is* he supposed to get?"

Bruce had raised an *eyebrow* at him the last time he asked --

A very, *very* pointed eyebrow --


"Argh? I didn't mean that to be a tough question, 'mano."

"I think -- no. Bruce knows that I want him, Roy."

"He's *Bruce*."

"*Yes*, and -- I -- five-nine. Maybe five-ten. Bruce put lifts in the boots he made for Tim's Batsuits."

"He *already* has Batsuits for -- uh. No, never mind --"

"He's Bruce."

"Exactly, yeah," Roy says, blowing out a breath and settling himself on his side, stroking Dick's chest. "So... maybe Bruce was watching *you* in the dream?"

Dick squeezes his eyes shut again -- stops. "I could feel him. *Knowing*."


"Yes. No. I don't -- I didn't know. I think -- wouldn't he *have* to disapprove?"

"He's *Bruce*, 'mano. He'd find some way to let you *know* if he did."

Dick frowns. "What if I --"

"You wouldn't have missed it."

"But --"

"You *wouldn't* have *missed* it. Seriously, you have, like -- Bruce whiskers."

Dick blinks. "Whiskers."

"Yep. They get all... well. They twitch."


"Fuck, 'mano, don't piss on my metaphors. It's *day*."

Dick smiles. He just -- he can't help it.

"Yeah, like that," and Roy thumps Dick's chest a few times. "What *is* little brother up to these days?"

"And what you really meant was *who* is he up to --"

"Of *course* --"

Dick laughs, just a little breathlessly, and stares up at the unbelievably clean ceiling. "Indigo's servos are pretty frighteningly efficient --"

"Don't change the *subject* --"

"I think -- I think maybe he's not a virgin anymore."


Silence -- "It's killing me that I don't know who, Roy. It's just -- there are -- " Images. Lists. *Images* --

"And you're pretty sure it's not his girlfriend?"

Dick nods -- and stops himself from gritting his teeth.

"There's a simple way to figure this out, you know."

"I *can't* just ask him. I mean -- we have these -- these rhythms --"

"You tease, he gets snippy, you flirt, he blushes, you tease more, he gives you that wide-eyed, lips-parted look that says everything in the *world* --"

"I can't just *jump* him. He -- he hates surprises."

"And you think you'd jump him if he told you who he was fucking -- assuming he is fucking --"

"He's --" Dick narrows his eyes and thinks --

The last time, because sometimes Dick isn't actually capable of not riding into Gotham, into *Tim's* territory --

And Tim had attacked when Dick had gotten close, but he's good, he's *so* good, and he'd recognized Dick out of the shadows and then they'd had an incredibly dangerous and wonderful spar on the roof of the Consolidated Bank building --

Tim had tagged *both* of Dick's shins with his staff, and it had been all Dick could do not to tackle, roll them close to the edge, *press* --

And then he'd *done* it --

"He laughed. And he -- he hummed."

Roy frowns. "In the dream?"

"No, I -- when I tackled him. A spar. And I -- I spread his legs under me, and that's usually worth a *moan* -- and God, those moans, Roy, those moans are just --"

"I know, I know," Roy says, stroking in a deliberately soothing pattern --

"He's always so *repressed*. It's just -- *anything* could flip his triggers --"

"But you couldn't that time."

Dick bangs his head against the floor once. Twice. "No."

"And you're thinking..." Roy frowns again. "He could have just jerked *off*, 'mano."

Dick takes a deep breath and tries to make that fit, to -- Dick shakes his head. "Someone -- someone's *touched* him."

"Someone not you."

Dick winces. "I'm not -- it's not that I want to --"

"Keep him from getting his Robin itches scratched, I know --"

"He's supposed to *tell* me --"

"He's your brother."

"*Yes*. Because --" Dick frowns. "Is he -- maybe I already made him uncomfortable --"

"You had him laughing and humming under you, 'mano. I'd say he's pretty comfy."

"He could be *too* comfortable --"

"'mano, I love you, but --"

"You're about to smack me."

"Yes. Yes, I am."

Dick takes a deep breath and throws himself at Roy, twisting and pressing --

Roy nudges him with a knee --

Dick *grinds* --

Roy snickers and yanks on Dick's *hair* --

Dick twists enough to bite Roy's wrist --

It's almost too easy when they're both just wearing the boxer shorts they sleep in --

It *is* too easy --

Which is more than enough reason *not* to take any deep breaths before swallowing Roy whole --

"Ah, *fuck*, Dickie --"


Roy laughs breathlessly and shoves his hands into Dick's hair, big hands, *strong* hands --

*Archer* calluses on his scalp --

And that's the same sense of wrong-right-wrong as it always is, the same *need* to throw himself into this until he can't breathe --

Wait, no, he hasn't *smelled* Roy enough --

Dick pulls back and gasps --

Roy growls and *yanks* Dick's hair -- but doesn't pull him back down. Hm.

Dick raises an eyebrow.

Roy blinks at him. "Uh. What can I do for you?"

Dick gives Roy's dick a pointed look.

"The -- what? Oh, I was just havin' a moment, 'mano."

That's fair, but --

"*Also* -- *I* can investigate things at the Tower *for* you."

Dick blinks -- a lot --

"Uh, hunh. I'm heading out in a day or two to make another futile attempt to get in Connor's pants. While I'm out...?"

"*Please*," Dick slurs around his mouthful --

"*Absolutely*," Roy says, and *then* hauls Dick on.

God, *yes* --

Roy groans and *immediately* starts fucking up and up and *in* -- "*Jesus*, your mouth is the best thing ever --"

Dick pushes up on his knees enough to wiggle his ass --

Roy snickers and wraps his leg around enough to *kick* Dick's ass --

Dick scrapes with his teeth --

And Roy grunts and starts fucking him in earnest, one *hard* thrust after another until Dick feels that good feeling, that *right* feeling, that not-quite-*here* feeling that means he's nowhere but the place where he can have this --

His *oldest* brother, his friend, his lover --

To be *wanted* like this, to have it be easy and *right* --

Roy growls and flips them over, slipping out just enough --

"*Roy* --"

And then Roy's straddling Dick's chest and fucking him *that* way, and the only possible thing to do is stroke those thighs, those hips --

Roy --

*Roy* --

Pull him in, pull him in hard and *keep* him --

"*Dick* --"

*Yes* --

Roy shoves in and *shouts*, and at times like these Dick doesn't need anything else, *couldn't* need anything else --

Filled up and *warm* --

And Roy knows him *exactly* well enough to know that he has to stay *right* there for a minute --

Just a little while *longer* --



"I'm gonna finger you 'til you *cry*."

Dick shoves Roy out --

Roy snickers and grabs Dick's lube from the bedside table --

Dick *starts* to get up on the bed --

Roy grabs Dick's hair and yanks his head back. "*Rugs*, 'mano."

"I -- feel so much better about the fact that you actually took me shopping for these now."

Roy leans in and kisses Dick's forehead. "Thought you would. *Brace* on the bed."

Dick settles himself on his knees -- the rug does bunch up comfortably under them with just a little work --

And Roy drops to his knees behind him and kisses Dick's ear, the side of his throat --

The back of Dick's neck --

And it's enough to let Dick know that he's panting, that he's -- God, aching for this *already* --

"I know, I know, I don't do you this way enough."

"I -- could be less desperate?" And Roy yanks his head back again --

Enough for him to see Roy's grin. "Dickie. You've been having the porn nightmares for *three days*."

Actually, closer to a *week* -- but Dick wasn't in New York for those. Dick closes his eyes. "He's -- God, I want --"

"I know you do. And we're *gonna* get him for you. And... is this how you want him?"

Dick -- pants more. Licks his lips, searches himself -- "I'm not sure."

Slick fingers in his *cleft* --

"*Roy* --"

"No...? He's got... mm. Hard little hands. *Tough* little hands," and Roy is working his fingers in rough circles --

"I -- he. I don't even know what he *likes* --"

"Dickie. *Everyone* likes your ass. Like -- there are lesbian nuns who want to fuck your ass."

"Roy --"

"Trust me."

"Roy, I don't need to -- I just -- I have to give him what *he* wants --"

"So you can make him come back for more and more, I know, I hear you," and Roy pushes in with two --

"*Fuck*, I -- I want this. I want to do this to him."

Roy exhales long and harsh. "He could... you said he's moaned for you."

"Yes. Yes. And -- more than once."

Roy bites his *ear* --

"Uh. *Ow* --"

"Dickie, you are an *idiot*."

"I *know* that --"

"So long as you do. *Don't* breathe," Roy says, and starts to thrust hard and *fast* --

"Fuck -- *fuck* --"

"Yeah. *Exactly*."

"Roy --"

"I'm *not* gonna work your prostate for you."

"Oh -- God, Roy --"

"If you *want* that..."

"You are *evil* --" 

"That's why all the hot supervillainesses want a piece, 'mano," and Roy is snickering again. "C'mon, now, *work* it."

Dick straightens his thighs and follows orders, and --

God, it's *Roy*, who knows *exactly* how he moves, exactly what he *likes* --

Dick has to *chase* those fingers, try to grind, try --

"Not *quite*, 'mano..."

Roy is too fast, too *good* --

"Yeah, now you're getting it..."

Dick pants and he can't -- can't even stop to *regroup*. Roy is still thrusting, still *fucking* him, but the angles keep shifting, the *depth* keeps shifting -- "*Please* --"

"Please *what*, Dickie?"

"You -- God, I'm *sorry* I'm an idiot --"

"Shh, no, that's not what this is about," and Roy pets Dick's hair with his other hand --

Roy doesn't *stop* fucking him --

"No, I -- mm," Roy says, and leans in to *kiss* Dick's ear. "Love you, 'mano. *And* your fucked-up brain."

"But -- I -- oh, Roy, *please* --"

"Think of him begging for it like this."

"I -- I couldn't -- I have to make him *come* --"

"Yeah, you do. But -- he'd still beg. Whether or *not* you teased him."

"I --"

Roy shoves in *hard* --

"*Roy* --"

"You *know* he'd beg. For a touch, a taste, a *bite* --"

"God -- fuck. Yes. Yes, he'd beg. He's always been so -- I *know* he used to want me --"

"Those *eyes*, 'mano. *On* you. Where *anyone* could see."

"He kept -- God, every *secret* --"

"But not that one."

Dick pants more and bangs his head on the mattress --

Roy yanks his head back *again* --

"Roy, *please* --"

"Not. That. One."

"No. No. He couldn't. He couldn't keep it back --"

"Because he wants you *that* bad."

"He -- he *did* -- oh. Oh, Roy, are you going to --"

"Give it to you, 'mano. *Just* like this. Hold still."

Dick growls and digs his fingers in against the mattress --

And Roy -- takes him. Just -- *takes* --

One thrust after another after --

Dick swallows to get more of the sore *throat* feeling --

And then he *can't* because he's crying out, loud and helpless if not quite *shameless* --

This *isn't* the Tower --

But it's a kind of home, anyway. It's --

It's the home Roy *made* for him --

Three fingers --

Three fingers and Dick is *screaming*, because Roy stopped using *enough* lube for that after Dick told him about Clark --

Years ago, just -- just *years* --

"*Roy* --"

"Right here, 'mano. Right *here*."

"Always -- so -- God, Roy, I love you so *much* --"

Roy grunts --

*Crooks* --

And Dick is *biting* the mattress, needing -- needing exactly what he's *getting* --

Roy always *knows* --

Sometimes -- sometimes it seems like he's the only *one*, and Dick can't --

He can't ever --

The first sob hurts Dick's throat just right, just -- it *rakes* its way out of him, makes him squeeze his eyes shut --


Dick nods frantically and he can't --

He can't stay *still* anymore, he never *can* --

Roy moans softly -- "It's okay, 'mano, I've *got* you --"

And that was more of a *wail* than a sob --

He barely feels *connected* to his hips --

He can't stop *moving* --

Roy leans in and bites Dick's throat, hard enough to mark, right enough to make Dick sob again --

*Again* --

"Dickie... come."

"*Fuck* --"

"*Now*," and Roy crooks again --

The world is moving -- no, Dick's eyes are rolling back in his head and he's working-twisting-grinding --

Crying --

Heat and *intensity*, something so --

It's pleasure, it's --

Dick throws his head back --

He can't tell if the screams are out loud or *not* --

But Roy isn't stopping, Roy isn't --

It's everything spilling out of him, *everything*, and this time he won't be able to recover, to be strong or good or --

"*Roy* --"

"*Yeah* --"

Dick sways -- and drops down to his heels, shouting for Roy slipping most of the way out --

And shouting again for Roy shoving in so *deep* --

So --

Dick groans and tries to get his hands to stop shaking enough that he *can* hold himself up on the mattress, can get himself back *together* --

It's not going to happen. It --

Dick opens his mouth -- and shocks himself with a jaw-cracking yawn.

Roy snickers.

Dick flips him off.

"Ah-ah-ah, 'mano. If you're not nice, I *won't* tell you who your little brother is fucking."

Dick groans again and bangs his head on the mattress. "It is -- extremely wrong that I don't want it to be as good as this. Isn't it."

Roy sighs and kisses Dick's cheek -- *licks* Dick's cheek -- "Pretty much, yeah. You *are* the one who wants his Titans to be as much like ours as possible."

"So are *you* --"

"And so is every last one of us. And we *all* know that it can be good -- fantastic -- with all kinds of people."

"I'm -- too possessive."

"Yep. Breathe," and Roy waits for him to get two deep breaths before pulling out --

"God, Roy, that was -- you know how that was."

"Always with you, 'mano. You know that."

And the only possible response to that is to twist and pounce until they roll and wrestle themselves into a comfortable position on the floor. "I love you."

"Back at you," Roy says, and pets Dick's hair. "We'll *get* him for you."

"You -- I could try -- I mean. Connor --"

"Dickie. You and I *both* know that the only thing that would happen if you tried to convince Connor to put out for me is that he'd wind up married to you."

"Roy --"

"You know I'm right."

"I'm -- I wouldn't --"

"I'm *right*, 'mano. There's a *reason* why I haven't brought him here yet."

"I don't even -- I mean, yes, he's extremely attractive, and very -- I mean, even *Bruce* likes him --"

Roy grunts and shifts.

"Even *Tim* -- wait. Did you just."


Dick frowns, twists, and shifts around until he can look Roy in the eye. "Did you just get hard for Bruce and *Connor*?"

Roy looks... sheepish.

Dick smacks his chest --

"Okay, okay, go *easy*. I've been trying to hit that for *years*, 'mano. I get hard thinking about Connor with *anyone*."

And that... Dick rubs the place he'd smacked and frowns a little. "Roy..."

Roy smiles ruefully. "Nah, it's not -- it's not that bad, Dick. Seriously."

"Are you *sure* --"

"Connor told me flat out that he didn't want to *play*... and I have to admit that that's what it would be for me."

"Roy --"

"Mostly. Just -- mostly, okay?" Roy squeezes Dick's hand. "Little brother issues are fucking *complicated*."

Dick laughs softly and bangs his head against Roy a few times.

"Yeah. We'll figure it out."

"Will we?"

"Uh, hunh. And if we *don't*, we'll just fuck ourselves raw trying."

Dick snorts. And cuddles up closer.


There have always been -- and perhaps will always *be* -- challenges inherent to being a Titan while still being the Robin he's supposed to be. While Tim had made a deliberate choice to throw out as much of the distance and caution Bruce had urged him to use when the team in question was Young Justice... well.

He can't blame Bruce for all of it. He's known for a very long time that he's anything but the warmest person in the world --

("*Relax*, little brother! No one's  going to arrest you for a little cuddle!)

Tim hums and smiles to himself. There *is* a temptation to try to be something like the Robin *Dick* had wanted him to be... but it would *be* trying, and it's a battle he would not win.

So -- he does what he can with what he has.

Right now, this means that, when he steps out of the Batjet and onto the roof of the Tower, he deliberately shifts enough to let the wind take his cape and blow it away from his body.

He stands straight -- if never actually tall.

He loosens the muscles in his jaw so that his smiles -- however few and pathetic they may be -- won't look terribly strange and pained when -- 

"Can he see me?"

There. Tim works his jaw a little more, *then* smiles.

"Oh -- ohh. Tim."

Bart. Mm. "Considering the fact that *I* noticed that the door was open while we were still in the air --"

When Bart growls, it sounds remarkably like a large, evil-minded cat being... squeezed.

Vigorously. Tim turns enough to face the -- populated -- shadows with his smile firmly in place --

And Bart is *right* there, looking down at him from his -- abruptly -- greater height. In the uncertain light gained by the amount of fog coming off the bay, his eyes are nearly amber.

Beautiful. Tim lets his eyes slip most of the way closed --

Tim stops, flips the lenses up on his mask --

"Oh -- *Tim* --"

"Yes," Tim says, and tilts his head back just -- so.

The kiss, when it comes, is hard enough to speak *clearly* of Bart's enhanced strength, but careful enough to speak about hard-won control. Tim hums approvingly --

And Bart cups Tim's face, pressing long (longer?) thumbs to Tim's temples and turning the kiss into dozens of smaller ones --

*Harder* ones --

Bart groans and *bucks* when Tim slips his tongue into his mouth --

Bart's eyes are squeezed shut, and the stillness there is, more truly, a failure of perception: There are many, many times when Bart's eyes track faster than Tim can see. And -- maybe.

Tim bites Bart's lip hard enough to make him whimper, whine high in his throat -- and pull back.


Tim raises an eyebrow.

"Oh -- I. Hell. Kon wants to talk to you about something but he didn't say what --"


"Yes I thought so and also Kory is being really creepy in that way where you can tell that she's really really really *really* happy that we're screwing --"

"And wants us to be even more public than we are."

"Which is really really --" Bart shakes himself all over. "Ah. Would you?"

Tim raises his eyebrow higher.

"I mean -- I guess we could make out somewhere other than our bedrooms?"

"Here, as an example --"

"Nooo... no," and Bart shakes his head *and* narrows his eyes.

Tim strokes a hard, firm line down Bart's sternum --

Bart growls again -- "Jesus fucking *Christ*, Tim, don't do that when you've been making me wait for a million damned years and don't have any intention of --"


Bart glares at him.

Tim shows his teeth.

Bart shows his *own* --

Wind --

"*Ow*, damn it! I -- oh. Ohh, I think I'm." Bart falls over, giving Tim time to look around -- yes, they're in Tim's bedroom. And the -- lightly -- poisoned spikes which deploy from his belt when it's fiddled with incorrectly are slipping back into place.

Tim nods to himself, carries Bart to bed -- he barely weighs more than he had last week, which is somewhat worrying -- and continues the process of stripping himself down.

By the time Tim is down to his t-shirt and boxer-briefs, Bart is groaning and writhing a little.

Tim gives himself a moment *just* to watch that --

His thighs *alone* --

"No -- no fucking *fair*, Tim," Bart says... at an entirely human speed.

He'll have to remember this compound. "I did say that it was nearly always a bad idea to try to get the belt off me without my consent," and Tim crawls onto the bed and begins to strip Bart.

"I -- okay but -- and those spikes *hurt*."

"It's the sedative on them more than anything else... though I usually dip them in a certain pain-enhancing compound. I leave it off for the weekends."

"Um. You're not a nice person, Tim."

"Very true," Tim says, and dips his tongue in Bart's navel --

Bart moans --

And Tim hums while he tries to classify the taste. Tries -- "You're less salty than you were last week."

"Mmph? I? Is it a problem? I mean, I could --"

"It's not a problem," Tim says, and finishes peeling Bart out of the rest of his uniform. In this position, his ribs are almost stark. His hips --

Tim narrows his eyes and cups them -- "Tell me what else I need to know."

Bart groans and bangs his head against the pillow -- again at human speed. "You can't *do* this to me when I'm drugged!"

Tim blinks -- and lets go --

"Wait, no, you can, you can you can you can -- oh, that sounds so *weird* slow --"


"I just meant --" Bart blows out a breath -- no, he's trying to push his hair out of his eyes.

Tim leans in and does it for him --

And Bart beams up at him. "You got me *high*!"

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Are you feeling any effects other than the... slowness?"

"Um. You don't think that's enough?"

Tim hums somewhat noncommittally.

"*I* think it's enough. And. Um. Wait, I wasn't finished with the Kory thing --"

"This first," Tim says, and cups Bart's hips again. Lightly this time.

"I -- ohh, that always feels so good and I --" Bart growls and squeezes his eyes shut -- "I can't *vibrate*."

"Perhaps you can think of it as bondage --"

Bart grunts, penis lifting... slowly. Steadily, though -- "I -- it's okay that you want to do me when I'm high. So long as you acknowledge that it's really, *really* kinky and more than a little wrong."

Tim smiles. "Done."

Bart snickers and spreads his legs wide, exposing something dark -- plug.

Tim squeezes Bart's thighs hard to keep from squeezing *himself* --

And Bart's expression is narrow and sly, sharper with the deeper orange his eyes become in the light from Tim's bedside lamp. "The roof doesn't count, Tim."

What -- ah. Tim grips the base of the plug and begins to fuck Bart with it. "No?"

"The roof is *your* place. Robin's place. You know nobody goes up there unless -- unless they have to."

"For a while, Kon joined me there fairly often. And now --"

"I do, yeah, but we were both joining *you* and -- oh harder. Harder harder -- *hnh* --"

"Your point is made," Tim says, and begins twisting the plug as he thrusts --

"Please please please --"

"How long have you had this in?"

"All *year* Tim please oh please --"

"Should I call the others in to watch me fuck you with it?"

"*No* -- oh fuck -- maybe Kon --"

Tim hums a laugh and shoves in *hard* --

And Bart arches and comes, spattering his chest and abdomen and clenching tightly enough that Tim *can't* move the toy -- and that's a promise.

Tim pushes hard on it for the moment when Bart *will* relax and licks him clean. Definitely less salty, but not any sweeter. Hm.

"Before -- oh, *deep* --"


"Before you ask, Tim, I've been eating a *lot* of really bland pasta just to -- you know, keep my weight up."

"Did it have to be bland?"

"I. Um. I ate all the sauces in the house and I felt guilty about making Joan spend so much money and I can't make good sauce --"

"I'll teach you," Tim says, letting go of the plug and licking his way to Bart's nipple before biting down hard --

Bart screams -- and babbles something incomprehensibly fast -- "Oh that's so much better," and Bart's sigh is its usual humming whistle. A bird's call.

His bird's call. "You haven't finished --"

"I did I did I -- oh wait. Roy's coming. And maybe -- maybe Connor Hawke."

Tim licks his lips. "Really."

Bart shoves his hands into Tim's hair and tugs -- lightly. Tim runs his tongue around Bart's nipple and *then* looks up.

"Yes, Bart?"

"Have you -- I know Connor's your friend."


"Have you told him about -- about us?"

"Not yet, no."

"Yet. Yet." Bart narrows his eyes again. "Will you tell him if he comes?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Is that -- would you only tell him *if* I wanted you to?"

"I'm a private person... as much as is possible --"

Bart frowns --

Tim uses his pathetic human speed to wrap his hand around Bart's throat and squeeze --

Bart's penis twitches *hard* against Tim's thigh -- "Oh, *God*, I -- *Tim* --"

"I haven't told my family -- either of them. I *have* told my girlfriend. Batman knows because he's Batman. If you'd like for me to tell Connor --"

"*Please* --"

"I'll tell him," Tim says, and braces himself *before* squeezing hard enough to choke --

Bart still comes close to bucking him off --

Close isn't good enough when Tim can grind, *thrust*, relax the squeeze --

"*Fuck* me -- fuck me fuck me --"

"Beg for me?"

Bart cries out and tosses his head, and Tim knows that if he were inside Bart now --

If the heat of his body were blinding him as opposed to merely *goading* him --

"*Please*, Tim, please, I'll do anything, I have to -- I've wanted -- all *week* --"

"Again. More."

"Please, you're so -- oh, God, Robin, I want you *in* me --"

"*More* --"

"Fuck me, Robin, fuck me hard, make me call your name, all of your *names* --"

Tim rolls off --

And Bart immediately flips onto his stomach and begins grinding against the sheets --

Tim spanks Bart four times, wishing for his gauntlet and for nothing of the kind, because --

"Oh, your *hand* -- oh, Tim, you're always so rough, so --"

"I could be... more gentle," and Tim has a moment to wonder if that's actually the *truth* --

But Bart's breathless giggle is a whine of sensation, a *wire* wrapped around Tim's penis and *pulling* -- "I *love* it when you lie *badly*, Tim..."

Tim hums. Well. "Good to know," he says, and moves between Bart's spread thighs. "Lubricant."

Bart grabs it from where it was sitting in the grey-tinged sunlight on Tim's bedside table --

And slicking himself is an exercise in delay and insanity. He's not going to *be* slick enough -- even with the medical grade lubricant -- because Bart is always going to be just that tight. Therefore, doing this -- especially when Bart is *already* slick for the plug -- is basically a matter of repeating the same acts in the same circumstances and expecting different results -- no.

Better, by far, to prepare himself for the *heat* he's going to have, for the feel of the boy Bart is, the man he's becoming --

And the man he's turning Tim into, one sly smile at a time. One *wet* smile at a time. One *grind* --

Tim spanks Bart four more times and thinks about *all* the reading Bart has done, about the *frustration* Bart had expressed about the fact that it was just easier to get the wilder information about sexuality on the internet -- where he was subject to the speed of -- very, very good, but still *relatively* slow -- computers.

Still, he'd learned much.

Very, very much.

Very --

Tim squeezes himself hard enough to make himself groan --

"*Tim* --"

Tim spanks Bart *again* --

"Oh -- oh, fuck, don't make me *come* --"

"But that's what I want, Bart."

"In me -- *in* me --"

"Maybe I'll wait," and Tim takes a moment to wonder at himself in these moments. In *this* moment --

Bart's moan goes on and on --

*Becomes* a croon --

"Tim please don't make me come *without* you -- *ah* --"

That for a hand on the back of Bart's neck, and Tim hadn't even meant to *move* --



That sound -- that *feel* -- is Bart drumming his feet against the mattress hard and fast enough to make the world they're making between them *move*, and --


"I'm *listening* --"

"I -- care about you. Love you --"

The breathless giggle is going to make Tim --

Tim grips himself hard and *grunts* --

"I *know* that. And you -- oh, it's gonna be fast --"

"Yes, Bart --"

"And you --" A growl and Bart moves his body in a *wave* -- "Talk *later*."

"Noted," Tim says, kneeling up --

Bart just *is* reaching back and spreading himself --

And there are so many things Tim wants to say, so many things he wants to *ask* --

And so many questions answered as he guides --

"Oh -- ohn --"

As he *pushes* --

"Tim, *yes* --"

In, just in, and the heat --

Bart is drumming his feet again --

Tim is squeezing Bart's shoulders too hard, too -- no, Bart can take it, Bart *wants* to take it --

"Oh -- no Tim do the thing with my *hands* --"

*Yes* -- but it takes effort to let go of Bart's shoulders, effort to do anything but sink in and in --

The *heat* --

Tim is sweating so *much*, and Bart is right here to take that, too, to -- no, he wants Tim's hands on his own, twined --

Tim squeezes Bart's shoulders as hard as he can in goodbye, a promise --

Tim holds himself *still* even against the way Bart is trying to work his hips --

He should've bent Bart in *half* -- no, like this, like *this*, and Tim can make himself focus, function -- there. Bart is clawing at the mattress with his fingers, and this *will* make Tim wish he had his gauntlets on, but he can cope, he can --

There are so many different paths to *control* for both of them, and this is one of them. "Bart."

"Tiiiim -- Tim Tim Tim I won't -- I won't break your fingers," he says, and splays his own fingers out --

Vibrates for a *moment* --

Tim grunts and thrusts hard once --

Twice --

Bart shouts and kicks, drums --

Now. Just --

And it's the same fever it always is, the same terrible *risk* to leave himself so vulnerable to someone whose powers increase daily, *hourly* --

But he's already inside, and he --

Oh, the feeling when Tim twines his fingers with Bart's own and *shoves* their hands against the mattress --

"*Together*, Tim --"

Tim grunts and he can't --

He *has* to --

The rhythm is too fast --

The rhythm is everything he *wants*, because Bart is clenching around him constantly -- hard enough that Tim *can't* ever pull out too far --

Short thrusts, then, and hard ones, and Tim wouldn't be able to manage anything *like* this if he hadn't jerked off before the flight, if he didn't --

"*Need* you, Bart --"

And it's always *that* declaration that makes Bart vibrate under him, around him --

Makes him *stop* himself and whine, cry out with such constant rapidity that it *sounds* like a whine --

Tim *grips* Bart's fingers --

And Bart's stillness, now, is all about potential, about the pain and *damage* he can cause if he lets himself go as much as he wants to --

Needs to --

The *heat* --

Tim growls and speeds his thrusts, biting back his own whines and whimpers because they both know Bart likes him *just* this variety of silent at times like these, just this -- this *unassailable* --

So. So *tight* --

They both know this *hurts*, that Bart heals too *well*, that --

And Bart's cries --

There's always a *moment* --

More than a moment, more than anything, more --

Tim knows that he's too *much*, that he's impossible and something close to monstrous. This -- this has to be a kind of *torture* --

Vibration and Tim's thrusting too hard --

Bart stops but Tim *can't* --

And now Bart's cries are *broken* by Tim's rhythm, choked off, forced quiet --

Tim squeezes his eyes shut -- no. He has to see, he has to -

Bart's cheek is so flushed. Bart -- *his* eyes are squeezed shut and he's biting his lip --

His perfect bow of a *mouth* --

If someone *asked* Tim to break down the movements that lead to Tim holding both of Bart's wrists -- he can't *quite* wrap his hand all the way around --

If someone were to want to know *why* --

But he has to have Bart's mouth, too, has to *feel* --

Just as he has to shout when Bart sucks his fingers and clenches at the same time --

When Bart opens his eyes and shows them hazed, other-focused -- and the knot at the base of Tim's spine pulses and promises, *threatens* --

"Bart. *Come*."

And Bart's eyes go wide in shock and something like *betrayal*, just as if Tim had never given that order before --

"Do it *now*," and Tim braces himself as best he can, grits his teeth and --

And *shouts*, because the bucking and vibration is making his penis feel abused in every possible wonderful *way*. At times like these, there's no end to it, no possible way to comprehend --

He can't stop thrusting --

If he slips out he'll *die*, just -- he won't survive it, couldn't possibly --


Bart *shrieks* around Tim's fingers, and the control he shows in not biting down --

Oh, Tim loves, he *loves* --

And Bart stills everywhere save for his hips, which he's moving in *that* rhythm, the same one Tim had shown him the first time, when all he was doing was jerking *off* for Bart --

("Oh, show me please please *please* show me --")

Giving --

Giving *up* --

("I *see* you, Tim, and you're so -- I need you so *much* --")

You never say no to need, you can't ever -- he can't *ever* --

"*Tim* -- Tim Tim --"

"*Yes*," Tim growls, and it's the last thing he can do other than this, the last thing --

He's squeezing Bart's wrists and *shoving* his fingers into Bart's mouth --

He's lost -- so --

And orgasm *is* loss, grief, fear -- *power*, the power and pleasure of *this* moment as he sinks himself deep --

As he shoots and cries out --

Bart is crying his *name* --

This *moment* --

And Tim collapses with a grunt, covering Bart and shaking all over --

"Oh -- fucking *God*, Tim --"

Tim grunts again and tries to remember how to move --

"Pull out pull out pull --"

Fast is better --

"Ohh -- fucking --"

And Bart winds up pushing as much as he rolls --

Wind --

And the sound of Tim's shower coming on. Tim takes a breath and thinks --

Tries to become something *like* himself --

"The water's always too *slow* oh God it feels like you came eight times and a half -- gah -- oh that's so much better --"

And Bart is curled up beside him, cuddled close with one leg thrown over Tim's own and one arm *clutching* Tim's chest --

("You brought this on yourself, Timbo. *I* didn't tell you to try to put your clothes back on.")

Tim hums --

Bart kisses Tim's cheek -- "Nightwing? I mean -- Dick. I get to call him Dick even though he's really Nightwing -- because it's a Titan thing. Right. Was it Dick?"

Tim nods.

"Why haven't you told *him*? Doesn't he -- you said he always wants to know *everything* --"

"I want," Tim says, and brings Bart's hand to his mouth for a kiss, "to keep you to myself for a little while longer. I have every reason to believe that he'll stalk you to a certain extent."

"Oh. Oh. You people are *creepy*."

Tim smiles --

Bart kisses his cheek again -- "I haven't told anyone, but that's mainly because -- you know."

Tim nods. Bart and Wally have a singular lack where a relationship should be... hm. "When I do talk to Dick about it, I'll probably couch it as a matter he should bring up with Wally --"

"Oh don't *do* that --"


Bart growls and bites Tim's shoulder hard enough to *mark* --

Tim breathes through it and strokes Bart's sweat-damp hair. "You know I can't let your issues with Wally stand."

The bite turns into several -- dozens of -- smaller, lighter bites.

"I could always tell Wally off myself."

Bart pauses -- and then he simply is straddling Tim's waist and pressing down on Tim's shoulders.

Tim raises an eyebrow.

Bart narrows his eyes.

Tim shows his teeth --

Bart squeezes Tim's shoulders and bounces on him -- lightly. "You'd do that."


"You -- *want* to do that."

"Very, very much."

"You'd make him *listen* to you."

"Oh, I have a few ideas about how to make that happen."

"You love me."

"Yes. Though, ultimately, that has little enough to do with my reasoning."

Bart raises an eyebrow at him.

Tim twists free enough to sit up -- enough to fold Bart into something of a crouch so Tim can *lick* his eyebrow. Just --

"Wait, wait, wait *Tim* --"


"That's not a kink, is it?"

"The kink, such as it is, is a function of how I react when you try on my mannerisms."

"Oh --"

And the wind is, ultimately, far less important than the sight of Bart gumming down one of Tim's spare dominos. That -- "If you were to put the belt on, as well --"

"I'm not *touching* your belt, Tim!"

Well. "Probably for the best," Tim says, and gestures a come-on.

Bart's smile belongs to a different sort of Robin entirely, but --

This is anything but a problem.


Standing on the roof of the nondescript building which takes up the aboveground space of Outsiders HQ always makes Roy feel like a big, red target -- but this is one of the things which can rapidly become worth it, if, just as an example --

"Hey, Clark. Road trip?"

"I'm afraid I don't know how to *drive*, Roy," Clark says, landing in front of him with two soft footfalls. There's something a little obscene -- and *scary* -- about *how* softly Clark can land, but --

Wait. "You don't know how to *drive*?"

Clark gives him the sheepishly earnest look which probably made his high school teachers want to strangle him with their cocks.

Or pussies, Roy guesses.

It makes *Roy* --

"Heh. No, *you* grew up on a farm --"

"I didn't think you would want to go on a road trip in a *tractor*, Roy." And, if anything, the look gets *more* earnest. Right.

Roy jabs Clark right on the 's' --

"Oh... yes?" Clark's eyes are *twinkling* --

Roy sighs. "Okay, I give up. You *never* tore around the Smallville back roads in a pickup truck that was older than God -- "

"I certainly didn't enjoy it."

Roy snorts --

"Not -- oh, not even a little," Clark says, shifting enough that the wind turns his cape into a far better target than Roy. Which.

"Thank you kindly."

"You're very welcome, I'm sure. Where shall I take you?"

Roy steps *right* into Clark's space and tilts his head back just -- so.

"Oh... perhaps I should be asking *how* I should take you...?"

"Heh. Dirty alien."

"Absolutely soaked in filth, I assure you. But... ah?"

Roy blinks. "You're busy? I don't want to --"

"No, no, it's not that," Clark says, and strokes Roy's shoulders firmly and warmly before giving them a squeeze. "It's just that you usually never use *me* for transportation purposes. I assumed it was somewhat urgent?"

Roy gets just a little bit closer --

"Of course, urgency can be... hem. A matter of degree?"

Roy's sideburns are the kind of ticklish that means they've been kissed -- too quickly for him to actually *feel*. Roy shivers --

"Oh... beautiful. May I?"

"Heh. Please do --"

And then they're in the sky, high enough that the city is a sprawl and *wash* of light --

High enough that Roy has to remind himself that he doesn't *quite* need to gasp --

"I've missed you," Clark says, and this time the twinkle is just a little hard.

Roy grins. "The feeling's mutual, Big Blue," and he wraps his arms around that *column* of a neck --

And the kiss is hot and hard and just a little crazy-making, just a little --

Maybe a lot --

Clark vibrates his *tongue*, and it's not even close to the first time when he's made Roy laugh *while* moaning --

Roy doesn't ever want it to be the *last* -- and the best way to *help* insure that is to wrap one leg around Clark's hip and press *close* --

Thank everything *holy* that Clark never wears a jock --

("It really is an excellent way to... ah. Distract?")

Roy laughs a little harder and *then* catches Clark's tongue between his lips, feeling for the buzz, the sharp *catch* --

Roy sucks and *grinds* --

And the law of gravity becomes -- briefly and excitingly -- something he needs to worry about as Clark moves them both around --

Flips and folds Roy --

And now Clark is holding Roy steady with both hands on his ass and Roy is wrapped *around* Clark --

The stars seem so *close* --

"Beautiful, beautiful --" Clark kisses Roy's throat hard enough that Roy can feel it through the uniform. Just --

He can practically *taste* it --

Just as he can taste *this* kiss before it even makes it all the way to his mouth. The sound of Clark's tongue on his stubble --

Hot breath on his cheek --

And that *impossibly* strong tongue fucking its way into Roy's mouth, really making a *space* for itself, really --

Flipped again, and that's how Roy knows he was starting to *really* grind against Clark --

Clark always likes to make things like that *easier* --

Roy snickers his way out of the kiss and pants a little --

And Clark pats him. His ass, his back, his head --

His ass again --

"Was that a *hopeful* pat?"

"I was really going for something more... ah. Friendly?"

Roy does a push-up on Clark's shoulders and grins down at him. "I was actually hoping for a ride to Star City... but."


Roy thinks about it --

Thinks about that *huge* hand currently not *quite* patting his ass --

"Fuck it, Ollie always leaves my bedroom alone. Let's hit it."

Clark beams at him --

Wraps him up --

And the scent of Ollie's perfect, perfect coffee triggers a flood of good -- no, he can't call them memories. It's the feel *of* the memories that are making him smile as Clark unwraps him -- in Ollie's kitchen.

Which makes sense as soon as he sees Connor blinking at him over the rim of his mug. It's the *Buddha* mug to be precise --

"Aw, you *do* use it," Roy says, tugging it out of Connor's grip and taking a long swallow.

Connor quirks at him. Just a little twitch of that -- always a little shockingly -- pale eyebrow and a bigger one at the corner of that incredible --

Ridiculous --

*Unbelievable* --

Mouth. "It was, by far, the most unique birthday present I've ever received, Roy," Connor says, and the quirk becomes a warm smile. "Welcome home."

Roy grins at him --

And Connor turns to smile at Clark. "Clark, it's wonderful to see you, as well. May I offer you some coffee?"

Clark... scratches in front of his ear a little. "Ah, no, thank you, Connor. I thought I might... steal Roy for a time."

Connor frowns mildly. "But you just brought him --"

Roy clears his throat --

Connor blinks and -- slowly -- takes his mug back. "I see. Well. I... ah." Connor closes his eyes and takes a quick breath before turning back to Roy. "Mia told me to tell you that she promises to replace your snare drum as soon as she can, and -- ah. I'll see you... later?"

Roy smiles a little ruefully. "Not *too* long -- er. You know what I mean."

Another quirk of a look, only this one is the kind of *sharp* that always puts *ideas* in Roy's head. Like --

"You're welcome to join --"

Connor holds up a hand, long-fingered, dark, callused in all the right ways and just a few of the *best* wrong ones -- "No, thank you," he says, and picks up the book that had been sitting on the table, waving it back and forth a little. "I'll be fine."

Roy leers because he pretty much *has* to --

And Connor smacks the book against his palm *just* like he's thinking of doing something meaner with it. Right.

Roy turns to Clark --

Who is looking back and forth between them with that *hopefully* earnest look in his eyes -- and that would be the one which probably made his high school teachers think of *slapping* it off his face.

With their cocks.

Or maybe their tits.

Connor laughs softly. "I missed you. Both of you."

Clark beams --and Roy hopes that it's enough distraction from his *own* beam, because really --

Connor points toward the ceiling. And sits back down at the table. And -- opens his book. Double right --

"Until later," Clark says, and the rush of wind knocks the pained laughter out of him until all he has is the need --

"*Naked*, Clark --"

"I thought you'd never ask," and Clark strips *him* --

"*Clark* --"

Clark winks at him -- and then there's just a whole damned lot of perfect, golden *skin* right up close where Roy can touch, and stroke, and lick --

Maybe a *little* scratching, just enough to get Clark to shiver and arch, *offer* --  hunh. "So how long have *you* been trying to get with my little brother?"

"Do you truly need to ask?"

Roy thinks about that for a minute --

Thinks *while* he's pulling and twisting on Clark's nipples --

Thinks about how damned *inspiring* the conference table on the Watchtower really is -- "Yeah, okay, no, I don't."

"I don't suppose... *is* he celibate?"

"*He* prefers to call it 'being patient,' but yeah, he totally is. A kiss now and again is as far as he goes, according to *all* of my sources -- including the man himself."

Clark sighs and wraps his hand around both of them --

"God *damn*, you're hot --"

"Oh, thank you," and Clark winks at him again and starts to stroke --

"*Hnh* -- I -- you know I don't last when you do *this*, Clark --"

"I might simply be trying to... train you," Clark says, and there's a *flare* behind his eyes --

An entirely non-metaphorical flare --

Roy shivers and works his hips a little, and -- <<Not in this place, Kal-El.>>

Clark -- Kal raises an eyebrow and *squeezes* --

"Oh -- *fuck* --"

<<Shall you be punished for speaking improperly, needy one?>>

And yeah, Roy's blushing *just* like that, but -- but -- "The walls are too *thin*, *Clark*."

Kal narrows his eyes --

Kal presses two fingers up behind Roy's sac and *vibrates* them --

"*Hnh* --" <<I beg, I *beg* -->>

"Well, since you put it so nicely," and Clark leans in for a kiss --

The kiss doesn't *land* --

"I strongly suspect that you've tried everything with your brother save for absolute honesty, Roy."

"I -- uh. Wha --"

"Consider it for the future. Now. Open for me," Clark says, and it *is* Clark --

It's *mostly* Clark --

It's just that it's the Clark who probably *should've* bent at least one of his teachers over a desk --

One day Roy is gonna *tell* Clark about those fantasies, but not until he's ready, willing, and able for Clark to *respond* --

Roy lies back and relaxes, all over, because there *is* no choice, because Clark makes him feel just like -- "Oh -- oh, *Clark* --"

Between his legs and *still* holding Roy's cock, *working* Roy's cock --

Working all of him at *once*, because Clark turns the rings in Roy's sac into a musical instrument, something that can jingle and *hum* while he sucks, while he licks and nibbles and makes Roy *need* to jerk --

God, so fucking *dangerous* --

And maybe Clark can *hear* that, because he's vibrating his hand *while* he strokes --

Because he's pressing on Roy's hole with two fingers and vibrating those, *too* --

And the only thing to do --

The only thing Roy *can* do is and shake and twist and *try* -- not to get away. Kal had *taught* him that there was no such *thing* as getting away --

No *escape* --

But he can cry out for it, he can shout and buck and beg for *exactly* what he's getting -- no, more than that, because Clark is Clark, and has had *more* than enough time to find the slick Roy keeps here --

In --

In so deep and *sweet* --

And now Clark is rising above him, hovering over him as he screws his fingers in so fucking *deep* --

"*Clark* --"

"Oh... just like that, Roy. Or... perhaps a little louder?"

"Uh? What -- oh -- oh, *fuck*, Clark, *do* me --"

"Whenever you wish," Clark says, and his tone is so *reasonable*, way too reasonable for someone who could be fucking Roy like *this*, like there's nothing else *important* --

Roy clutches at the faintly dusty sheets and works his hips because he has to, because Clark is doing him fast and *hard* --

"Would you have him this way, Roy?"

"God -- *yes* --"

"Would you take his pleasure for your own?"

"All -- all the time, fuck, I don't *know* --"

"Forgive me," Clark says, and *crooks* --

"*Clark* --"

"But I believe you do. I believe..." Clark sighs and lowers himself down to the bed, kneeling between Roy's thighs --

Roy spreads them wider *reflexively* --

"Oh." Clark beams at him like it's Christmas fucking morning in his *cock* -- 

"*God*, I love you --"

"And I love you," Clark says, and -- "Brace yourself?"

Roy feels his eyes go wide --

Feels his heart turn *over* --

"Oh, fuck. Clark. You -- don't make me --"

*Scream*, he was going to say, but he's already doing it, he --

He can't *stop* doing it, because Clark is working his prostate *over* in a mix of vibration and jabs, strokes and presses and --

Words, he has to make *words*, because he's never actually had *real* sex here, never --

It's never *counted* here --

God, he has to get a *pillow* over his face, has to just --

Something --

But Clark takes the pillow out of his hands like it's nothing, like --

Clark shakes his head at him and *smiles* -- stops. Stops.

"Clark, *please* --"

"If you're sure."

And that -- Roy *means* to throw his head back and laugh, but it comes out as a *jagged* scream, because Clark is *spreading* his fingers inside Roy, just as if none of the helpless clenches actually *matter* -- just -- "Nothing -- nothing *matters* to you --"

"*Everything* matters, needful one, beautiful one, *adorned* one --"

And Roy catches himself kicking like -- like a *child*, but there's no escape, no --

"Yes, Roy, yes, like *this* --"

"*Please* --" And if he calls Kal's name --

If he opens himself up to *that* kind of fairy tale --

He can't *be* any more open than he is right now --

But the heat in Clark's eyes wants him to know that that's a lie, that there's *always* a way to be more open, more ready to be *used* --

"God, *please*, please make me *come* --"

Kal blinks --

Clark *moans* --

And suddenly Roy is on his hands and knees, empty and --

Not empty. Not --

"*Fast*, beautiful one," Clark says in Kal's voice, and the hand on the back of Roy's neck is the only thing which can make him stop nodding like the fuck-drunk idiot he *is*. This --

Fast means *one* thing with Clark: That hot and *impossibly* hard cock shoving up against and rubbing on Roy's prostate until all Roy can do is grunt and beat on the bed with his fists --

Clark's so *deep* --

Clark *has* him --

Clark groans. "*Yes*, Roy --"

Clark can smell every peak Roy *reaches*, taste it and taste him --

"More. *More*, Roy --"

"Miss -- God, I miss your fucking *tongue* --"

"You'll have it again --"

"Want -- and then -- your fist, Kal --"

Kal growls and *shoves* Roy's head down against the pillow -- "You *test*?"

"Stating -- a *fact* --"

And Roy knows Kal *exactly* well enough to know that *that* sound was a *laugh* rather than another growl -- just a laugh that comes from deep and wants to *hurt* him, wants to -- God, to make him cry --

Dick --

Dick taking *this*, and it doesn't matter that Roy knows in his bones that Kal never *has* with Dick --

He can see it, and he can *feel* it, and he can *hear* the sounds Dick would make for that huge fucking cock --

*This* huge fucking cock, the one reaming *him* out like there's no tomorrow, like there *couldn't* be anything more important than Roy being fucked *just* this way --

<<Your stamina is a *goad*, needful one...>>

*God* -- <<For you, Kal-El, for *you* -->>

And maybe for Dick, too, for --

No, not for *Connor*, God, no, he's too --

Roy squeezes his eyes shut, but it's too *late* not to see it, not to see his brother, his beautiful *perfect* brother --

Skin so dark against the *whitest* parts of the Fortress --

Stretched on the *rack* of every pleasure Kal could throw at him --

<<*Speak*, Roy Harper -->>

<<Connor -- Connor Hawke and I need -->>

<<Shall I promise him to you? Shall I shape him for your needs?>>

And he can't --

Too many images, too *many* --

But what *if* Clark gave Connor his own week in the Fortress? Who would his brother be then?

*What* would his brother be?

<<My beautiful adorned one... you are tempted.>>

<<Most-high -- most-*high* -->>

<<You are tempted... and I am moved. *Take*,>> and Kal gives him the *real* speed, the kind that will leave Roy half-broken and bent for him, bent for anyone who could *touch* --

<<Love -->>


And there are no words left, there's no *possibility* left, because they're slamming the headboard against the wall, they're moving the *world* --

This --

This *is* the world, this is everything he needs, if only for --

The moment --

And Roy knows he's screaming by the way he can't *hear* Kal anymore, knows he's lost --

Close --

<<*Mine* -->>

And Roy chokes on his own scream as the *blast* works through him, as his vision goes blank and bright, as the heat and *pain* in his ass become liquid and so *sweet*.

Together, they're *together*, Kal shouting as he spills --

*Together*, and that's always the best, always so perfect and *right* --

"*Kal* --"

And Kal knows how to do him right, how to just haul Roy up onto his knees and *hold* him there with that thick, twitching cock still buried so *deep* --

Roy pants his way to having *enough* oxygen and smiles, letting himself slump back against Kal, rest his head on one of those perfect shoulders --

Kal strokes down from Roy's chest to his sac, pumps twice --

"*Unh* --"

-- and presses his smile against Roy's cheek. "Exquisite, as always."

"We -- heh -- aim to please, Kal."

Kal hums -- and it *becomes* a Clark hum midway through in ways Roy needs about three more years of music theory before he can even begin to describe.

Roy wriggles a little --

"Ah -- a moment more?"

"Oh, hey, no, I'm *not* complaining."

Another hum, and Clark kisses his cheek. "About Connor."

Roy grins *and* blushes. "Yeah. About him."

"Would you truly want...?"

"Heh. *Only* if he did. I mean -- it's not like *he* really needs to be fucked back into the right headspace. He's never been broken."

Clark strokes him firmly, gently... "Neither have you."

"Clark --"

"Roy. You were never broken. You were hurt, you were troubled, you were *damaged*... but you were never broken."

Roy lets his smile be as wry as it wants to be. "And you would know?"

"I watched you closely for weeks before I came to you. You were as strong as anyone could wish. Stronger."

Roy takes Clark's arms and wraps them around himself --

"Oh, thank you."

Roy snickers. "You're *very* welcome. Please, *never* change."

"For you, I never will." <<This I vow.>>

Roy closes his eyes and sighs. <<A part of me will always live within our solitude.>>

<<A part of me will always rejoice.>>

Roy rolls his head on his neck -- and on Clark's shoulder. This works just fine -- better than -- so long as he doesn't think about where he *is* --

At least Ollie wasn't home --

God, that would've been -- Roy shivers --


It's nothing --

Leave it --

Roy sighs again. "I've never actually *made love* in any of Ollie's homes. Just -- never."

Clark holds him tighter. "I... I'm not sure what to say."

"Nothing, Clark, because -- a part of me was apparently ready for *just* this. I mean, I've made love in the *manor*."

Clark twitches inside him.

Roy snorts. "Perv. How *is* Bruce doing?"

"Oh, he's terribly jealous, and I believe he'll admit to that no more than two years from now. Perhaps three."

Roy blinks. "Jealous? Of -- wait, you know *exactly* who Tim's screwing."

This time, Clark's hum is *extremely* knowing. And *obnoxious*.

Roy elbows him -- carefully.

"Yes, Roy?"

"You -- are you gonna tell me?"

"Are you asking...?"

Roy snorts. "Right, okay. It's not like I won't be dragging Connor down to the Tower *anyway*."

"Of course."

"And, really, if Kory doesn't know, *no* one will."

"I'm sure."

"Oh, God -- I. *Tell* me --"

Clark kisses Roy beneath his ear -- "Bart."

"Im- Kid Flash. I. Wow. *Really*?"

"For the past five weeks."

"I mean -- okay, Tim's pretty damned *obviously* queer, and Superboy and Wonder Girl are together, and Gar gets *everything* he needs from Vic -- no, I'm still not seeing it."

"I am. Or, rather, I *was*... earlier today."

"Buh -- uh. You watch? Them?"

Clark hugs Roy tighter. "Whenever possible. They have... a singular passion."

Roy catches himself blinking and can't do a damned thing about it. Just -- "Okay, Wally *said* that Bart had changed --"

"Matured. Immensely."

"*Wally* made it sound like Bart just swallowed a bunch of information --"

"Perhaps," Clark says, and moves his lips to Roy's ear, "you should see for yourself."

"Well... okay. I can go with that."

"I thought you could."

And that... "You'd hit that."

A smile against his ear. "What was that you said to Dick about my cousin?"


"'Hard and repeatedly...?'"

Roy feels himself blushing enough -- God, he probably matches his *hair* -- "About that --"

Clark chuckles, low and *filthy* -- "I find that I can't wait until Kara's hearing matches my own... if only to see her blush."

Roy snickers and smacks the back of Clark's head -- carefully. "*Never* change, Big Blue."


Connor has to admit that he's somewhat... distracted.

It wasn't the first time -- or even the third -- that he'd been in the same building Roy was using to have sex, but...

To have him do that in Connor's *home* --

His home as well, of course, but --

And it was *Superman* --


Clark has propositioned him -- gently and with a deeply polite sort of ambiguity -- in the past, and Roy had *mentioned* that Clark was on the -- seemingly endless -- list of people with whom he'd developed a 'friendship with benefits,' but --

"You okay, bro?"

Connor smiles ruefully -- and reflexively. They've been standing on the roof of Titans Tower for... at least three minutes.

Clark is two and a *half* minutes gone, and could be anywhere in the world -- but still within easy reach of Roy. His lover.

Connor turns to Roy, who has the beginnings of a worried look on his face. His lenses are up. "I'm fine, truly."

Roy raises his eyebrows and dips his chin. Without his mask, the expression would be skepticism and a profoundly *firm* refusal to take anything Connor says as read. *With* the mask, the shadows are deep and their own kind of ambiguous --

Or they would be, were Roy not Roy. Connor smiles somewhat more easily. "I'm afraid I'd never realized *how* close you and Clark... are."

Roy lifts his head and blinks, studies him --

And Connor knows that Roy is, in this moment, looking for a way *in*, room to express, once more, his desire -- Connor gestures toward the door. "Shall we?"

"Connor --"

"Please," Connor says, and shivers internally for the depth and conviction of his voice. Of his... plea.

Roy's lips part -- and he shakes himself like a dog before offering his own rueful smile. "Okay, sure. Everyone already knows we're here, but nobody is gonna come up here... uh. If you're sure you don't wanna talk?"

"I want to meet everyone," and that's even the truth --

Roy looks him over somewhat more seriously, *deeply* --

He smiles again and leads them to the door, and, from there, inside.

The elevator is spacious enough to accommodate *most* of the team -- especially if Beast Boy were to make himself into something small -- and, as such, it's large enough that Connor need not attach himself to Roy's hip. It is, perhaps, small to be grateful for something like that --

Roy had been *screaming*, and what would make someone as experienced as Roy do that? Wouldn't there have to be... some degree of shock?


Roy's swagger as they move through the halls is somewhat more pronounced than usual, but then it usually is after he's made love --

Does he always make love like *that*?

What, precisely, is 'that?' And --

Roy stops Connor with a hand on his shoulder. "Connor..."

"I don't suppose you'll let me say that I'm distracted by the book I was reading."

"You were still on the same *page* -- er. Not that I was... uh."

Connor laughs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Lightly. "I'm fine, Roy."

"Are you gonna let me apologize? I mean -- I really wasn't thinking --"

"I could *tell* --"

"*Heh*, it's *like* that sometimes -- wait, no, I'm not really gonna --"

"Roy, you don't have to -- to *edit* yourself with me --"

And this time, the skepticism is writ *large*. Hell.

Connor reaches up and covers Roy's hand with his own before squeezing. "It's only that I wasn't expecting to have... ah. A front row seat to that sort of thing. This evening."

Roy winces. "I really am --"

"Stop apologizing."

"In that case, it was really more of a bleacher seat, when you think about it."

Connor snorts --

And Roy grins. "Still -- I'm not gonna do that to you again. There's no reason for you to have to put up with me being a massive horndog --"

"Roy --"

"When it's not about *you*, bro," and Roy winks at him. "Now, c'mon --"

"*There* you are," and Starfire flies to meet them --

Starfire lifts Roy to just beneath the ceiling and kisses him -- soundly. It almost seems as though her hair is a *part* of the kiss --

Certainly, it seems to be doing its level best to coil around Roy's thigh. And...

Connor had, of course, known that Starfire's uniform --

There really does seem to be a large amount of *skin* for Roy to touch as Starfire continues to... greet. Him. Hm -- movement --

Movement, specifically, that resolves into Robin -- Tim -- sweeping his cape back from his shoulders. He'd managed to get a bare three paces away without announcing himself, and -- Connor can't help but smile. "You've been practicing."

"Perhaps a little," Tim says, and his own smile has a quiet sort of generosity. "Welcome," and he offers his hand.

Connor clasps his forearm and gets his own clasped in turn. Tim has grown a full two inches since last they'd seen each other, and -- "You look wonderful."

When Tim raises his eyebrow behind the mask, there's a certain *keen-ness* to it --

And that is precisely the sort of thought that always comes to mind with people trained by Batman. For him, anyway -- Roy has his own sorts of thoughts, as does Connor's father. Still... Connor steps closer before squeezing Tim's arm goodbye. "Tell me -- are we allowed to use each other's names here?"

Tim shows his teeth -- mostly to the floor. "Here, at least, code names are only approved of when we're actively battling someone."

"I imagine you find that uncomfortable... Tim."

This teeth-showing is nearly a smile. "One can get used to just about anything... Connor."

"I -- excuse me," Connor says, and reaches out to catch Roy's quiver before its contents can wind up all over the floor. Roy gives him the thumbs-up and then pushes his hand into Starfire's hair --

It's really more like watching it get *swallowed* --

Tim hums. "Tour?"

"Oh -- please," and Connor sets the quiver down in easy reach before gesturing Tim to lead the way. It's an act that suits him -- in truth, Connor has always been sure it *would* -- even for something so small as a tour.

There is no doubt in Connor's mind that the route they're taking through the Tower is both the most efficient and most thorough one possible, and when they do happen across Tim's teammates...

Superboy -- who he now knows prefers 'Kon' -- asks Tim's advice about his heat vision, and Tim provides information which certainly seems as though it will be helpful.

Cyborg -- Vic -- hands Tim a thumb drive with Tower security schematics for him to look over.

Wonder Girl steals Tim's attention for a time for a brief spar which may as well have been designed to make her pay more attention to the lessons she had learned for the use of her spear. Tim's staff-work has always been the best -- as befits someone who had learned from both Batman and the Paper Monkey -- but it's something beyond that to see it in use against a metahuman who can and will call on magical powers in an attempt to defeat him.

When Wonder Girl attempts to use her lasso to tear the staff from Tim's hands, Tim does --

Something --

It ends with Wonder Girl's hair flying around her head as she grimaces and dances -- somewhat less nimbly than before -- back -- "Okay, what the hell *was* that?"

Connor raises his eyebrows. "That's my question, as well."

Tim hums, and turns his hand like a magician, opening his staff and pulling out a small, blue-tinged bar. "Forty thousand volts. Were we ever in a situation where I had to take you down, Cassie... it would be rather more than that."

Wonder Girl snorts and attempts to pat down her hair. "Right. And I'm just gonna pretend that you actually told me something *useful*, as opposed to something designed to make me *think* I know how you would destroy me."

Tim smiles. "Probably a good plan. Have you met Connor before?"

Wonder Girl beams at him, and her beauty speaks of certain parts of California, good health, a certain variety of normalcy -- "Not even a little bit -- though Diana pretty much loves you. Hey, I'm Cassie."

They clasp forearms and Connor smiles at her. "It's wonderful to meet you, Cassie. And it was always an honor to work with your mentor."

"Yeah, see, *that*," she says, and claps Connor's shoulder with her other hand. "She said you could defuse a bomb just by *speaking* to it."

Tim hums again. "Batman has always considered Connor -- and I quote -- a 'conciliatory influence.'"

Cassie makes a face and goes back to patting ineffectually at her flying hair. "Yeah, well, *Artemis* is a conciliatory influence compared to *your* boss, Tim."

Tim spreads his hands, but offers nothing in the way of either argument or agreement.

Cassie sighs and pulls a hair tie from the pocket of her workout shorts. "I *hate* having to use these before I'm all sweaty, Tim."

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"Yeah, yeah, *fine*, it wouldn't have happened if I'd stuck with the spear, but -- it's not like I don't need practice time with the lasso, *too*."

Tim seems to raise his eyebrow *higher* --

"And you don't like the lasso because Ares gave it to me and blah blah war god blah, but seriously, Tim, it's not like you *don't* use things you learned in fucked-up places."

Tim stills -- and smiles ruefully. "Noted. Just the same -- every weapon can be turned against its wielder --"

"Not," Cassie says, and puts her fists on her hips, "the weapons I'll get if I make Io like me enough."

Tim laughs, brief and quiet. "Noted. Work on that," he says, raising his eyebrow once more and turning to Connor.

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm enjoying the opportunity to observe."

Cassie opens her mouth --

And Kid Flash zips between them. "Are you here to spy? You're not here to spy, are you?"

Connor blinks. "I -- no. I'm only here to visit --"

"But you *were* on the League, and --" Kid Flash turns to Tim. "Is he here to spy?"

"I did just say --"

Tim raises a hand -- to him. "He's not here to spy, Bart. And Arrows, as a rule, don't tend to lie about things like that."

Kid Flash frowns and brings his hand to his chin, tapping his foot against the mats --

Vibrating his foot --

"That -- was a really trusting thing for you to say, Tim. I mean -- really. Very."

Tim -- shows his teeth. "I've been corresponding with Connor for over two years, Bart. I *trust*... my own deductions."

"That makes more sense and -- " Abruptly, Kid Flash is well within what Connor would have assumed was Tim's personal space 'bubble' and cupping Tim's shoulders.

The realization that he's at least two inches taller than Tim -- it should, perhaps, not seem so strange --

"You didn't say you were friends, Tim!"

"I said *precisely* that, Bart."

"You didn't say you were *friends* friends! You only e-mail *me* twice a week --"

"I e-mail Connor... once a week. When possible. Don't be jealous."


The blur at the far edges of the room is impossible to be sure of in terms of color or even *direction* --

And Kid Flash is in front of Tim again, gripping Tim again --

Tim lifts his chin --

"Ohh. Oh oh oh --"

Connor isn't sure if that sound is a growl or something small and presumably mammalian being stepped on, but --

Kid Flash is kissing Tim firmly, deeply --

Kid Flash is kissing Tim. And --

Cassie giggles, covering her mouth and spinning her slim spear in her fingers. "I'm betting there wasn't much of *that* on the Watchtower, hunh?"

"Actually, Superman and -- ah. Hm." Connor feels himself blushing --

And Cassie looks shocked. "Diana fucks Kal on the *Watchtower*? *Seriously*?"

"Er -- sometimes. At least -- she. They -- ah. Used to?"

"Oh, *man*. And she gets on me for hooking up with Kon? I'm gonna -- well, if I kick her she'll punt me into the Pacific, but *damn*. Oh, hey, Tim's doing that thing," she says, and points --

The thing in question seems to involve tugging on individual locks of Kid Flash's wild hair while Kid Flash drums his feet -- no, runs in *place*. The *floor* is vibrating with the force of it, but Tim is still and contained. Calm --

There's something of a flush in his cheeks, and Connor can --

He can tell that Tim is using his tongue, and --

And perhaps slowing the kiss down to something a speedster would consider torture. Perhaps --

"Ohhh -- *God*," and Kid Flash leaves the room. And --

There's something about Tim's pose -- feet moderately spread, head back -- which suggests that his eyes are closed. That he is --


Connor swallows and tries to think of --

Something --

Is Roy making love with Starfire even now? Would she consider that the proper greeting?

What *exactly* is he supposed to be *doing* with this visit?


Connor blinks and turns to Tim, who is smiling... ruefully. "I'm all right," Connor says reflexively --

And Tim's expression... quirks.

All right. All right -- Connor pushes a hand back over his hair. "I'm sorry, it's just that *that* expression --combined with temporally proximate sexual activity --"

"And a spatially proximate you?"

Connor smiles helplessly. "I'm afraid that most of my family thinks of me as... ah. Something rather closer to a glass figurine than a man." A *celibate* man --

For now --

*Just* for now, and really, Tim was supposed to --

Wait? For him? For *what*?

Tim reaches out and they clasp forearms once more. "I know you're a man, Connor. It was only... I was ruefully amused by the abrupt lack of a boyfriend to formally introduce to you."

Boyfriend. Kid Flash is --

But Tim has always been very serious-minded, and would probably never just -- just *play* with someone -- "I. I assumed he remembered... something. Important?"

Tim smiles. "Always a possibility," he says, and releases Connor once more. "Is there anything else, Cassie?"

Cassie doesn't bother to look up from her spear-intensive kata before saying, "Not until I work up another awesome plan to beat the hell out of you."

Tim hums. "Then I'll see you --"

"Don't say it, Tim. Just -- I will hurt you in your *sleep* --"

"-- shortly, of course," and Tim turns to him and gestures toward the door.

"Please, after you."

Tim smiles again --

His lower lip is swollen --

Connor follows.

Tim leads them out onto the grounds, and Connor pauses them in a clearing that's just...

"Mm. This is one of my favorite spots on the island."

Connor breathes deep -- woody scents laced with the salt of the bay. "It's beautiful. Do you spend much time here?"

"Right here, specifically," Tim says, and crouches near the edge of the clearing by a pine.

Connor smiles. "It's an excellent tree."

"I thought so, though the branches aren't quite sturdy enough for... perching."

"Always a Robin-ly concern...?"

"Oh, yes. How have you been?"

"Well..." Connor crouches beside Tim and rests his palm against the bark. "Perhaps not as good as you...?"

"Bart has been..." Tim sighs and smiles somewhat more widely. "It's been a privilege watching him grow into his powers."

Connor raises an eyebrow.

"And other things as well, heh. If you'd asked me two months ago if I would have a boyfriend as *well* as a girlfriend... well."

Connor blinks -- focuses. "The relationship is that new?"

"Five weekends ago, Bart told me, in detail, precisely how he feels about me. I won't say I was precisely shocked, but having it all there in front of me... hm, no."


"It was more... I believe, for me, what made it happen was the realization -- bright and *new* -- that I could and *should* share my own feelings about *him*. Starfire, Cyborg, Beast Boy... all of them have all but pounded into us the *fact* that being a Titan means that such things are the rule rather than the exception, but it didn't truly sink in until *that* moment. That kiss..." Tim shakes his head and smiles again. "There are, I'm sure you've noticed, rather *intense* pleasures inherent to the ability to be entirely honest with someone."

Connor -- blushes again. "I --"

"Oh, I -- I didn't mean --" Tim blushes and laughs softly. "I didn't actually intend the innuendo --"

"And I'm still not that fragile. I... have spent more time considering sexuality," Connor says, and takes a moment to be grateful to his complexion. He's reasonably sure that his ears want to *ignite* --

"And have you come to any conclusions?"

Connor smiles ruefully. "That would be too easy for me, I fear. Though... you seem happier than I've imagined you. Your recent letters have a certain... extra to them, now that I'm thinking about it."

"Well... I am happy. Bart lets me be myself in ways... in ways I hadn't imagined were truly possible without loneliness --"

"I love you, too," Kid Flash says, crouching on Tim's other side. His wake brings stronger sea-scents as well as something curiously reminiscent of geraniums.


Tim flares his nostrils once --

Kid Flash hums -- and when it slows down, slightly, Connor realizes that it was a snicker. "I was running the ocean a little because Tim really shouldn't kiss me like that unless he's going to do other things *immediately* --"


"*Liar*," and Kid Flash's hands are moving far too quickly --

Kid Flash has built a small, teetering cabin out of wood chips and bits of leaf mulch.

Tim smiles. "I like it."

"I want -- I found Lincoln Logs in Jay's and Joan's attic. They were kind of *frighteningly* fun."

Tim squeezes Kid Flash's shoulder. "A future career in architecture?"

"Yes. Maybe. Yes -- " Bart frowns and the cabin collapses --

Seems to raise *itself* --

Collapses again -- "I don't think I'd have the patience to *explain* my concept art to people."

"You could always hire someone to do that for you."

Kid Flash's smile is narrow and sharp. "I could hire *you*."

Tim shows his teeth again. "Do you really think you could afford me...?"

Kid Flash's snicker turns into breathy whine before becoming a snicker once more -- "*No*, I *don't*. Maybe you should hire me and get *Batman* to build all my designs in *Gotham*."

Tim sighs somewhat dramatically and strokes a firm-looking line down Kid Flash's biceps. "I'm afraid that would only work were you to include nightmare-inducing gargoyles on at least every other design. The rooftops, of course, will have to be designed to encourage as many shadows as possible."

Kid Flash rocks on his heels -- and turns to him. "Hi I'm Bart but you knew that and you're Connor and you can't have my boyfriend. Not permanently, anyway," he says, and offers his hand.

Connor clasps his forearm *while* blinking -- "I -- ah. I assure you --"

Another humming snicker, and Kid Flash -- *Bart* -- drags his fingertips down along Connor's forearm. "He *is* hot."

Tim *grips* Bart's shoulder --

Bart winces --

Disappears --

And reappears on Tim's other side. "He's the first one you're *talking* to about us, Tim."

Tim's expression turns thoughtful -- and then he nods. "Very true. What do you have to tell me?"

"Beast Boy is going on auditions again. He thinks he isn't serious about it --"

"But he is, yes, what else?"

"I -- I think Kon didn't tell you everything last night about Cassie --"

"Neither do I, but we'll handle that among the three of us."

Bart rocks back and forth rapidly --

Does he do *everything* rapidly? Is that a question -- no, that's a question Roy would *absolutely* ask --

"And and -- Kory and Roy are having a lot of really *loud* sex. With the *door* open. Of course, they're in the kitchen, so --"

"Did they start there?"

"Nooo. You saw them. They started in the hall."

"Oh... dear. I..." Connor shakes his head. "Am I allowed to apologize for Roy?"

Tim and Bart cock their heads at once, Tim gaining a very *warm* look when he notices Bart doing it -- "No, I don't think so, Connor. For this... well. Titans rules."

Connor laughs a little helplessly. "I've often wished I could've started as a Titan --"

"For the sex? Because Cassie said that *you* said that Superman and Wonder Woman at least were having a lot of sex -- okay, that image just hit me. Wow. I. Wow."

Tim hums and strokes the curve of Bart's reddening ear -- as the redness fades. "If that sort of pornography had been available to me as a -- younger -- adolescent... well."

Connor coughs. "I -- yes? And -- no, Bart, I wasn't speaking specifically of the -- ah -- sex --"

"The intimacy then? The *shared* intimacy, I mean," and Bart gives him a hard look, a *searching* look --

And Connor realizes that his last words were at an entirely human speed. He nods. "Yes, I... well. I never felt entirely comfortable on the League, despite the fact that everyone was very kind and helpful and open --"

"You don't find kindness and helpfulness can be kind of... cold? Or no I don't think I mean cold as much as --"

"Distancing," Tim says, and rests his hand on Bart's shoulder again. "Certainly, I've used that sort of thing to hold myself apart in the past --"

"Not far *enough* in the past. You -- you're so much better mean."

This smile is a *flash* of teeth, and it's more than a little reminiscent of a blade --

Bart shivers -- vibrates -- and strokes a thumb over his own throat --

Yes, that. But -- "Have you found it better to be... mean, Tim?"

"Well --"

"Okay, wait, I have to know how long you've had Tim's *name*, Connor!"

Connor blinks. "Ah... Roy is my brother... and he's Nightwing's -- Dick's -- brother, as well. Tim and I have known each other's names... ah. Hm. I believe it's fair to say that Tim knew *my* name before --"

"Yes he does that and it's creepy. And hot," Bart says, humming -- yes, that *is* just a hum -- "Okay that's fair. It's not like he *told* you."

Tim squeezes Bart's shoulder... well, it looks like a *very* hard squeeze. "Bart. This is the first time we've spoken... freely. I've never seen Connor's eyes."

Connor blinks -- and reaches for his mask --

"That *wasn't* a complaint," Tim says, and smiles again. "But I wouldn't mind."

Connor smiles back and flips his lenses up --

"Oh *green* --" And Bart is kneeling in front of him, cupping his face and studying him --

"Ah... yes?"

"I wouldn't be a *fraction* this jealous if you weren't -- but obviously you know you're beautiful and you probably haven't been skinny since --"

"Bart. I happen to like you... lean."

"And I have no intention -- I mean, I would never want to intrude --"

"*I'm* intruding and -- yes, that's what I'm doing." Bart makes a sound like a low whistle -- and Connor realizes that it's a sigh. That --

Tim grips Bart's shoulder, kicks out --

And Bart is bent back over his own legs with Tim straddling his waist. That --

"Ohh -- Tim you can't you can't you *can't* --"

"You can control yourself," Tim says, and his voice is low, hard --

*Robin* --

Bart whines --

"I'm not giving you up," and Tim makes it sound like a *threat* --

Bart's eyes are wide and full --

And Tim leans in just as if Connor is invisible, *absent* --

He can't hear the content of Tim's whisper, but Bart's eyes seem to get even wider, even --

"I love you when you're terrifying okay okay I believe you lemme go jerk *off* --"

Tim stands *slowly* --

And Bart scoots back until he can stand, as well. He is --

Well, he's wearing a jock, and it must be armored --

Connor looks up *quickly* -- but Tim and Bart are only looking at each other.

The moment lasts long enough that Connor wonders -- ridiculously belatedly -- whether or not he should be making himself some variety of scarce --

Surely, no one would be making love amidst the memorials --

Bart brings Tim's hand to his throat. "Please?"

Tim narrows his eyes -- and shifts his fingers enough that he can put pressure on Bart's arteries --

And Bart is gone.

"Hn. Not to treat you as someone rather more fragile than you are, but --"

"Relationships are complicated," Connor says, and stands to join Tim. "I... I feel honored that you trusted me enough -- all right, that's a terrible lie."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "And the truth...?"

"Is this... is it always like this here?"

"Hot and hot running hormones? Pretty much, yes. The first time I came down from my room in just the boxers I planned to sleep in... well."

"Ah... 'well?'"

Tim laughs softly. "The stares were bad enough. The *comments* made me lock the door and seriously consider sleeping in my uniform. On the roof. Possibly suspended *above* the roof."

"I, of course, know absolutely nothing about that."

"Nothing at *all*, I'm sure. The only difference being that you get that sort of thing from your *family* as opposed to from the League."

"Superman... ah. Let's just say he made himself clear and leave it at that. But yes, the rest of the League was always quite professional with me."

Tim's smile gets sharper. "Unlike your brother."

The sound of Roy's *screams* -- Connor shivers. "Unlike him, yes. And then, of course, there's my father -- who appears to only be capable of going forty-eight hours at a time without attempting to fix me up with *someone*..."

"And Mia? I would think she'd be more focused on her training."

"Comments. *Just* comments. Refreshingly, I'm almost positive that she wouldn't actually... ah... back those comments up, but -- still. You know all of this."

Tim hums and looks up at the Tower for a long moment. "I've missed hearing your voice, for all that, in my heart, we've spoken like this many times."

Connor -- takes a breath --

And Tim winces. "Too much? I'm still working out the nuances of this whole emotional honesty thing."

"No, I -- thank you," Connor says, and rests a hand on Tim's shoulder. "I -- well. I feel the same. It's not that I -- you're my only correspondent."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "I'd always assumed that you wrote to the people who raised you --"

"And, perhaps, to my mother?" Connor shakes his head and smiles ruefully. "I'm a disappointment to all of them. They're all too nice to say so *directly*, but... I believe I agree with Bart about the nature of distance. I do speak to my mother on the phone sometimes, though."

"My father..." Tim laughs again, but there isn't much humor in it.

Connor squeezes Tim's shoulder. "You've mentioned in your letters that it hurts you to keep so much of your life a secret from him."

Tim sighs. "I've thought about... God, just coming out as *bisexual*. *Just* that. But even that... I could never bring Bart home."

He *wants* to, and that's -- "You've loved him for a long time."

A much better smile. "He used to drive me... absolutely insane. Eventually, I realized that my life was infinitely better with that kind of insanity than without. After that, I realized my life wasn't truly my *life* without it, and... the only person who has ever accepted as much of me as Bart does is Steph."

Connor frowns. "You don't think Bruce accepts you?"

Tim starts to raise an eyebrow -- and then cocks his head to the side. "I think... sometimes I think Bruce is my *real* best friend, because he's always going to be the one who knows me best of all. The things we can say to each other, the games we can *play* with each other... yes, all right, I'd say he accepts me. But I have to... twist my internal perceptions a bit in order to see it that way."

"I know... well. He's always spoken highly of you."

"Hn. And how many conversations about me have the two of you *had*, Connor?"

Connor raises his own eyebrow. "Three out of the four times we spoke about things not directly related to the mission we were currently undertaking."

Tim blinks... and looks thoughtful once more. "Yes, I suppose that *is* just like him. Hn. Maybe I'll try being emotionally honest with *him* on the ride back to Gotham."

"Are you quite sure you should sound so... threatening about it?"

"Oh... absolutely. As Bart points out, I'm much better when I'm mean."

Connor hums and squeezes once more before letting go. "It does seem to... affect him positively."

Another knife-slash of a smile -- but it *becomes* rueful. "I would never -- God, I don't think I'm physically *capable* of treating Steph the way I treat Bart. Certainly, I *wouldn't* be after she was done with me."

Connor hums. "Our brief acquaintance did seem to suggest that, but... ah..."

"Are you about to ask how she feels about my relationship with Bart?"

Connor breathes. "Yes. I -- yes."

"She told me that she knew it would be either him or Kon, and that she'd hate me forever for not being able to describe Kon's nether regions to her in detail. So I took several pictures of them for her the next weekend. At which point she threw things at me until I tackled her, and then we rolled around and cuddled. She is... open. And forgiving."

"Do you believe you need her forgiveness?"

"It's less a matter of having felt as though I've sinned than of feeling that I'm not... good enough." Tim smiles ruefully again. "I think of myself as being bisexual right up until I'm faced with the prospect of actually making *physical* love to the woman who owns a significant portion of my soul. I know she wishes we could have more."

"Perhaps you shouldn't be thinking of it *as* more, Tim. I..." Connor laughs softly. "All right, I was about to try to make the case for abstinence --"

"No, go ahead. I've often wanted to know your thoughts on the matter. I just could never quite work up the nerve to *ask*... as opposed to making assumptions."

He knows *nothing* about that, and --

Tim wants --

Connor *can* -- "I made many assumptions about *you*, Tim. Especially once you told me that you and Steph *were* abstaining."

"I... heh." Tim shakes his head and smiles at the Tower again. "That *was* a clumsy attempt to get you to open up, but -- please. Tell me."

"I..." Connor takes Tim's hands in his own. Just -- "You're the only person who's ever -- ah."

Tim squeezes Connor's hands. "I'm here, and I want to listen."

"I *know* that, I -- I believe that's why I'm just a bit stunned, Tim," and Connor smiles ruefully. "At the very least, I should have something *profound* to say --"

"Honesty," Tim says, and strokes Connor's knuckles with his thumbs, "is worth far, far more than profundity ever could be."

"Do you truly believe that?"

Tim shrugs minutely. "It's what my life has taught me. And... I believe you feel the same, ultimately."

Connor moves one of his hands --

He pinches the bridge of his nose --

"I was *raised* on profundity --"

"And loneliness."

Connor stiffens --

"I -- I'm sorry about that --"

"No, I -- you are who you are, Tim. I didn't expect to spend any length of time with you without being profiled."

"Still -- I could've picked a better moment --"

"Abstinence -- no. It's a terrible word and it's -- it's all about *lack*. About *not* doing something, as opposed to doing and feeling and having -- other things. Better to think of it as having something that goes beyond the physical -- because that's what you *do* have with Steph. She is -- well, I remember her physical beauty, of course, and her strength and determination and absolutely *intriguing* temper --"

"Hn. Arrow."

"Why, yes, I *am*, *Bat*. But -- but." Connor takes Tim's hand again and squeezes hard. "You mustn't -- you mustn't *berate* yourself for not being able to share sexuality with Steph. If anything... well, the two of you have been together for over two years now, and you love and joke and laugh and *speak*. You know the scent of her hair, and the shape of her smiles when she is happy *and* when she's sad. You love her, and she loves you, and -- I. I have a hard time believing that there's something missing between the two of you. That's all."

Tim searches him, studies him --

"Well -- of course, I only know what you've told me about her and your relationship with her --"

"Stop," Tim says --

"Out of curiosity, how *much* do you take point when you're in Gotham?"

Tim blinks -- and laughs. "Ah -- well. I have started doing it more often since my birthday, now that you mention it."

"I -- I wanted to say that it suits you. That's all."

Tim cocks his head to the side again and nods. "All right. I think -- no. I'm *going* to be thinking about what you've said. I mean, Steph has told me fourteen different times that she doesn't resent me for not loving her that way... well."

"Ah... fourteen?"

"She told me that if I make her go up to seventeen, she's shaving off my eyebrows."

"I -- but you need those to *speak*."

"There is no cruelty like that of a beautiful woman, Connor," Tim *intones* --

And Connor has to twist one hand free to cover his face while he snickers helplessly.

Tim's smile is warm and deeply, deeply pleased with itself. And --

"I... I don't suppose I could convince you to come up to Star City some weekend?"

"Hn. That depends on whether or not you'll come to Gotham again."

"I -- well, I definitely *have* to come to New York now --"

"Close enough. Assuming I'm not needed here... well. You can show me the sights."

Connor squeezes the hand he's still holding and wonders --

Wants --

But he can focus. "Is there more to the tour?"

"As a matter of fact --" Tim brings his free hand to his ear. "We're needed right now," he says, flipping his lenses back down.

Connor flips his own --

They run --

And Cassie and Kon lift them into the air before they make it even thirty yards.

This protocol, at least, should be a familiar one.


It's getting to be something almost like a routine. Not a *routine* routine, but still something like it.

Bruce drops his little brother off in the land of -- well, not sunshine, but Dick's willing to bet that it still *feels* that way to Tim --

Who is out there having sex with --

Well, no, it could be someone *here*. Someone --

Well, all right, not here, because here is approximately three feet above the high bar in the Cave as Dick flips --

Twists --

Catches again and moves, because the *new* routine is all about the fact that Gotham is getting hairier and *hairier*. Bruce would gnaw off his own jaw -- somehow -- before keeping Tim away from the Titans --

Dick had taught him that lesson *well* --

But Tim had taught Bruce other lessons, like how to pick up the phone -- or the comm, as the case may be -- when help is needed.

So, Dick's spending a good chunk of the weekend here in the city he calls hell *and* home instead of in the 'haven or New York.

He may be stretching himself a weensy bit thin, but it's for a good, little-brother-related cause. Maybe also a Dad cause. Maybe --

God, is he ever not going to call Bruce 'Dad.' It would be horrible if he reacted badly to it and *soul*-rending if he reacted well. Neutral -- neutral would just drive him that much crazier.

This is what Dick has instead of actual self-knowledge, and he's damned well going to go with it. He flips himself into one of his better dismounts --

"Showy," Bruce says, from right over *there* --

Right. Dick pulls on a grin. It only hurts a little -- "My adoring crowd wouldn't have it *any* other way, boss. What's on the plate for tonight?"

Bruce narrows his eyes like --

*Just* like he's reading Dick *just* as well as he can.

*Right* -- "Bruce, before you say anything, I'm fine --"

"You could consider talking to him."

Dick winces and -- winces. "Ow. I -- ow. Did you have to *start* there?"

Bruce smiles and raises an eyebrow. "I'm willing to take suggestions about where I *could* have started from."

Well. "Well. Ah -- maybe... the weather? You could ask about the weather --"

"Painfully sunny."

"Okay. Okay, that's a start --"

"Rather foggy where Tim is at the moment, however."

"*Augh* -- I -- he might be in another dimension --"

Bruce nods toward the console, where... where.

Sometime between Dick thanking Alfred for an excellent lunch and Dick working himself to something *like* distraction on the equipment, Alfred had put up the Tower scans.

And there's a little Robin-red dot *right* there.

Well. "He could've -- uh. *How* many subcutaneous tracers have you got on him?"


"You don't think that's... uh?"

Bruce hums. "I would've been satisfied with eight, but Tim is testing two of his own design -- made from slightly more hypoallergenic materials."

It's *good* that Tim is keeping busy --

With things and people other than whoever --

And Dick stops. *Just* stops, because he never really likes shoving his hands into his hair and rocking on his heels in *front* of Bruce.

No matter *how* amused he is --

"You -- you should be less amused."

"Should I."

"*Yes*, damn it. This isn't amusing. This -- it's a problem."

"Your feelings for your brother are a problem."

"Nobody is talking about *feelings*, Bruce!"

Bruce touches his tongue to his upper lip, and --

Dick knows that tell. Dick knows that tell in his bones because -- "Grah! I used to *live* for that tell!"

Bruce touches his tongue to his upper lip twice more and raises his eyebrows.

"*Yes*, that one! Somewhere, deep inside, you're *laughing* at me!"

"To be fair, Dick --"

"I don't *want* to be fair!"

"-- the laughter isn't very deep, at all, at the moment --"

"I *hate* you!"

"-- and I think it would be more accurate to say that I'm laughing... near you."

Dick narrows his eyes.

Bruce puts his hands in his *pockets* and --

"Are you rocking?"

"Yes, Dick."

"You -- the laugh is about to be *voiced*, isn't it. *Isn't* it?"

Bruce -- coughs.

"*Augh* -- pommel horse. Pommel horse is next. I'm going to do that."

"As you say. But."

Dick narrows his eyes *more*.

"You could." Bruce coughs again. "You could also --"

"Was that a wheeze? Are you *wheezing*?"

"-- talk to me. About it," Bruce says, and his eyes are actually *shining* as he --

Wheezes. And coughs. And -- there are *temblors* of laughter --

Just -- more and *more* --

"Bruce, give me your belt knife. Right now."

*Flicker* of movement --

And Dick catches the knife in his right hand. "Okay. Where am I stabbing you?"

Bruce *chuckles* --

"Oh my God, Bruce, I swear by everything *holy* --"

Bruce coughs one more time, breathes deep, and smiles at him. With *just* his eyes, so... so. "You probably don't have to stab me."

"... probably."


"*Why* don't I have to stab you?"

"If you could just..." Bruce touches his tongue to his upper lip *again* --

"*Bruce* --"

"I can't help imagining Tim's reaction to this conversation, Dick. It's... perhaps it's a failing on my part."


Tim would --

"I -- it's possible that he'd be attempting to run away from us, Bruce."


"And..." Dick bites the tip of his tongue. "When he -- he has this one expression when I'm being insane around him --"

"Rather reminiscent of what would happen were he to bite into a distinctly sour... explosive."

"Yes, yes, that -- that sense of complete and *painful* containment --

Another chuckle. "And -- it's possible that he would call in the League for assistance."

Dick chokes and spins the knife over his fingers once, twice -- "Clark would come immediately --"

"Oh -- within seconds."

"Clark would want to know *why* Tim was so afraid of us --"

"He would, perhaps, gain that degree of devastatingly *unassailable* earnest confusion."

Dick -- titters. He doesn't fumble the knife. "He would -- Clark would try to convince Tim that it was a *good* thing that we all wanted to talk about our feelings."

Bruce hums and smiles *meanly*. "The question, then, becomes whether Tim would use the Kryptonite on Clark before or after he attempted to neutralize *me*."

Dick snorts. "Oh, God, I -- you *know* him better. He'd take you out *first*."

"Mm, yes, I believe you're correct."

Dick sighs --

Dick breathes --

"Okay, I feel better."


"Yes. And I -- okay, wait, no, you really -- you're *okay* with what I. What I want?"


"I'm *serious*, Bruce! You -- there are a lot of damned reasons for you *not* to be okay with it, whether or not Tim ever --" Dick beats at his own forehead with the heel of his palm --

And Bruce is right there to catch Dick's wrist and *hold* it, and maybe --

Maybe Dick's had that fantasy too damned many *times*, because --

Well. That was a moan.

Bruce tightens his grip. "You love him, and he loves you. I know..." Bruce sighs. "I've always wanted the two of you to have each other as much as possible."

And -- Bruce had stopped talking, which means that Dick should really be thinking of a *response* as opposed to thinking about Bruce's hand *locked* around his wrist --

Holding it *firmly*, but not painfully, never painfully --

Wait. "You -- ah. *Have* each other?"

Bruce smiles ruefully -- and tightens his grip.

It's still not painful --

"Did you truly..." Bruce sighs. "He's loved you since he was a toddler, Dick."

"He's not a toddler *anymore*, and -- he sees me. He sees *everyone*, but I've given him a *lot* to see --"

"You've given the same to me, Dick," and Bruce -- raises an eyebrow at him.

That -- "Ah. Bruce?"

An even *firmer* grip and -- Bruce is close. Very --

Bruce is *staying* close, and that's something to think about, something -- wait. "I'm not -- I'm not about to fall apart --"

"I know."

"Then --"


"I'm. Listening --"

And Bruce stops him by stroking his thumb along the inside of Dick's wrist. Just -- one stroke.


*Firm* --


"I'd like to be able to talk to you about this --"

"This -- this *what* --"

"There are other things I want just as much. Perhaps more."

Dick is blinking -- too much, but -- "Uh. Perhaps?"

Bruce laughs softly and lifts his other hand. He does it slowly, cautiously --

"I'm not -- about to spook."

Another eyebrow raise.

"I'm definitely not going to stab you with your own belt knife -- and that's your hand on my face and the only thing I can think -- I don't have a fever."

"I do."

"*Fuck* -- I."



"Because I've been lonely since I pushed you away. Because I'm wildly jealous --"

"Of -- you're jealous of *Tim*?"

"And of the young man currently holding his attentions --"

"*Gah* -- it is a guy? God, I can't even -- lure him with what he isn't *getting* -- *mm* --"

And Dick *wants* to point out that Bruce has his thumb on Dick's mouth, but he has the strong suspicion that Bruce already *knows* that. Just --

He's looking down into Dick's eyes --

*Gazing* down --

*His* lips are parted --


"Bart Allen."

Dick blinks. Just -- "*Mm-mm*?"

Bruce smiles. "Tim never turns off the cameras in his bedroom --"

"*Mm*!" Dick pulls back -- "Wait, no, *what*?"

Bruce raises an eyebrow --

"Agh -- Bruce. Bruce, you -- you've watched."

"Some, not all. The Allen boy *presented* Tim with his feelings and desires with a purity of focus that was... unexpected, to say the least."

And --

Dick *knows* that he's standing here *gaping*, but --

"Bruce -- I. Have no idea what to say."

"We don't have to talk about --"

"*Why* did you watch?"

Another *eyebrow* raise --

"*Bruce* --"

"I often look in on Tim when he's at the Tower. That time... his vitals spiked alarmingly enough that I thought he was under attack --"

"He *was* --"

"The Allen boy --"

"Oh -- God, just call him *Bart*, Bruce!"

Bruce opens his mouth, shuts it, and nods.

"You -- God, I want to know what they *do*, what he *likes* --"

"He is... never gentle with Bart."

"Oh, God, I didn't mean *tell* me!"

"Dick --"

"I think. I think I need you to cover my mouth again. My *whole* mouth -- mm. Mm-mm."

"You're welcome --"

Dick screams.

And then he does it again.

And then he does it *again*, because -- because a lot of different things, starting with the fact that there's an eighty percent chance that he's about to have sex with his father while they *both* think about his little brother --

Dick pulls back again -- "Do you. I -- do you think of him as your son?"

"When I can't stop myself. It. It's the same as it is with you, Dick -- save that you have allowed me --"

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh -- God. I. The twenty percent is all about my *sanity*. And the *lack thereof*."

Bruce blinks. "I... I don't think I understand --"

"You don't have to. Or -- no, you do, but I can't explain it and you're still holding my *wrist*!"

Bruce eases his grip --

"*No* --"

Bruce tightens his grip hard enough to make it seem like the *bones* will grind together --

"Oh -- fuck. Bruce. Bruce. Tell me this is a good idea --"

"I can't, Dick --"

"God *damn* you, I --" And the kiss is the same as the first one, the *only* one, because Dick is straining against everything telling him not to, that it won't work, that it *can't* work --

Because Bruce is holding himself so *still* --

"Fuck, *please* --"

And then Bruce's other hand is in Dick's *hair*, and he's never going to cut it again, never any shorter than *this* --

Bruce is yanking Dick's head *back* --

And Bruce is kissing him like it's the only thing he wants to do, like -- no, not that, because it's not even *remotely* the only thing, just as Dick isn't even remotely the only *person* --

But the kiss is deep, hard as the grip on Dick's wrist, hot as -- as --

Dick groans and locks his knees to keep from *dropping* --

And Bruce grunts and moves his hands to Dick's hips, *lifts* him --

"*Bruce* --"

"*Again*, Dick --"

Dick kisses him with his mouth, with his chest, with his inner thighs wrapped around his hips --

Oh --

Oh, God, *please* --

Bruce is holding on so *tightly*, and he's had this dream, this fantasy, this nightmare, this *life* somewhere off to the side of his real one. This *moment*, and Dick thinks he's shaking too much for it, *needing* too much --

Only Bruce is groaning like something *dying* --

Bruce *bucks* and Dick thinks it will take lube and a very, very super man to get him to let go with his thighs --

With his hands on Bruce's face, Bruce's beautiful, perfect --

*Dick* groans and scratches at Bruce's light stubble, does his best to beg for Bruce's tongue in his mouth without pulling back --

Bruce is moving them, moving -- where?

He can't make himself stop kissing to *look* --

Wait, no, he can open his eyes --

Bruce strokes one hand over to Dick's *ass* and no he *can't* open his eyes or do more than *work* himself -- "Jock. I have to --"

"*Yes*," and Bruce sounds like he was having his *own* mental parade of what-the-fuck, but --

"Bruce --"

"Here," Bruce says, and it makes no sense whatsoever until Bruce lets go with *one* hand --

And the mattress for the gurney goes flying off onto the mats. Well. That -- "Ah. Down?"

Bruce drops but doesn't drop *him*, doesn't let go --

"Fuck, *pinning* me --"

"Dick. *Again* --"

Dick can't *classify* that sound, mostly because it was into Bruce's *mouth*, and really, isn't it good to know that he can still follow orders instinctively?

Doesn't it bode well for their -- temporary -- partnership --

Oh --

Oh, God, *Bruce*, and that wasn't really aloud so much as *moaned*, because Bruce just tore off his *shorts* --

Dick fucks Bruce's mouth with his tongue because he *has* to, because there's a *coil* of feeling at the base of his spine telling him to take more, *have* more --

"*No* --"

"*Wait*," Bruce says, and tears open Dick's shirt, strokes Dick's chest with one hand and --

Carefully, oh, thank God, *carefully* --

And Dick's dick is *yelling* for freedom, but it's getting drowned out by the feel of Bruce's hand, Bruce --

"God, your *hand* --"

"For you, Dick. For --" Bruce grunts and shakes his head, and that makes no *sense* -- until Dick realizes that he's got one leg up on Bruce's *shoulder*.

"I -- oh, fuck, that -- ah. Reflex?"

Bruce *laughs*, and it's only one breath and a hum, but it's still --

God, Dick is arching, begging-pleading -- "More, please *more* --"

"*Tell* me --"

"*Anything*, Bruce -- *ahn* --" Oh, that squeeze, that -- "So -- so rough --"

"This is the touch Tim gives the -- Bart --"

Dick jack-knifes up and -- doesn't come. Doesn't -- "Oh, God, little *brother*, I need --"

"You'll *have*," and Bruce's voice is no rougher than the stroke, no louder than Dick's *heart* --

"*Please* --"

"Dick, be -- be *specific* --"

Oh, God -- oh -- "Let go."

"Dick --"

"Let *go*," Dick says, and Bruce does it too slow, slowly enough that Dick needs to cry out *almost* as much as he needs to flip over onto his belly, his hands and knees --

Bruce *growls* --

Spreads him --

"*Bruce* --"

Tongue -- licking --

Dick beats on the mattress with his fists, props himself *up* on his fists --

Dick *howls*, because the last person to do this to him was Clark, because the last time this happened he was in his *apartment*, and God, yes, *all* the cameras were running, all the --

"Always -- always need you to *watch*, Bruce -- oh, Bruce, *please* --"

*In* and Dick is shouting again, beating at the mattress again, tossing his *head*, because this --

So wet so deep --

Not deep *enough* --

And Bruce is growling and *moaning* as he tongues Dick, as he *fucks* Dick with his tongue --

In and in and *in* --

And Clark always wants him just this wild, always --

He can't *hurt* Bruce, and he has to --

Dick *tries* to hold still, but --

Bruce's *mouth*, Bruce's --

"*Please* --"

Bruce's thumbs digging in against the meat of his ass, Bruce holding him open for *this* fuck, fast and needy and oh --

"Please *need* me --"

"*Always*," Bruce says slurring and growling again, licking him open until all Dick can do is clench and cry *out* --

But --

Please --

"More, give me *more* --"

"My." Bruce growls *again* and pulls back --

"Please please -- oh, God, *Bruce* --"

"My fingers."

It's a question. It's a *question*, but there's only ever been *one* answer -- "All of you. *All* of you, Bruce, boss -- god, Batman --"

"Not *here*," Bruce says and pushes his --

"Thumb -- you --"


That -- that was more of a *scream* than anything else, but he's doing it, he's --

And Bruce's *thumb* is hot, thick, *callused* --

"*More* --"

"Just -- the lubricant --"

"Yes, okay, yes, I -- oh, God, Bruce, I've always *wanted* you --"

"The feeling was *mutual*," and Bruce sounds like he's *accusing* Dick of something, but --

"We -- okay, we need to talk but it's not going to happen right now, and -- *fuck* --"

That for the feel of Bruce pulling out --

"Fuck *me* --"

For the feel of Bruce shoving in with two slick fingers, long fingers --

"God, *Bruce*, I -- I have to move --"

"*Do* it --"

Dick grunts and *moves*, working his hips and taking -- oh, God, he's just always wanted to *take*, and he --

He can't *see* Bruce, but he thinks he can feel him, smell him, *taste* him --

"It's good, it's --"

"Yes. *Yes*, Dick --"

"God, you *want* me --"

"*Need* you, always -- every moment without you -- even when I was *happy* --"

Dick clenches hard and *can't* make himself relax, can't -- "Oh, God, it *hurts* --"

"Take *more* --"

"*Always*, Bruce," and it feels so *perfect* to let himself drop to his elbows, to fuck himself *on* Bruce even as he clenches again and again --

That sweet, sweet *burn* --

And he's crying out again, he's --

The words are gone, but Bruce has always been able to *read* him, always --

He's always known every little *secret*, every moment --

He'd said every *moment*, and Dick's dick is yelling for contact, for *reason*, but this -- no --

"Bruce, *fuck* me --"

And one big, *hard* hand on the base of his spine while the other works him, *prepares* him and --

Dick *shouts* for the crook and tries not to shake himself out of the rhythm, tries --

God, Roy had left him raw for *days* and it's *wrong* that he's healed now. This --

"This should *hurt* more --"

"It. It *can* --"

"Then --"

"*Now*, Dick," and Bruce pulls out and --

In --

So --

"*Bruce* --"

"My *love*. You must. You must *stop* me if --"

"*No*, I won't, I *can't* --"

"You can do *anything*," and Bruce *locks* his hands around Dick's hips --

Digs *in* with his fingers --

"Dick. You -- tell me --"

"*Do* it, Bruce, don't -- God, don't make me *wait* anymore --"

"I'm sorry, I -- this isn't *enough* for my crimes, my *failures* --"

"*Please* --"

"Yes. Always -- always yes, now, and I --" Bruce groans and pulls out until it feels like *only* the head is in --

Bruce *shoves* in and Dick --

He has to scream. He has to scream and *keep* screaming, because this --

Oh, this --

*Bruce* in him and no one else, no one --

A part of him is convinced that it's *hotter* than Clark, bigger, heavier, *deeper* --

"Dick -- Dick, please --"

"Don't *stop*, oh, God, please --"

"Beautiful, you've always been -- and I am lost to this touch --" Bruce groans and tightens his grip hard enough to make Dick cry out for *another* reason --

"Bruce, I *love* you --"

Harder now --

Faster --

"*Dick*, you must -- must not let me *hurt* --"

"Love you, love you -- oh, Bruce, don't *stop* --"

Bruce *shouts* and then there's weight, *pressure* --

"Dick. *Down* --"

And Dick just *is* on his belly --

God, to be on his belly for *this*, grinding in against the mattress --

Being *ground*, because Bruce didn't even pause, didn't --

"Bruce, it *hurts* --"

The groan of a *wounded* animal -- "Dick, please, I've always -- I want to be *gentle* --"

And it shocks a laugh out of him, breathless and *cracked* -- "*Later* --"

*Bruce* laughs --

Gasps --

And thrusts so hard that Dick's *vision* blanks out on him, just --

God, he's buried deep and *just* grinding, shoving in and in and trying --

It feels like they're fucking themselves into one *person*, and it's the only thing Dick has wanted since he first understood what it meant that *this* man had taken him home, the bravest, the strongest --

"Can't -- I -- *Dick*," and Bruce has one hand on the back of Dick's *neck*, holding him down even as he keeps --

"Good, so -- don't --"

"I *must* --"

"Love --"

And the next thrust moves the mattress --

Further --

So --

Bruce shouts again and *stops*, twitching inside him -- fuck, *coming*, and Dick can't do anything but shout into the mattress and *kick* --

Try --

No, he has to stay still, has to --

Dick's body clenches without his *permission* --


"God, fuck -- sorry?"

Another laugh, breathless and low -- "You didn't have an orgasm."

"Uh. Yet. It's -- yet?"

Bruce lets go of the back of Dick's neck and it feels like *loss* --

"Oh -- please, Bruce --"

"Tell me what you need."

"Your hand. Just -- if I got back onto my knees -- *hnh* --"

Bruce *pulls* him back up and then *holds* him there when his body won't stop *shaking* --

"Oh, God. Oh, God, I feel -- I feel *you* --"

"And I feel you. And I regret --" Bruce sighs and strokes from Dick's hips to his obliques -- "Please. May we have this again --"

"*Yes*. And. I -- we're still having this right now because I *need* --"

"Of course," Bruce says, and wraps his hand around Dick's dick again --

Squeezes so *tightly* --

Dick groans and can't keep himself from fucking Bruce's fist, taking it --

"God, the first time I figured out that I wanted this --"

"Tell me --"

"I cried. I cried and I -- I knew you never *would* -- *ah* --"

"I -- Dick, I'm so --"

"God, don't apologize until -- I don't know --"

"Shall I be silent?"

"*No*. I -- tell me what changed your -- no, not that, *either* --"

"I love you --"

"I can feel -- I can finally feel -- oh, *God*, I'm fucked up --"

"Trust your *instincts*," Bruce says -- *Batman* says --

Dick twitches and --

He gasps and --

"*Fuck* --" Coming and just --

Losing everything, everything at *once*, and he wants to --

He thinks he must be *sobbing* because Bruce has him, finally *has* him, and all he can think --

More, just --

"*More* --"

Bruce grunts and starts *stroking* him --

Dick yelps -- "Okay, wait, no, don't *listen* to me -- yet. Uh." Dick laughs and lets his head hang, taking a *moment* just to listen to the whisper of his hair against the mattress -- "Okay. *Now* let go."

Bruce hums. "If you're sure."

Dick snickers and reaches back to slap at -- that would be Bruce's naked *hip*, because they'd just -- made love.

Dick closes his eyes and breathes, bracing himself for -- God, he doesn't even *know* --

"Would you. I'd like to hold you."

Well. That was definitely *something* to brace for, especially since it gives him the wherewithal to kneel up --

To not yelp *again* when Bruce slips most of the way *out* --

"Hold," Dick says, and presses back against Bruce's chest, "at will."

Bruce hums again and wraps his arms around Dick before kissing Dick's forehead --

"Wait. Uh. How are you doing *this*? Clark says you run *away* from the cuddle."

"Clark has very intriguing definitions of 'run away.'"


"Hm. I have confidence with you in this moment, Dick. I have... I know, better than I ever do with Clark, that this touch is desired."

"But -- he's *Clark* --"

"He's also not above altering his physical reactions -- and expressions -- to that which he believes will please a lover best."

"Yes, but --"

"I am now -- and will always be -- woefully paranoid, Dick."

Dick snorts and scratches hard lines along Bruce's forearms --

Bruce twitches and slips the rest of the way out --

They sigh together, and Dick gives into the urge to rest his head back against Bruce's shoulder. "Do me a favor, boss."


"Tap out when you need the cuddle to stop. Just -- maybe not *quite* those incredibly annoying pats --"

"I will grip your hips."

Dick sighs again -- "That works. Tell me when you *realized* you wanted a piece of my little brother."


"*One* of the perqs of having been fucked up the ass by you is that you can no longer give me *any* static about my language choices. Or *wasn't* that how it worked with Jay?"

Bruce rumbles a laugh. "I... noted."

"Yeah," Dick says, and -- lets himself think about it. Bruce was lonely for him even when he was happy, and --

He'd *said* that when Jay was Robin, but he'd implied that Jay had *stopped* the loneliness --

"You -- you really can't lie to me anymore, Bruce. I mean -- sometimes the Mission will make it necessary --"

"No more lies. No more half-truths. No more omissions."

That -- Dick shivers, but -- "Then answer the question."

Bruce strokes Dick's chest, palms flat to Dick's skin and fingers splayed. "I've been living with my desire for Tim's touch for quite some time. When I realized how well-suited he was for being my heir, the feelings became much stronger..." Bruce sighs again. "When he didn't seem achingly young, he seemed devastatingly ancient. My resolve has always been weakened by such things."

God, *Jay*...

Dick closes his eyes and nods. "I... can see it. And I'm finally old enough for you."

"Your immaturity stopped me to a certain extent back when we were partners, but it was far more that I could not reconcile my desire to be your father from my desire to be your lover. Jay... Jay allowed me no room to brood over such things."

Dick snorts. "I -- yeah. I can see that, too. Jay was *allergic* to people brooding. You know, he's pretty much the only one who could ever make Roy stop thinking about Ollie back then. And he did it *effortlessly*."

"He was never without his sword to the world's Gordian knot."

"That's one way to put it. Though it's not like he couldn't just punch his way through those things."

Bruce strokes down to Dick's hips -- and squeezes.

"Oh -- hey, are you okay?"

Bruce kisses Dick's forehead. "Better than I've been in a very long time. I... didn't realize how much talking about Jay would still..." Bruce shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Dick says, standing up and turning to offer his hand.

Bruce takes it and stands, himself --

"I just want you to know... I'll talk about him with you anytime you want to. Anytime you *can*."

Bruce smiles ruefully and glances toward the Case. "I believe Tim could've spent hours at a time kneeling just there if I had ever allowed it. I *know* that the Case had his attention all throughout his training."

"I -- Tim would've loved him."

"He already did. That much was clear by the way he captured him in the camera's gaze."

And that -- Dick scrubs a hand back through his hair and flexes life back into the other one. That was -- really a *lot* of punching and beating at the mattress. With no gauntlets, yet. But -- "At the time... at the time all of those photos of me felt like one more failure to live down. I couldn't make myself look at him."

"I believe he understands --"

"He shouldn't. Or -- he shouldn't *forgive*. Just like I shouldn't ever forgive you. But I do, anyway."

Bruce closes his eyes for a moment, and reaches out -- no, not blindly. Bruce could never *be* blind --

Dick takes his hand and squeezes. "It *has* to be wrong that I want him to be as screwed-up as *I* am, Bruce."

Bruce smiles -- and *then* opens his eyes again. "I, of course, know nothing of such things."

Dick snorts. "Right, fine, point to the boss-man, let's go get clean," and Dick starts tugging Bruce toward the showers.

"As you say."


It's not every day that Tim gets to watch Roy and Connor taking turns shooting laser-equipped hunter-killer drones out of the sky *while* he personally kicks the living hell out of a -- mad, naturally -- robotics genius.

The rest of the team had been busy keeping the woman's other inventions from destroying *too* much of the city, and none of them had been as well-suited for tracking the woman down as Tim had been.

The fact that Starfire had *assigned* him both Roy and Connor --

Well, it's abundantly clear that she's pleased with him, and that's just something he's going to have to encourage as much as possible.

Though not quite as much as Roy, who has been removing four-foot-long Starfire hairs from his uniform and equipment for most of the past three hours -- including the two when they'd been actively fighting Robotica.

Right now, Connor is helping the other Titans coordinate repair and rescue while Tim examines the few drones which hadn't simply exploded.

And while Roy watches him very closely, indeed.

Roy is *technically* cleaning his guns, but... but.

Tim pulls out his thin, rubberized tweezers to do a little close work and waits. Bart had informed him twenty minutes ago that, while Roy *had* wanted to visit and bring Connor with him to do so, he'd also told Kory that there was information he'd wanted from Tim.

Tim can guess what that information is -- Titans should *always* be Titans -- but he is *vastly* curious as to how Roy will phrase the questions.

Dick is on the other side of those questions -- he thinks.

Tim tugs a half-melted cord away from the obsessively neat plane of circuitry --


It begins. Tim smiles. "Yes, Arsenal?"

"Heh. Like that, is it?"

Tim hums noncommittally.

"How's this -- I *tell* you when someone gets close enough to make that kind of security necessary?"

Tim hums again. Noncommittally.

Roy snickers, crouching in front of Tim and pressing his char-darkened fingertips under Tim's chin before pushing up. The scent is a blend of burnt plastic and gun oil, and --

Roy Harper is now and has always, always been a very attractive man -- for all that Tim has never been especially fond of redheads. Light stubble on the strong -- but not *too* strong -- jaw, powerful arms and shoulders, long, well-muscled torso and legs...

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"You give this to my baby brother?"


Roy strokes the underside of Tim's jaw -- and taps on Tim's chin. "You know what I'm talking about."

Tim feels a gaze on him --

It's Kon, and he's more than a little curious. Tim reminds himself to seek Kon out with Bart tonight -- 

And catches Roy's hand in his own before tugging it away from his face. "Green Arrow II and I have been friends for quite some time, Arsenal."

"Unlike the two of *us*, which means... that I get the bitchy Robin. Heh. Okay, that's fair. So long as you *don't* turn this on Connor, we're cool."

Protective... all right. Tim inclines his head.

"I need to know how you roll, Robbie."

"How I... roll."

"Again, you know exactly what I'm talking about. This is me, Robbie, and I did *not* miss those looks you've been sharing with Connor."

And that -- passion there, and just a little something... else. Something hidden.  Hm. "You *are* aware that I have both a boyfriend --"

"*And* a girlfriend. Yeah, I know. It's just that I *also* know what it means when you don't immediately beg off," and Roy flips his lenses up to show Tim exactly how much he *isn't* willing to play about this.

Tim nods. "All right. I'm attracted to your brother. I'm going to inform him of that attraction... at some point. At the same time, I'll be informing him that I'll never pressure him, and will keep my propositions to a -- bare -- minimum because of both my respect for him and everything we've discussed over the years. Kid Flash and Spoiler both know that I'm not monogamous, but I'll be discussing your brother with them, as well. Does that answer the question?"

Roy cocks his head to the side and purses his -- quite sensuous -- lips.

Tim lets Roy stare at him while he removes the circuit board slowly, carefully, and thoroughly --

"Planning on making some of your own?"

"You can never tell when something will prove useful," Tim says, and pulls a small, empty case from his pocket --

"You seriously carry that around just in *case* you find something like that."

"Two words: Mad Hatter."

Roy's laugh is little more than a breath. "Right, sure, and I'm just supposed to --" Roy growls under his breath, and that --

Yes, it tells Tim everything he needs to know. "He loves you."


Tim tucks the circuit board away and looks up at Roy, raising his eyebrow. "He loves you. And he's lonely."

Roy frowns at him. "You're seriously talking to me about my brother."

"All sorts of people have come to trust my deductive abilities, Arsenal."

The frown becomes a narrow-eyed look --

Right. Tim smiles ruefully --

"No, not that."

"I'm sorry?"

Roy lets his hands hang between his knees. "You were about to pretend to be a lot friendlier than you actually are. That's not what I want."

"I assure you, Arsenal --"

"That you're friendly sometimes. Yeah, I know -- or *your* brother wouldn't have anything to do with you. You... heh. You just don't give a flying *fuck* about most of the people you see on a daily basis. Is that about the size of it?"

No one who's spent that much time with Dick could get away without deductive reasoning skills of their own... so. "I care about my family, my friends, and the Mission."

"And I'm none of the above. I..." Roy smiles and shakes his head. "What closed you off, Robbie? What made you so sure you didn't need more people than you have?"

That... "It's not that I would be averse to having more friends... but I tend to choose people for that who are as honest as they can manage to be as *often* as they can manage to be."

"And I'm not being honest?"

"You could consider admitting that you're at least a little bit in love with your brother... and in *loathe* with the various people who separate you from him."

Roy rears back --

Tim nods once and stands. "I appreciate you bringing your brother here this weekend, Arsenal --"

"We have more to talk about, Robin," and Roy stands up as well.

"Do we."

Roy snorts and pinches the bridge of his nose -- a gesture Tim knows for a fact that he picked up *from* Connor. And --

And -- "Look, Arsenal --"

"You're about to pretend to be friendly again."

"It's not -- always -- pretense. I'm more than willing to speak with you about nearly anything you can name. It's just that that conversation will never happen without both of us being on the same page. You're no longer a Titan, and we both know that means... oh, many, many things. But I don't do *this* with people who can't at least *act* like a Titan."

"And maybe that's why your family gets to play guessing games about your life now? Excuse me, *both* of your families."

Tim shows his teeth -- stops and nods again. "I hit a nerve. All right, that's very fair. The truth is that I'm never going to be the most honest person in the world, full stop. The deeper truth is that I can *be* honest... when I have reason to believe it will be returned in kind."

Roy crosses his arms over his chest and stares at the ground. It's --

It's actually more of a *glare*, now that Tim is considering it -- and he's not going to sigh or do any other thing *like* that. Roy is *Dick's* brother, not his own, and the fact that Tim has wished him to be something closer than a stranger --

Surely, they could manage *cousins* --

Tim laughs at himself quietly and checks on his team. They're gathering for the flight back to the island, which means that they're scattered in an *organized* fashion, with every one of them -- including himself -- ready, willing, and able, to come to the aid of another -- should such an act prove necessary.

They're doing well with each other, and, with time, they'll do even better -- especially since they *will* have an Arrow of their own once Mia Dearden's training is complete. Tim nods to himself and prepares for Starfire's call --

Roy rests a hand on his shoulder. Grips it, really --


"Let's -- can we start again?"

Tim frowns, but, in general, when people fail to look directly at him in the *way* that Roy is failing to look directly at him... sincerity. "We can try."

Roy looks up and offers another rueful smile. "I want him. I *don't* want to take over his whole life, or even his whole *romantic* life. I want him to look at me and... hell."

"You want him to take you seriously. To be able to... see that *you* take things seriously?"

Roy squeezes Tim's shoulder and sighs out a laugh. "Why not try taking a good look at your brother sometime? Just for kicks, I mean."

Tim narrows his eyes --

"Oh... you really can't get on me for being bitchy. Not so long as we're both being *honest*."

That -- Tim nods and hums. "Is there something in particular you want me to know about Nightwing?"

"About Nightwing? Not so much. But --"

Tim holds up a hand. "Yes, I take your point. For the sake of expedience --"

"He wants you."

"He -- what."

Roy taps his fingers against Tim's shoulder. "Now, the question in *my* mind -- the question taking top precedence, really --"

"-- is what it will take to make your brother want to make love to you."

Roy snorts. "Yeah, see, you're just making all those other questions get louder. Because you not only *didn't* know about your brother, you're actively trying to bob and weave around the knowledge."

"Look, I -- not everything is about sex and romance. Not even for former Titans. Not even for former Titans who currently go by *Nightwing*."

"Was it too close to your face? Can't see the forest for the trees?"

"Arsenal --"

"Or was it -- *is* it -- that you're so *damned* used to *not* getting what you want that you couldn't even make it work in your head?"

Tim -- stills himself internally. He's not at all sure what he was about to say (do?) and that's more than enough reason to say nothing at all --

"Yeah, *think* about it for a minute."

All of that -- all of that *touch*, and --

It *has* been different lately. More focused and more cautious at once, just as if Dick isn't sure of his welcome --

The specificity of his welcome?

"See, I know you probably don't work this way, kid, but I'm gonna say it flat out: *He* said it flat out. More than once. Over the past several *months*. Including while we were screwing."

Tim -- winces. "I feel I should apologize --"

"You think you're the first Someone Else whose name has come up at a -- heh -- intimate moment? Hell, the first *Robin* Else?"


Roy knows more about Jason than he does. This -- this *lack* in him --

This place where Tim doesn't *fit* -- where he never can and never *will* --

Tim sighs and reaches up to cover Roy's hand with his own. "Thank you for the information."

"Heh. You're welcome. Do us both a favor and *do* something with it."

Tim winces and just --

"Oh, don't even -- *everyone* knows you want him."

"What I want and what it would be reasonable for me to actually have --"

Roy spins Tim to face him, glaring *while* studying him hard --

"Titans! Together!" And Starfire is rising above the street with Cyborg in her arms.

"Tim --"

"We'll discuss the matter more -- later," Tim says, and jogs to meet Kon's low, slow flight.

He can see Beast Boy in pterodactyl form picking Roy up out of the corner of his eye --

"Dude. The hell was that about?"

How to answer -- that. Tim shakes his head. "Gotham."

"Yeah? What does *he* know about Hell-town?"

"He knows Nightwing --"

"Who's based out of New York and *little* Hell-town now. Seriously, Rob, Arsenal looked *pissed*."

Tim takes a breath and twists --

Drops --

Kon catches him and holds him in a position where they can stay face to face. His smile is both rueful and a little *pained* -- "You *could* totally try to, like, *communicate* with me sometime. About *something*."

Kon is, almost certainly, still stung by the fact that Tim's relationship with Bart had been a complete surprise -- at least in terms of what he knew *from* Tim. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, dude. *Fix* it."

Tim strokes his way up Kon's arms until he can squeeze his shoulders. "I love you."

Kon drops him.

Kon catches him with his TTK --

Kon *reels* him back up. "Uh. Dude."

"I'm going to guess that my timing was questionable?"

"*Yes* -- uh. Not that I don't -- I mean. I love you, too."

Tim smiles and squeezes Kon's forearms. "I've known that... well, I won't say I've *always* known, because that's not true --"

"You *should've* known, dude --"

"I know. And -- I know." *Dick* -- "I just... tell me what's wrong?"

Kon frowns and sighs. "Yeah, I guess I have been pretty obvious -- wait. You're not dying, are you?"

Tim blinks. "I. Ah? No."

"Dude, I had to ask. You've been going around being all -- *you*. Only *loud*."

"To be fair, Kon, I don't think it's possible to be in a sexual relationship with Bart without being somewhat... loud."

"See, this is what I'm *saying*," Kon says, and jogs Tim up and down, back and forth --

"Me, but louder?"

"*Yes*. Also -- also. Uh. Seriously? He's good?"

"Passionate. Brave *and* adventurous. Stunningly beautiful when I touch him in just the correct ways to --" 

"Okay! Okay, you gotta stop."

Tim shows his teeth.

"*Jesus*, Tim. You gotta be -- I mean, I'm *happy* for you guys. Both of you. I always wanted -- uh." Kon's blush would be obvious even without the way he turns his head, but --

Tim reaches up to touch his cheek for a moment. "Tell me?"

Kon smiles ruefully. "The three of us. You know."

Tim feels his heart -- trip. But. "I... I've had that fantasy."

Kon grips Tim's obliques significantly harder -- "You -- seriously? I mean. I mean, Bart was pretty young --"

"So were you."

Kon blushes again, but this time he doesn't look away. "You like that."

"A part of me does. Very much."

Kon licks his *lips* -- and shakes himself like a dog. "You're kind of a *pervert*."

Tim hums. "I -- yes. Pretty much."

"So... I mean. Do you think we *can*?"

Tim frankly doesn't know *why* the question is a surprise -- it's Kon, and Kon will always -- *please*, always -- be himself --

Tim laughs a little helplessly and jabs Kon's shield. "*You* have a girlfriend."

"Dude, so do *you*. And it's not like -- uh. I mean. Okay, yeah, I'd totally have to ask Cassie --"


"-- and we'd *both* have to... I mean. Hell, you *know* Bart better than *anyone* now. Do you think...?"

"I..." Why not?

Why *not*? What possible reason -- of course, he'd talk about it with Steph, and almost certainly get up to fifteen times --

"I'll ask. And we can -- we *should* -- talk about it."

And Kon is staring into Tim's -- lenses.

Tim reaches to flip them up --

"God, I never get *tired* of that, Rob -- I. Yeah. So that's -- that's what's been on my mind. Mostly."

"Tell me the rest."

"And *Jesus*, I thought I grew *out* of getting hard every time you gave an order!"

Tim laughs helplessly. "I have to say..."

"Oh. Dude, you're totally about to be porn, aren't you?"

Tim hums. "I vastly appreciate that particular reflex in Bart."

"See, this is what I'm *saying*. I -- dude, the two of you -- I mean, he gets *crazy* loud -- and that's why? You're Robining at him?"

"To a certain extent. The Robin I am with you is rarely the same individual as the Robin I am in Gotham."

"Okay, so now I'm thinking about you bending Batman *over* --"

Tim chokes. "Kon."

"*What*? Fuck, dude, he could probably *use* it. You could make him *relax*."

"The world does *not* need a relaxed Batman."

"See, and I'd even listen to you if I didn't *know* that you used to think that the world couldn't use a relaxed *you*."

Tim opens his mouth --

"Dude, you know I'm right. I'm just -- fucking *dead* on, here."

Tim laughs again. "Tell me the *rest*."

"Oh, I -- heh. It's just -- I'm thinking about inviting Cassie back to Smallville for a little while this summer. I -- hell, I know it's crazy --"

"It isn't."

"I -- seriously, dude --"

"It's not crazy," Tim says, squeezing Kon's shoulders and letting himself think, for a moment, about the days when Kon saying something like this would make him seize inside, hurt and *resent* -- mostly himself for not being the kind of person Kon would ever want to take home.


Tim smiles and shakes his head. "It's not crazy. The fact that the two of you love each other would be more than enough to *make* it not crazy. When you add on the fact that you're both forced to live civilian lives which make no sense whatsoever... well. You can give each other something -- something very good."

Kon frowns. "Dude, *you* live a whacked-out civilian life, *too*."

"I do, yes. But that life includes a family I... well, *most* of the time I wouldn't give that family up even if it meant I could have more of *this* life. Additionally, I have Spoiler to *make* it make sense."

"She knows your folks?"

Tim nods. "She even comes over for dinner sometimes."

"Fuck, *surreal*!"

"Often, yes."

Kon lands them on the roof of the Tower and frowns mildly, looking more distant than anything else --

*Then* blushing --

"Uh. Okay, so -- just to throw this out there? It would be *damned* hot if, like, we *all* wound up in a bed together sometime. Or, like, on the *floor*."

Tim blinks. "Ah. And by 'all?'"

"You, me, Bart, Cassie, *and* your mystery girl with the full-face cowl of *maximum* frustration."

Well. Tim coughs. "She -- ah. She's always been attracted to you."

"Dude, no way!"

"There were those pictures, and... well. Remember that poster of you in the first uniform?"

"The one where I'm flying through this big, half-demolished warehouse?"

"No, the one with you smiling like you've been huffing something."

Kon snickers and rocks on his heels. "I -- dude. You know what I was thinking when that picture was taken?"

Tim grins. "Tell me."

"Okay, so I'd been *really* pissed at you for being, well, *you*..."

"I imagine that happened fairly often back then --"

"Dude, *every* fucking day. Anyway, I was thinking of all the things that could knock you down a peg or eight hundred, and... heh."

Tim hums. "I suppose the Tim in your mind --"

"The *Robin* in my mind, dude. There *was* no Tim back then."

Tim closes his eyes for a moment --

"Oh, hey, no, it's not like I don't *understand* why it was that way now, you know?"

"I --" Tim reaches out and takes Kon's hand. "Still. If it had been my choice -- *more* my choice -- I never would've tried to hide from you."

And Kon's grin becomes something much softer, much more *open* --

Kon steps into Tim's space --

"I -- yeah. I really love you. Just -- a lot."

Tim grins and squeezes Kon's hand. "That means -- well. It's worth a great deal to me."

Kon punches Tim's shoulder with his free hand. "Rock. So. Anyway..."

"There you were, picturing me tarred and feathered --"

"Dude, no, they used *hot* tar to do that shit, and that's -- eugh."

Tim hums. "True, true. So what *was* I covered in?"

"Ah... heh. Tits."

Tim blinks. "Like Diana of Ephesus?"

Kon stares at him.

"Never mind. Ah -- how *many* breasts did I have?"

"Oh, dude, just two. But they were *ginormous* ones. *Straining* your uniform. And you had this -- god. Just this *bubble* of an ass, and shiny Robin-red lipstick... yeah. I cracked myself up *seriously* with that shit, man."

Tim mimes taking a picture.

"*Exactly*. Of course, if that photographer had caught me, like, five minutes later... they would've had to sell that poster in *totally* different stores."

Tim snorts. "Is this where I mention how *many* times I've worn drag for the Mission, Kon?"

Kon stares at him. Somewhat harder, this time.

Tim hums, cocks his hip, and tosses his hair. "Like what you see, big boy...?"

"Oh my *God* oh my god oh my god," and Bart zips around him in -- squares, not circles.

Tim thinks about it for a moment --

Centers himself --

And then kicks out lightly while grabbing for Bart's hair --

"No *fair* --"

Tim kisses Bart soundly, bending him back enough to make it reasonably comfortable for Tim to give him a *long* kiss --

A *thorough* kiss --

Bart hums into his mouth in a constant thrumming whine --

Bart clutches his shoulders and licks frantically at the underside of Tim's tongue --

Bart twists free and disappears --

And comes back with what appears to be a makeup kit. Cassie's, judging by the fact that it actually seems as though it has been used.

Bart holds up a tube of extremely red lipstick and looks hopeful --

"Oh, dude, *fuck* yeah --"

Tim holds up a hand. "Sorry -- that one's really *not* my color."

Bart stares at him in the precise way that tends to mean that Bart is *actually* blinking repeatedly far too quickly to be seen. "You -- you have *colors*?"

"Everyone has colors. I, for example, am a winter," Tim says, and tucks the lipstick back in the makeup case. "Give that back to Cassie."

Bart bites his lip --

Runs in place --

"The orders shouldn't be *hotter* when I don't want to follow them!"

Tim shows his teeth. "I disagree."

Bart growls --

Disappears --

And returns empty-handed. "You have to *tell* me about these kinks, Tim!"

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"Yes I know I know all of them already but I don't *know* them know them don't *trip* me this time --"

And Bart does laps around the roof.

Tim checks on Kon -- who seems deep in thought. Hm. "Kon?"

Kon shakes himself all *over* -- "Uh. So. Have you ever... I mean... *were* you a virgin when you started hooking up with Bart?"

"Yes. I... well. Spoiler understands that I'm not nearly as bisexual as I could be in a better world..."

*Connor* --

Tim shakes his head. "I've never had any sort of sexual activity while I was in drag." Even though sometimes Bruce had *looked* at him like --

Like --

*Dick* --

And Kon is narrowing his eyes at him *exactly* like he could hear at least some of that.

Or understand that there was something to hear. And --

Again --

Why not?

Tim raises his hands and smiles ruefully. "Let's just say that I'd be lying if I said I didn't think that Batman had any kinks."

"*Dude* --"

"Wait wait wait *what*?" And Bart is between him and Kon and cupping Tim's shoulders. "Tim!"

Heh. Tim crosses his arms under his cape. "Let's *also* just say that there have been far, far more instances of 'shoving Robin into a dress to fight crime' than there should've been. Statistically, I mean."

Kon moves to flank Tim --

"Tim! That's creepier than *you*!"

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"Dude, Bart, no, that's as *exactly* as creepy as Tim."

Tim nods once --

And Bart bites his lip. "Is he -- is he at least --"

"He's extremely -- extraordinarily -- attractive and I care about him a great deal. More now that I can think of him as just a particularly exceptional man."

"With *kinks*."

"Yes, Kon. Precisely," Tim says, and rests one hand on Bart's moving -- in *all* ways -- sketch of a hip.

Bart beams at him. "I have information for you."

"Okay, this is where I'm wondering if I *should* be weirded out that you've kinda made Bart your *minion*, Rob."

"Nooo no no no. Just think of it as being part of the sex."

Kon blinks --

Thinks about it *obviously* --

"Yeah, okay, I can see it. Do I get to hear the intel?"

Bart raises his eyebrows at Tim.

Tim smiles.

Bart shivers --

"All right. Just this once."

"Roy is brooding about something in the memorial room --"

"Some of that's my fault."

"Okay! Connor is talking about team dynamics and and and I think I would call it the philosophy of loss with Vic --"

"Interesting. Is he brooding?"

"Nnno. Mostly not. I don't think so. I don't know him!"

"Good enough. And?"

"Cassie actually hates wearing makeup but I think she hates not wearing it more --"

"Dude, I can totally see that. Wait, wait, what do I say to her?"

Bart kisses Tim approximately twelve times -- "I think it's more about what you do and how you are and I don't think --" Bart bites the tip of his tongue and hums a high whine -- "Don't like her better when she has the makeup on. Like her *differently*. Yeah?"

"That's pretty much how I handled the matter with Spoiler. It seemed to work well."

"Cool," Kon says, and flies a lazy circuit around them. "What about you, Bart? You ever wanna hook up with a chick?"

"*Yes*! I mean -- I mean I'm not sure -- I mean --" Bart lets go of Tim and zips around the roof -- "Sit down?"

Tim sits -- and Bart pushes and maneuvers Tim until he's half-sitting between Tim's legs and half-lying on his chest --

"Ohh. I like this."

"I do, too."

"It's better when you're naked."

"Agreed," Tim says, and strokes Bart's hair. "Is there anything else?"

"Starfire is shopping online for bigger beds for all of us."

Tim laughs softly. "It could be an excellent investment."

Kon snorts and floats down into a crouch next to them. "Totally, yeah. Uh. Is this where we tell Bart --"

"It's *always* where -- *when* you tell me! What were you talking about? Wait, is it a threesome? Because I think I could really go for that."

Kon coughs and ruffles Bart's hair. "That -- uh. *Exactly* that, actually."

"Tim! Can we? Or is that one of those things where you're supposed to wait for some ridiculous human length of time? Please please say it isn't --"

"It does tend to be better -- in the long run -- to be patient with that sort of thing, but you've almost certainly done more reading about it than I have."

Bart drums his heels against the roof for a moment, flips over onto his stomach, shoves his face against Tim's *groin* --


"God, why can't you at least sound *surprised* when I do things like this?" Spoken directly *into* Tim's groin, and -- yes.

"Because it would arouse you infinitely less. Up."

Bart groans --

Sighs --

And then moves behind Tim and wraps his legs and arms around him. "The reading is all full of things about being careful and understanding everyone's needs and desires beforehand and also making sure there are a lot of things like safewords."

Kon frowns. "Even when it's not all whips and chains-y?"

"Apparently? I mean, just about every book about it I found really *harped* on how it can ruin relationships if it all goes badly."

The frown gets deeper -- "I don't -- I don't really think we have to worry about that. I mean, we *have* to all get along for the team."

Tim smiles wryly. "Any number of sources suggest that it was a mistake for you to get involved with Cassie -- and for me to get involved with Bart -- precisely *because* the team dynamic is so important, Kon."

"Dude, no, bullshit. This isn't, like, *soccer* or something. Any one of us could die in a *heartbeat*. We *have* to get everything we can *while* we can."

And Kon... would know that better than most. It doesn't take much in the way of deduction to know that the frown currently on Kon's face has Tana Moon's name written all *through* it --

"I'm pretty sure I agree with that," Bart says, and squeezes Tim more tightly. "I mean, 'carpe diem' is kind of a cliché, but it's one for a *reason*. I -- I miss Max so *much* sometimes, and those are the times when I can't help thinking about how much I ran away from him, and ignored him, and even *told* him to leave me alone -- I'm not doing that anymore."

"Nor am I," and Tim cups the caps of Bart's knees. "I trust us all to communicate about our problems when and if the need arises --"

Bart's snicker moves up and down most of an octave -- "You *trust* us to come to *you*. And that's exactly what you should do. Daddy."

Tim snorts. "Thank you, but no --"

"Mommy?" And Kon is leering *dramatically* --

"Oooh -- no. Batman *II*," Bart says, and hugs Tim vigorously hard. Just --

Well, he *had* told Bart that he thought of him as *his* Robin --

It had calmed him down immensely --

Right now, it's making him snicker and rock Tim as Kon stares at them both like they've lost important parts of their minds --

"Dude, that's just *wrong* --"

"It is *not*! Batman *told* Tim that he wanted him to be his heir."

Kon winces -- "That's *fucked*."

Tim hums. "Think of it this way, Kon: it would've been much worse to discover the Batsuits in my size *without* warning."

The wince becomes a stricken look -- which clears rapidly. "Okay, no, that totally settles it. We have to have as much fun as possible right *now*. And *that* means -- heh." Kon flies himself up again. "I? Am going to have a *very* important talk with Cassie. I'd tell you two not to start without me, but I don't actually *want* to torture Bart --"

"Not even sexually? Because I like that a lot. A lot a lot."

Kon grunts and grabs his crotch -- "Yeah, okay, I'll just -- uh." He shakes his head. "Tim, Bart? We are *all* spending time together just having *fun* this summer. Whether or *not* I'm allowed to have the kind of fun I want to. And that's *me* giving the orders."


Tim smiles. "Noted."

Kon flies --

And Tim leans more of his weight against Bart.

Bart sighs at something almost resembling human speed. Whatever he wants to say is *very* important.

"I'm listening, Bart."

"No, I -- of course you knew I wanted --" Bart's growl is more frustrated than angry -- or aroused. "I always thought you loved him more."

"For a time I thought I did."

"You --" Bart moves around to face Tim again, searches him --

Tim makes sure the grey-bright light catches his eyes.

"You have to tell me more now. Please."

Tim smiles and takes Bart's strong, smooth hands in his own and kisses them. "You put me -- unintentionally, for the most part -- in the role of a parent. I didn't especially want to examine the parts of me which liked that very much. Loved that. It seemed better, by far, to wallow in the fantasies of my 'husband.' Easier, certainly."

Bart frowns. "What -- did you change your mind?"

"I did. When you made a command decision to stop being Impulse -- with everything that meant -- I realized that I'd lost the opportunity to love you the way a large part of me always wanted to... even as I realized that I'd gained the opportunity to love you in a new way, entirely."

Bart moans --

Bart pants and scratches lightly at Tim's hands --

Bart moans *again* -- "I'd do it. I'd be Impulse for --"


"But I have to -- I want to -- I want you to love me in *every* way --"

"It's impossible, and it would be ugly and small to try. To *make* you try. And, if you hadn't noticed, Batman has *many* ways to love Robin."

Bart swallows with an audible click -- "I love you so *much* --"

"I love you."

"Will you ever. When -- when Gotham is yours --"

"You'll be with me. As much as possible."

"Oh, Tim --"

"Wait," Tim says, and squeezes Bart's hands hard. "You have to understand, Bart -- Gotham can't afford the kind of enemies you would bring if you worked in anything resembling a public way --"

"But I can be -- you'll teach me *stealth*."

Tim smiles. "Yes, I will. But first... I'm going to teach you how to make pasta sauce."

"I -- I love you but sometimes I *hate* you."

Tim hums. "Robin should always be... wise."

The look of *lustful* consternation... is itself.

"Go masturbate -- I'll meet you in the kitchen."

"*Tiiiim* --"

"And? Put the *bigger* plug in this time --"

"*Hnh* -- oh. Okay. Um. I'm gonna change and meet you and hurry up and it doesn't have to be a *good* sauce --"

And Bart's gone.

Tim stands up, shifts to adjust himself in his jock, and walks inside.


So -- Dick is pretty much going to kill him.

Roy had had *one* assignment for this weekend -- find out who Tim was screwing and maybe -- *maybe* -- see if he could remind the kid about that lifetime of lustful obsession. Just -- no challenge at all. He could've done the first part over the comm with Kory. The *second* part would've been a little harder without personal contact, but it's not like Roy *hasn't* played matchmaker half a hundred times in this community.

Sometimes *everyone* needs a little push, and -- yeah.

Yeah. Dick's gonna murder him. Not only did he open his fat mouth and let the secrets out -- *always* justifiable homicide when Bats are concerned, *especially* if the secret is about *feelings* -- but he'd gone ahead and given the kid --

The incredibly bitchy and *perceptive* kid --

A complex? No, not that. Or -- maybe?

Roy has no fucking clue, and just --

He stops by Joey's statue and just -- takes him in for a minute. That hair had pretty much never been a good idea, but Joey had made it work *anyway*.

Hearing that his spirit had come back like that --

"Hell, Joey, I know it wasn't really you. Just -- maybe you can find a better way back next time?"

Joey's statue smiles into the distance like --

Hell, like maybe Dick had just done something amazing and impossible, something *while* wearing the suit pretty much *only* Joey and Kory could ever fully approve of--

Dick is gonna kill him.

He has to fix this.

Dick is gonna kill him whether or *not* he fixes this, but at least he'll feel guilty about it afterward if it all works out.

"You could think about possessing me and doing the fixing *for* me? No? Maybe? Please?"

And Roy knows he's not alone in here anymore, but --

But pretty much every Titan has to talk to the statues at least some time, remember warmth --

And contact.

Specifically, extremely naked Kory contact.

Her hair winds around Roy's left knee --

"I can't believe you got these kids used to you, babe."

"I've always found humans to be wonderfully adaptable, given time and training."

Roy grins and leans back against her, reveling in her heat and thinking about stripping down, putting a little life in this place --

Kory purrs and scratches his thighs, which means that Roy's scent had gotten *exactly* that much better.

Roy reaches up and wraps an arm around her, letting her hair swallow him a little --

"Tell me of the hurt?"

Roy sighs. "Brother issues. Not -- quite -- Titans issues."

"And are you not my brother, as well?"

Roy smiles and works back against her, crushing her breasts against him a little --

Another purr. "Wild brother. Dangerous brother."

"Maybe a little too dangerous for my own good."

"Tim's scent around you grew... quite sharp."

Roy sighs again. "I tried to get him to talk to me without being ready to give up the goods myself, babe. I already knew that was a bad plan, but..."

Kory works herself against him, rubbing and pushing and *moving* --

"*God*, I miss watching you with Dick --"

Kory growls softly. "It is my hope to send you back to New York *stinking* of my sex."

Roy laughs. "I? Am completely down with that plan."

"Mm. Perhaps you will introduce me properly to your *other* brother?"

And the images for that --

Kory could teach him so much --

Kory could make him love every *lesson* --

Kory purrs and *throws* him down, and the reflex to roll and *move* for that --

To work and *fight* --

Kory's teeth gleam white in the dimness --

Her eyes glow a green like the sweetest poison in the *world* --

Roy *knows* from poison --

And wrestling with Kory is the same thrill it ever is: the cock-twitching *shock* of doing *this* with a woman, of pitting strength against strength until you're both sweating and panting, the scent of Kory -- spice and *strange* -- so far up his nose he thinks he'll cry, the *knowledge* that his own scent is driving her even harder, making her push and grab and *hold* --

Fuck, *holding* him --

And Roy's not even remotely surprised to be on his hands and knees with his cock in Kory's *hand*, but --

God, this weekend is gonna kill him and he's *okay* with that --

"What -- what ya gonna do to me, babe?"

"Everything I *desire*, brother," and Kory squeezes him hard, *works* him -- "*Leak*."

"You -- God, you know human males can't *do* that on command --"

"On *my* command they *do*," she says, and *scratches* the underside of Roy's cock, making the frenum ladder he'd put in to punish himself a little today judder and *sing* --

And really --

Yes, his cock is leaking for her. He's gonna have to *hydrate* himself after this weekend --

He --

Her hand is so *hot*, rough with all those years of labor and stronger than anything, everything --

"God, *Kory* --"

"*Only* me, brother. Do you think my fingers are wet enough?"

Enough for --

Oh, Jesus *fuck* --

"Yeah. Yeah, they are -- *do* me --"

Kory growls *while* laughing, slaps Roy's ass and scratches Roy's *sac* -- "*Beg*."

"Fuck, *please*. Do me, make me come, rub yourself all over me --"

"*Later*, brother," and Kory sounds -- absolutely thrilled to be alive. She always *should* be, but especially in moments like *this*:

Long, slim fingers questing and pushing at Roy's hole like the human-heat-seeking weapons they *are* --

Long, *hard* fingers pushing in, two inches, three inches, and fuck, yeah, that *fourth*--

He remembers that Kory *hates* the metric system -- and apparently *that's* what his brain is gonna do to him, because the first time Dick had fucked him up the ass, his cock hadn't been much *longer* than this --

Because it feels like Kory's fingers can shape him and *change* his internal geography just as easily as Clark's --

Because there's always a *moment* when Kory does this when his body realizes that it *won't* be able to settle into either cock *or* fingers mode, that it'll just have to *cope* with this --

"*Louder*, brother!"

And that's when Roy realizes that he's shouting, that he's working his ass like the bitch he is, that they're doing this *with* the dead people, and it couldn't actually be better without knowing -- as opposed to just *hoping* -- that every last one of them is watching.

It had always felt *obscene* to fuck Joey's silent mouth --

Tara's tough little hands --

Donna's *vise* of a pussy --

God --

Fuck --

*Roy* growls and reaches back to grip Kory's wrist --

"Roy --"

"*Under* me, Kory."

And whether that sound was a growl or a purr -- he doesn't know, and right now that's a lot less important than the feel of being lifted and *turned* so that he can kneel between Kory's impossibly long legs --

"God, you've always been so *perfect*, Kory, *sister* --"

Kory throws her head back and shouts a war-cry --

No, that's a *fuck*-cry, and the fact that it sounds like a war-cry to his ears just marks him out as the silly, short-sighted human he *is* --

But he can damned well make a good showing for his species. Just --

He gets his hands on those dark, puma-colored hips and lifts her, loving her *weight* for the time it takes for him to guide himself *in* --

And then he just loves *her*, slick heat and *power* in that pussy, weaker than Donna's but not by any measure he can comprehend *now*. Just --

Oh, yeah, *deep*, and Kory's yowling for him every time she *isn't* grinning fiercely and pumping him, fucking *milking* him --

"God, Kory, love you so *much* ---"

"Do not *stop*, Roy!"

"Don't fucking *worry*," Roy says, bracing himself over her and putting his *back* into it. Nothing like this, nothing --

Nothing like the *fact* that he can't actually hurt her with this fuck, that he can give her everything he *has* --

That he can grunt like an animal right into her wide, perfect mouth, lick her sharp teeth and *use* --

("I. It's just -- okay, I really don't know how to say this, Roy, but Kory said she'd *hurt* me if I didn't --")

Anything, 'mano, anything --

("But would you even *want* to? I mean -- you're more experienced than I'll ever be, but isn't it -- isn't it *weird*?")

Nothing with you is weird, nothing could ever *be* --

("Oh, God, Roy, if I could just see the two of you *kiss* --")

Roy groans and winds Kory's hair around his fists, one then the other. He *can't* actually hold her down like this, but --

God, the way her eyes *flare* --

And her hands --

Her hands are on his sides, pressing and holding and *pulling*, and now they're turning the kind of hot that means the starbolts just aren't that far *away* --

"Don't -- don't bring this place *down* on us, Kory --"

A *laughing* yowl -- "I will do what I *want*, brother --"

"Yeah, but -- oh, fuck, yeah, that *squeeze* --"

"This one?"

"Sister -- *sister* --"

"*Faster* --"

"*Yes* --"

And doing it this way --

Giving it to *both* of them this way --

Fuck, he's *close*, *just* that fast, and there's nothing he can do, nothing he can *give* but more of *exactly* this --

God, the *heat* --

He feels like his spine is *fusing* --

And Kory's cries are rhythmic now, fast as a speedster's sleeping breaths --

She's clawing at his shoulders --

Her hair is coiling up Roy's *arms* --

And every sound is sex, every breath is *this* scent, the one that's always meant he's done something just that well, that he deserves something *sweet* --

Roy can't control his own sounds and he's not *trying*, and if the new kids are scandalized --

If they think Roy is *just* that much of a pervert --

Titans. Fucking. *Together* --

And Kory digs her nails in *hard*, making Roy cry out for the feel of his skin breaking --

And then he's *yelling*, because Kory's pussy is clenching *randomly*, *viciously* --

"*Brother* --!"

He can't stop. She's coming and he *can't* stop, *won't* stop. He'll give her every *second* of this, because that's what you do with the best women, the best sisters --

Oh, God --

Fuck, *flipped*, and his cock gets exactly *one* second to be cold and bereft before Kory sits on him --

Holds him down --

*Rides* him down --

"Kory -- Kory, *please* --"

"Do *not* cry for mercy, brother," and Kory is *grinning* at him, face sheened with sweat and arms corded with the force she's using to hold him down --

As if he'd try to get *away* --

Oh --

Milking him again, doing it *rhythmically* --

"So -- so *fast* --"

"*Yes*, Roy. You are on *my* time now."

Roy laughs and bangs his head against the floor, and his hips aren't stopping, can't --

He can't catch her *rhythm*, and right now he's just another *boy* for her. There's nothing --

Nothing he can *do* --

And to be helpless like this --

Loved like this --

"*Now*, brother!"

Spasm and *jerk*, but he can't get anywhere, he's *trapped* --

Oh, fuck *yes* --

And Roy feels himself arching, but everything else is just the flare and *rush* of the orgasm beating down on him --

Working him *over* --

Kory's cry is *triumphant* --

And Roy's eyes roll back in his head. Just --

He's done.

He is -- done.

And, since being done involves being *draped* in six-foot-four of superpowered alien *with* tits --

Yeah, he's fine with that.

Roy blinks until he can focus on the cloud of hair in front of his face, and then he closes his eyes and just lives in Kory's purrs for a while.

Life is good.

Life --

Black --

Roy wakes up to pain in his *ear* -- and judging by the *amount* of hair in his face, that's Kory biting him. "Whoa, I -- damn. How long was I out?"

Kory bites him *harder* for a second -- pulls back and smiles down at him. "Twenty minutes. I'm only waking you because you'll want to speak to Tim very soon, I think."

Roy groans. "God, I -- wait, does he *crash* this early?"

"He does not like to make Bart wait much longer than this."

"Waiting --" Roy yawns. "Waiting for things is *good* for speedsters."

Kory strokes down the bridge of his nose. "Tim is vicious with him. Ruthless. *Relentless*."

"I... have no trouble seeing that. You've been paying attention?"

Kory's smile is a narrowing of her eyes and a flicker of pink tongue. "Tim 'wired' the Tower himself... though I much prefer lingering in the hall where I can smell them."

Images --

A whole damned lot of images. Roy shakes them off and sits up --

And Kory kisses him hard, holding his face in *just* the position she wants it in and fucking the *hell* out of his mouth --

Break --

"Roy... will you tell me the trouble?"

And that --

She'd sounded *diffident*, and that's just never *right*.

"Sister," Roy says, and takes her hands in his own. "Dick wants Tim and doesn't know how to tell him. I'm pretty sure *Connor* wants Tim, too, and I had to -- God, just figure him out a little bit --"

"And he turned the tables on you." Kory nods. "That is his way. But what else?"

"Well, I -- I wasn't supposed to *tell* him how Dick felt --"

Kory's laugh is soft, musical, and much too old.

Roy knows where the age is coming from. He squeezes her hands. "I swear, he's not that bad most of the time, Kory. He gets a little too Bat a little too *often*, but he's still the same man down deep. And not too *far* deep, either."

Her expression is skeptical and hopeful at once --

"I *promise* I'm keeping an eye on him. When I'm not kicking my foot into my own mouth just to get a too-smart kid to shut the hell up about *my* issues."

"Wanting your brother."

"*Bad*. Just -- I. I was barely even thinking of him when we were making love --"

"Do you think I would've minded if you were thinking about him more?"

God... Kory. But -- "No, actually," and Roy smiles ruefully. "It's just kind of a shock at this point. I mean, I was thinking of him when I was screwing *Superman*."

Kory makes a face.

"Yeah, I know, you don't like him much. Just -- keep trusting me that he's a good guy."

For a moment, the face gets even more *sour*, but -- she sighs. "All right. Perhaps I should be urging you to Connor's side instead of Tim's?"

"Oh, I -- I'm gonna talk to him tonight. And maybe. Maybe see if we can... share a bed. Just that."

"You have not had that with him?"

Roy sighs and stands, looking around for his clothes. "This isn't the first time I'm saying more teams and families should be like the Titans, and it *won't* be the last, Kory."

Kory rests her hands on her thighs. "You will tell me if there's anything I can do?"

Roy smiles at her. "I'll tell you even if there isn't, sister. I promise."

Kory's smile is soft and warm and *promising* enough that Roy starts thinking of the kitchen for more than just his *stomach* --

Right, he's getting dressed.

And pulling a few hairs out of his mouth -- wait. "Kory."

"Yes, Roy?"

"If I try to leave before you sit on my face? *Please* beat me."

"It will be my pleasure," she says, and shoos him out the door.

Once he's in the Tower, he thinks about detouring for the showers -- Kory's juices are *stickier* than other women's -- but he realizes that what he'd *really* be doing is procrastinating. So.

He heads for the bedrooms. He hasn't actually gotten that much of a tour of this Tower, but he knows that he'll be able to find Tim's bedroom by the *quality* of silence.

Even when it was Jay just hanging out with the rest of them for a few days, there was a little bit of a *sink* right around where Robin slept -- partly because no Titan worth their salt really wanted to *risk* Robin getting any less sleep than he usually did, and partly because of the way Gotham just *followed* them.

Sometimes -- just sometimes -- he thinks Nightwing wasn't real until Kory made him that way.

Right *now* --

Right now, he's kind of wondering whether or not Bart is *tough* enough to get the Gotham out of someone like Tim -- even though, according to Clark, he's tough enough to make Bruce jealous.

Of course, *air* could make Bruce jealous when it was Dick --

And no, it's not even close to being the first time he's thinking of Bruce Wayne with the *wrong* part of his brain, but -- God.

What would the world even *look* like if Bruce had given Dick even a *fraction* of what he needed way back when?

Hell, what would Roy's *life* look like?

Just -- it's *Dick*. One taste is *never* enough -- never could *be* enough, because no one who's ever made love to Dick ever wanted it to be only once. That passion. That -- that fucking *fire* in him, and the way it burns right down to the heart of him, the heat of him --

And Dick may be his brother -- Dick *is* his brother -- but Bruce is... something else. Bigger, darker, *greater* --

Yeah, Dick never would've made it out of Gotham. Not for long, anyway. And then... what? How *would* all of that have gone with Jason?

*Bruce* never could've managed to leave Jay on the street -- and *nobody* who had been remotely *near* their gravity well back then would say different to that. Just... how?

Would Dick have still been so hurt and angry because of Jay? Would Jay have still been so *scared* and angry? *Could* Bruce have managed not to fuck it up?

Will he manage this time?

Just -- Tim, and, yeah, he can *see* Bruce wanting the kid -- hell, he can see Bruce *needing* him. That mind *and* that attitude *and* all that ice-cold professionalism.

How the hell is Dick going to put up with that *when* Bruce makes his move?

Clark had joked about how it would take Bruce a while to own up to being jealous, but what if it didn't? More to the point: What if he makes a move *without* owning up?

He can't actually see *Tim* letting that stand, but then he also can't see Tim -- or anyone else in the *world*, *including* himself -- saying no.

Just --

He has to fix this for Dick. He *owes* it to Dick for so many reasons --


Specifically, Connor standing *right* there in the hall, chatting up Bart. That's --

It's a good feeling *and* a bad one, because, on the one hand, it's *good* that Connor is making friends -- and proof that all is essentially right with the world -- but --

Roy's been neglecting the hell out of him. Just -- damn. Roy pulls on a smile *just* soon enough for Connor to register Roy's low-energy presence and turn.

Connor smiles back and gestures Roy to join him, which --

Yeah, Tim can wait a *little* while longer --

"You have to be quiet," Bart says when Roy's close enough to hear a whisper.

"Uh... okay?"

Connor laughs softly. "Tim is meditating," and he points to the door which, now that Roy thinks about it, *does* seem to have a vague sense of bitter cold February gloom and a little bit of nightmarish horror coming from it.

Right. Roy raises his eyebrows. "You run interference for him all the time?"

"I usually don't have to. Tim leaves his door *open* when he doesn't mind company," and there's no real hint of *rebuke* in Bart's tone, but it kind of feels as though there should be.

"You... are really pretty protective," Roy says, trying to be careful, gentle --

And Bart raises an eyebrow pretty much *exactly* like Tim himself would, crossing his arms over his lean chest and giving him a capital-L Look. "You're thinking about treating me like a kid with a crush. I'd rather we all avoided that."

Roy blinks -- steps back and raises his hands. "No offense meant, KF, I swear."

Bart *keeps* that eyebrow up --

And Connor is laughing at him. Wonderful.

"I take it he's been taking *you* to school a little, too?"

Connor holds up two fingers and pinches them together, and the look he gives Roy is amused and *warm* --

He *likes* that look --

And Connor turns it back on Bart. "Forgive us both, Bart, please. It's only that you're nothing like anyone else we know -- even other speedsters."

Bart cocks his head to the side. "You're both thrown by my -- heh -- youthful exuberance and emotional expressivity. Those things -- added to my history of being Impulse -- make it incredibly difficult for you to read me as anything but young and immature. Correct?"

("He'll talk like a dictionary written by someone with a rod so far up his ass that his head is pointy if you'll let him, but --")

But what, exactly, Wally?

"Yes, I think that's a fair assessment," Connor says, and turns to look a question at Roy --

Roy nods. "Though, for me, it's *mostly* my memories of Impulse."

"That's fair. Annoying, but fair," and Bart taps something out on his thigh --

No, it's too fast for Roy to catch the rhythm.

"I guess... I'm asking you to take me as I am, as much as is possible, because -- heh. Subjectively, I've been done with Impulse for a very, very long time."

Connor inclines his head. "It's been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I promise to always do my best to... ah... give what I receive?"

Bart's smile is bright and wide -- until he turns it on Roy. "So. What were you fighting with Tim about?"

And now Connor is frowning at him. *Wonderful* --

"It wasn't a fight, I swear. Or -- well, it wasn't -- argh." Roy pushes a hand back over his hair. "It was a fight, and I can't actually talk to you about it. I am, however, hoping to get the chance to smooth it over with Tim as much as possible."

Bart narrows his eyes -- "Is it about Dick?"

Roy raises his hands again. "I'm sorry, but it has to stay private for now. If Tim wants to tell you all about it *after* we talk, though, it's fine by me."

Bart hums that speedster whine and taps his foot on the floor hard enough to make it vibrate -- Bart winces and stops and stares at the closed door.

Connor clears his throat. "I'm sure he's used to meditating through distractions much greater than that," he says, and rests a hand on Bart's shoulder.

Bart *stares* at that hand -- and then looks up and smiles ruefully. "*You* know all about meditation, I bet. I've tried it, and I've even succeeded a little -- if it's possible *to* succeed, and Tim has been helping me with it as much as he can but --" Bart shakes his head and steps back. "I know he *can* meditate through me being *Impulse* at him, but I don't want him to have to."

For some reason, *that* makes Connor swallow --

No, Roy knows why. Roy tucks his hand behind his thigh and clenches it into a fist. *Just* once. Just for a moment --

And Bart is looking back and forth between him and Connor *just* slowly enough that it's noticeable --

And now Connor is looking at him *worriedly* --

Roy pulls on a smile --

Thinks about Clark telling him to try honesty --

Thinks about the look of *disappointment* that had been on Connor's face the last time they'd patrolled together all night and Roy had *ended* the night with a proposition --

Roy keeps the smile right where it is. "I'm all right. Just thinking about that conversation I have to have with Tim."

*Both* Connor and Bart frown and nod at him, and Roy feels, like, oh, say, the biggest jackass in the world.


"Okay, it's not that. I --"

Connor takes Roy's hand in his own. "If you're not comfortable speaking of it --"

"I can always change the subject," Bart says, and he's not -- quite -- frowning anymore. If anything, he looks *sympathetic* --

And there are never, ever any secrets in Titans Tower. Not if the world is spinning right on its axis, anyway, so -- suck it up. "I'm just a little jealous of you and Tim, bro. Nothing serious."

"Oh. I..." Connor looks down, and there's no such thing as being too dark to show a blush when you've got tells like that. Just --

Bart disappears, kicking up a *serious* wake --

And then he reappears with bottles of cranberry juice for both of them.

Connor takes his with a polite and *grateful* smile --

And Roy lets his own gratitude show when he takes his own.

"You're welcome," Bart says, and leans against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "I want -- could you both maybe tell me --" The blush flares and fades in just about three seconds. "Wally was never really... *really* young, was he?"

Roy makes a note to buy Bart one of those six foot subs one of these days. For now -- "He was young, all right. I mean, we *all* were, but he was -- heh -- *impulsive*."

Connor takes a breath and smiles at Bart again. "I never knew him when he wasn't on the League, of course, but I have to admit that I could see... signs of that sort of behavior."

Bart is staring at Connor like maybe Connor would decide to bullshit him -- no, there's a blur that means he's blinking a lot.

So -- "It's true, Bart. I mean, his sense of humor can be seriously painful, and his personal life..." Roy shakes his head. "Before he met Linda -- hell, for a long while after he and Linda were *dating* -- he would just fall into one thing after another. He'd spend himself broke, then hit it rich, then spend it all over again. He'd completely fail to keep a steady job anywhere he'd have to have any *kind* of responsibility --"

"Well, you have to admit that it's difficult to do that sort of thing with the lives we all lead," Connor says, and, yeah, he's *being* fair.

"Don't get me wrong," Roy says to both of them, "I love the guy. He's *always* going to be one of my closest friends. But... ah. Heh. If he's ever gotten on your case for being immature? He's talking shit. Yeah, you *were* immature, but there's such a thing as living in a glass house."

Connor looks conflicted, and -- Roy gets that, too. Wally was a respected *colleague*, Bart is a new friend... and then Connor gets that determined look on his face. "I don't think I would be breaking a confidence to say that, at least while I was on the League, Wally was not above... practical jokes which did not always... suit."

And that's *exactly* as far as he'll go to the negative, and Roy hopes that's enough --

No, Bart is nodding thoughtfully and holding his arms a little more loosely. It's enough.

And the door is opening. *Slowly*.

*Incredibly* slowly --

Slowly enough that it's actually kind of --

"Tiiiim! That's *creepy*!"

"Hn. I was hoping," Tim says, and offers them all a very *neat* little smile. "Hello, everyone." He's stripped down to nothing but a pair of dark burgundy boxer briefs and his *mask* --

And Connor just looked him over. Just --

Bart zips over and hugs Tim hard -- and the neat smile gets a lot hotter and harder as Tim hugs him back. "With regards to Wally... while I would certainly appreciate one or both of you having a talk with him about his treatment of Bart, I should say that I'll be having my *own* talk with him... soon."

Pure, unadulterated *threat*, and that --

Roy grins at him. "Ever think you maybe have a little too much Batman in your Robin?"

Bart giggles and somehow manages to press *closer* to Tim --

And Tim hums. "I do wonder what my predecessors would say about that particular... metric."

Connor coughs --

Roy *chokes* --

And Bart licks a stripe from the corner of Tim's mouth to his ear. "Maybe I'll have my own talk with Wally."

"You should," Tim says. "But I've always been of the opinion that there are times when it's preferable to... bring a gun to a knife fight." And Tim's eyes laser in on him in...

Threat? Flirt? Something else entirely? Roy doesn't know Tim well enough *to* know... and that's a problem on a *large* number of levels. To *that* end -- "I don't want to interrupt your Bart time, Tim... but I also really, really do. Can I steal you for a few minutes?"

"Of course," and Tim *scratches* his way down Bart's back --

"Oh -- *God* --"

"Go eat more, Bart. I'll see you --"

"After you speak to Roy *and* Connor, because I have to go gather more intel, too. I just wanted to --" And Bart kisses Tim about three dozen times over the course of a minute and a half.

For the last full minute, Tim has a loose-mouthed *sprawl* of a smile on his face that -- and Roy has to own this -- makes him think thoughts. Not that anyone could *avoid* that considering the fact that it's becoming real damned obvious that Bart had skipped putting his jock on under his uniform.

And when Roy checks because he *has* to --

Connor is looking at him. Searching him, really, and the only thing Roy can think to do is beg a little with his eyes --

Connor licks his lips -- and then smiles ruefully and shakes his head.

Roy offers his own rueful smile in return and a shrug he means about as much as Lex Luthor means it when he says he'll reform --

And Bart pulls back from Tim. Both of them have swollen mouths and respectable teenaged erections happening, and --

Titans Together.

"I believe I'll join Bart in the kitchen for the time being, Roy. Would you... could we talk later?"

So you can tell me -- again -- that you don't want any part of me? "Sure."

Connor's smile is *grateful*, and Roy just wants something --

Something warm and *good*, and never mind that he has just that all over the *world* -- no. *Not* never mind that. He's never going to take any part of his life for granted, no matter how much this want pulls on him. Roy clasps Connor's forearm and squeezes. "I'll catch you later, bro."

"I..." Connor *starts* to lean in, blushes under his skin, and squeezes Roy's forearm hard before letting go again. "Until later."

Roy watches Connor and Bart walk down the hall --

Connor is walking while Bart runs circles around him --

"Come in, Roy," Tim says, and steps back into his bedroom.


Roy walks in... and it's just about what he expected -- a mostly blank space showing nothing of the kid's actual personality except for a few little touches:

One -- three cacti, all apparently different species, all situated to catch as much light as possible.

Two -- two photographs on the desk, one of Tim and Bart, one of Tim and someone who certainly looks like the Spoiler. Everyone's in uniform.

Three -- and he's not sure this should count as a personal touch, at all -- a drafting table with a large and *closed* sketchpad on it. Hunh.

"You draw?"

"A fair amount of craft, no art whatsoever," Tim says, moving to the table and opening the pad... on a perfectly reasonable sketch of Bart wearing a much, much darker uniform. Which...

"Is he really suited for that?"

Tim's smile is a private one. "Not yet, he isn't. But -- he wants me to teach him stealth. I'm nowhere near being above temptation."

Heh. "You're making me wonder what's in *Bruce's* sketchpads."

"Hn. One day, I'm going to come up with a reasonable excuse to give him for why he should show me. Until then, I will let the mystery tease, arouse, frustrate, and frighten me."

Roy snorts --

And Tim flips the page to an image of *himself* in a much darker uniform. Just --

"No green?"

"I'm also not above shallow concerns. Robin-green has never been my color."

Roy traces the spikes on the gauntlets. "And these?"

Another private smile. "When I look at the uniforms Bruce has set aside for me for the *future*, there is -- occasionally -- a *flood* of incredibly violent lust. I'm considering the possibilities inherent to... transitions." Tim closes the sketchpad and -- perches -- on the stool, gesturing to the chair by the desk.

Roy nods and takes it, straddling the thing backwards and resting his arms on the back. "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for --"

"I think I do. I can't simultaneously expect you -- and your team -- to do the job *and* be kids I can push around at will."

Tim cocks his head to the side and smiles *distantly*. "If you're honestly surprised by how many people do just that..."

"I'm not."

"Good," and Tim nods. "In the end, Roy, I have to- make my own decisions about what I'm going to do with my love life... which is not to say I don't appreciate the... ah... heads-up."

Roy shakes his head and smiles. "I can't help thinking that I should've let him surprise you."

"Well, that would've been tactically efficient -- if looked at from a certain angle -- but emotionally it would've been really rather suspect."

"Maybe. But right now, I think, at least a part of you is thinking about how to bob and weave around *him*, and that's -- not fair."

Eyebrow raise. "Neither is life."

"He loves you."

"And I have always loved him. That's not enough to build a healthy relationship on."

"I disagree."

Tim shows his teeth. "I hereby give you permission to disagree with me at will. I have every faith that you'll continue to do so with grace and aplomb."

Roy snorts again and rubs a hand over his own beard stubble. "What can I say, here? What can I do?"

Tim narrows his eyes thoughtfully. "A part of your reasoning in coming here was the idea that you could... pave the way for Dick."

Roy nods and lets himself look Tim over. Lean, yeah, but just as muscular as he should be. He could use a little more body fat here and there --

Especially *there* --

He's small and *contained* --

His hair isn't thick enough --

Soft little mouth, wide eyes hidden under a mask, sharp cheekbones and chin...

Taken all together, Tim is a *consciously* elegant little weapon of a boy. Older than he should be, harder than is *remotely* comfortable, and probably *unholy* in the sack. For everyone from his old team, he is *the* Bat on the scene, and everything Kory had said makes Roy think that it's the same -- or getting to be -- for her, Gar, and Vic. Hunh.

"Do you always give out what people need, Tim?"

Another eyebrow raise, another private smile. "I do try, yes. But you shouldn't think that I'm not being myself."

"No, it's not that. Heh -- not this time, anyway. I'm just thinking about what could happen if you could *feel* how much Dick needs you."

"He doesn't --" Tim stops himself with a frown that becomes a rueful smile. "I will stipulate that you know him better than I do -- that you, perhaps, always *will* -- but I think you can understand why I'd find all of this... difficult to credit," and Tim spreads his hands.

"Yeah, I know, and yeah, I can. But --"

Tim holds up a finger. "Additionally, I've been told by any number of people I happen to trust near-implicitly that my habit of suiting myself to any given situation is less than healthy. I'm not just being myself as much as possible, Roy -- I'm actively *trying* to be myself. All the time."

Roy winces. "It's that much of an effort?"

"Not when I'm with Bart or Spoiler. Other times... yes, very much so." Tim cocks his head to the side again. "You already know that about me."

"The whole *community* knows you're a spook, Robbie. I will grant that most of them don't know how deep that goes, but some of us? Have a pretty good idea of *just* that."

"Then that should tell you everything you need to know."


No, *what*?

Not enough, Roy's mind answers, and Roy's not stupid. He *knows* that demand isn't coming from his *fore*brain. His lizard brain -- as usual -- has something to say.

Dick is written between the lines, Connor is in the ink, but Roy -- and only Roy -- is making up the text of the message. Just --


He can be himself, too. Roy smiles ruefully and lets the heat take his gaze a little, lets it linger on those dark rust-colored nipples, that swollen mouth --

"Stop," Tim says, quiet and low and threaded with pure *command* --

But Roy isn't on his team. He gives himself a moment to really *focus* on those thighs, on the length of bone which means that Tim has at least another couple of inches to go before he stops growing --

"Roy. I'm not the one -- any of the ones -- you want right now." Quiet and so *reasonable*, and --

"He doesn't need you like this," Roy says, standing up and moving close.

Tim blinks up at him, and Roy thinks he can *feel* him wishing he hadn't flipped his lenses up, but -- he had. And Roy is going to take advantage at least a little. 

He rests his hands on Tim's shoulders and leans in. "He tells himself that he *does* need you like this -- it makes sense and matches a whole lot of kinks Dick has taught himself every little thing about -- but he really doesn't." Roy massages Tim's shoulders. "He needs your hands on him."

"Roy --"

"Shh, one sec. The last time we were making love, he told me that he wanted to finger you --"

"Oh -- God --"

"Because he's *Dick*, what that really means is that he wants to *fuck* you, but can't quite go that far *aloud*, yet."

"I -- resent you."

Roy's turn to blink --

"Heh. Yes," Tim says, twisting free and leaping down to the floor before beginning to pace. "You know more about my family than I do."

"We're not -- and we don't *have* to be -- strangers, Tim --"

Tim holds up a hand as he stalks out the space around his bed, stops, and moves to stand with the drafting table between them. "I've wanted you to be more than you are to me."

"It can happen --"

"I *haven't* wanted it to be -- because of this," Tim says, and there's something --

"That was a lie."

Tim's lip curls up -- he stops it. "The fact that I've been attracted to you... it has nothing to do with my desire to be closer. I don't *think* that way."

The truth, but -- "You can start."

"Oh -- really. All right, Roy -- what do you want from me?"

"Contact. *Touch*. The chance -- the chance to know you at least a little better than I do."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "And you're *quite* sure you don't just want to take something -- *else* -- from Dick?"

Roy steps back and shakes his head --

"Hn. Yes. How *does* it feel to never quite have all of his heart? To know -- in your bones, even -- that he'll never belong to you?"

Roy exhales sharply, and -- he pretty much has to smile, since he doesn't actually want to punch the kid. "It hurts. But I don't work that way. *We* don't work that way -- not me and Dick, not this little community of ours."

Tim -- pauses. Just a little stilling all over.

"And maybe I should explain that? Okay, fine -- you *have* started real damned late --"

"Not all of us need sex the way humans need oxygen, Roy --"

"And maybe I found something else to be addicted to? Yeah, I can go with that. But -- seriously," Roy says, raising his hands and pushing a little at the air before walking closer slowly --

Tim holds his ground --

And Roy nods as soothingly as possible. "When this community works the way it should -- and it actually *mostly* does -- we're all taking and giving with each other. We're all needing and *having* each other, because the alternative is having nothing to hold onto for those times when it all goes to *shit*."

Tim frowns lightly. "I've had this conversation already --"

"Because your little team already knows the score well enough. It was... Kon, right?"

The frown quirks -- "Yes. But --"

"But of *course* he already knows the score, because he's built *exactly* right for this life. Not everyone is. *Dick* wasn't completely, but he's a *Bat*, and knew exactly how to rebuild himself -- and that's exactly what he did."

Tim looks away, exposing a cheek still more downy than stubbled --

Roy doesn't reach out. "Yeah, you already knew that."

"Yes. I -- hn. The last time we spoke, he seemed to be trying to tell me that he would be perfectly fine with me hooking up with *Oracle* someday. I --" Tim laughs and shakes his head before looking up to meet Roy's eyes. "Okay, we're all either designed for this sort of thing or designed to *make* ourselves designed for it. That doesn't mean that sex suddenly rates above deep, honest *conversation*."

Roy grins and cups Tim's shoulders again. "And what do you think we're doing right now?"

"We -- are embroiled in a conversation wherein you take an interesting tack in order to get me into bed --"

"Or onto the floor, against a wall --"

Tim snorts. "I like to save my potentially dangerous athleticism for the *Mission* --"

"*Such* a lie --"

"God, Roy --"

"I mean, that was fucking impressive, really. The way you got your snort to sound natural and everything --"

"It *was* natural --"

"Heh. You..." Roy grins wider and shakes his head. "I can *see* why you have such a hard time being yourself most of the time. *You're* designed to be a lying little bastard."

Tim looks -- affronted.

"Well, you *are*."

And then Tim looks down and smiles ruefully. "I'm lying about something every second I'm home with my father and stepmother."

"And the reason why you didn't just say parents...?"

"Hn. I love my stepmother very much. Every time I think of her as my mother, my memories of my biological mother seem to fade that much more. It's an... issue. I'm working on it."

Roy nods. "No doubt, no doubt... but seriously, Tim, you *know* you need to spend more time with people you can be honest with --"

"I can't -- I can't be entirely honest with Dick."

"What -- why *not*?"

Tim meets his eyes again --

Tim stops, grabs the little bottle of solvent from the edge of the drafting table, spritzes himself, and removes the mask.

"Okay. I'm getting that you not only want to be honest, but want me to *know* you're being honest -- and I meant to tell you that you're pretty much excellent at using the shadows to hide your upper face even when your lenses are up --"

Tim laughs softly. "Thank you. I don't actually practice. Which is to say, I spend long hours practicing how *not* to do it."

Roy offers his own rueful smile. "Okay, tell me."

Tim nods. "All right. Our relationship isn't *quite* older brother/worshipful younger brother, anymore, but that's what it's *built* on. Just -- a very long time of *that*, because I couldn't look at Dick without slipping back, inside, to the toddler he hugged and promised to do his singular trick for. And... I think you know some of that?"

Roy holds back the wince by main force, because -- "He. He used to be pretty creeped-out by you. But he's *not*, anymore --"

"I know," Tim says, and smiles gently. "I do know that..." He shakes his head and twists free again, moving to perch on the stool once more. "He stopped being creeped-out before I stopped being more worshipful than anything else. I think... I always imagined that he figured out how useful I could be --"

"He figured out that he was pretty damned obsessive, *too*, laughed at himself, and decided to enjoy what you could give him -- which is a lot. I... most of me can't believe he didn't tell you that, himself."

Tim frowns and strokes the edge of the sketchpad, back and forth and back again -- he stops. "He really..."

"You're his brother. Or -- no. You're *his* brother, and he not only knows that, but he knows what it *means*," and Roy...

He knows touch isn't *needed* for this kind of conversation... but he also knows what he wants.

What he's starting to *need*.

He rests one hand on the back of Tim's neck --

"I don't let my teammates touch me there."

"Too sensitive?"

"In one particular way. My entire neck... hn. It's a -- minor -- erogenous zone."

"You gave your team good, tactical reasons why they couldn't touch you here."

"Of course. And... I'm considering letting Bart and probably Kon kiss me there tomorrow morning. If it... comes up."


"Oh... absolutely. We have... something of a small family unit amidst the three of us --"

"Bart's your son."

Tim shifts in his crouch and raises his head, making it a *kind* of necessary for Roy to squeeze him a little --

Tim shivers and sighs --

Tim laughs. "Yes. Yes, he is. It's possible -- *probable* -- that he was never supposed to be, but I know, deep inside, that I've been more of a parent to him than basically anyone else. Even Max Mercury was more of a mentor and guardian."

"I... can see that."

"Mm. And there's a wince in your voice because you know exactly how difficult it will be to explain *that* to Dick. I mean, *one* of the reasons why I never really imagined it was possible to be with him sexually is that nothing seems to shut his libido down faster than being put in a guardianship position."

"That's. That's true, but --"

"But *you* know that he wants me just the same. I --" Tim frowns. "Is it. It's hurting him."

Roy squeezes Tim's neck --

Tim shivers --

"Yeah, Tim. It is. He has... he has pretty bad nightmares about wanting you and not getting to have you. Not *every* night, but... well. I'm not sure if he's figured out just how close those nightmares are to the ones he has about Bruce."

"Oh -- God. I resent you."

"Because I have more of Dick than you do -- that doesn't have to *last*, Tim --"

"No, I suppose it doesn't. But... it does with Jason. Jay."

Roy blinks and stops -- and realizes that he'd been *massaging* the back of Tim's neck. "You... and him?"

"I never met him. I've been close enough to him to take... oh, incredible pictures of him beating the hell out of people. I've been close enough to almost *taste* the cologne Bruce dumped on him for some society ball or another -- not to mention tasting his *horrible* mood -- but. I never met him."

"And that didn't stop you from loving him."

Tim closes his eyes and lets his head hang.

Roy strokes Tim's back with both hands, reassuring himself with scars, turning himself *on* with scars -- "I was thinking about him on my way to your room."

"You. You have a lot to think about -- Roy," Tim says, and his voice is abruptly hard and serious. "I'm not going to get between you and Connor --"

"*Jay* now. For you. For both of us --"

"I --" Tim laughs softly, and it sounds like a whole damned lot of the fight is out of him. "I won't say no to that. I *can't* say no to that."

Roy nods, mostly for himself -- though he wouldn't be surprised if Tim could sense him doing it. "He was beautiful. You know that, but I don't think... you saw him angry and bottled-up and you saw him on the street. You *didn't* see him kicking back and relaxing, or sparring with Dick, or hitting on Kory like there was no tomorrow..."

"God, I can... well, yes, I can imagine that."

"Yeah, I -- all right, wait. One second. Okay?"

"I'm listening."

"There's a way -- back when we were *all* kids, we used massage to get us closer to each other. I -- can I?"

The back of Tim's neck gets just a little pink, and, when Roy checks, he's smiling. "Titans Together."

"*Always*, little 'mano."

Tim snorts. "I -- well. The bed?"

"Sure," and Roy pulls back --

Tim gets up and moves to the bed. There's a *moment* when it almost seems like he'll ditch his boxer-briefs, but -- he doesn't. It's still good enough, though -- he lies right down with his head resting on his folded arms.

Roy ditches his boots, socks, and half-gloves, wishing for an excuse to ditch his top, too, but -- no. He wouldn't *have* this uniform if he couldn't move well in it. He crawls up between Tim's legs and starts to work on him in earnest. "You ever do this for Bart?"

"Only when I want to drive him insane. I'm not actually capable of touching him completely clinically."

"I think that was a *little* lie."

"Hn. Well... all right. I'm capable. But I don't like that part of me very much."

"The Bat."

"I'd much, much rather be the Bat*man*, for all that I've had very little reference for how that would work."

"Dick always worries about how cold you and Bruce can be with each other."

"He... he isn't wrong to worry. But he also is. Sometimes, when we're only playing with each other, it's positively wintry. But even winter has moments of pleasure. Companionship."

"Dick is made for spring."

Tim sighs. "Agreed. I... tell me more --"

"About Jay, yeah, I hear you. Kory... Kory loved him. Just *loved* him. I always thought -- and I *wasn't* alone -- that if Dick hadn't been in the picture, if Dick hadn't been so *impossible* not to love... well."

"Jason... and Starfire. As a *couple*. I... wow. That sounds like a recipe for mass devastation, actually."

"Heh. *Absolutely*. With the two of them fucking like animals on *top* of a pile of bleeding bodies and rubble. You know... *do* you know that Jay actually joined Dick and Kory a couple of times?"

Tim blushes. "I... it seemed... reasonable. Once I was able to deduce that Dick and Jason *had* hooked up. I... and you, too, right?"

"Never with Dick there, but that was more a matter of timing than anything else. Dick twisted himself up pretty hard to be *fair* to Jay, and Jay... well, Jay was a *smart* kid. Once he figured out that Dick wouldn't ever try to do an end-run around him, he opened right up. Jay... Jay needed more than Bruce could give him."

"It seems..." Tim shifts slightly --

"Too much pressure?"

"I -- no. The base of my spine is very sensitive."

And Roy *is* stroking and massaging right there. "Another -- minor -- fun-zone?"

"Perhaps not quite that -- *ohn* --"

"Heh. *Noted*, little 'mano," and Roy moves on. "Tell me what you were gonna say before."

"I -- it seems unfair. And I know that's ridiculously young and... *problematic*, but it's my understanding that *everyone* knew that Bruce gave Jay... well, everything."

"He couldn't give him friends his own age, or a place to go where it *wasn't* always either training or what was probably fucking *incredible* sex --"

"Probably? And -- ah. Forgive me, but I believe -- I *have* to believe -- that Bruce can and did offer more than that."

Roy pauses at Tim's triceps. "You love him."

"Occupational hazard."

"I -- heh. More than that, though. You're kind of protective of him."

"Again --"

"No," Roy says, and strokes the skin over a pressure point.

Tim sighs and smiles ruefully. "Dick hugged me when I was three. Batman *saved* Dick. I won't say I was *equally* focused -- I wasn't -- but... well. We're talking about nearly my entire life, Roy."

"And he's lived up to everything --"

"No. No, he hasn't. But he's lived up to -- and beyond -- many, many things the child I was never could have imagined. I... I've thought about leaving him -- or quitting entirely -- any number of times, but he always finds ways to... no, not that, either. I..." Tim laughs quietly again. "I can't imagine going. Not for very long. He's going to die someday -- possibly before I do -- and then I'm not going to have his eyes on me, or hear that -- that *nothing* of a laugh, or feel a gauntleted hand on my shoulder, or see him seeing *me*, knowing me and thinking I'm good enough.... so. Yes, I love him. And part of me is going to enjoy telling him that *just* for the inevitable -- and oh, *so* rare -- moment of poleaxed shock."

Which... heh. "Maybe you're just better suited for Bruce's incredibly *special* personality than other people."

"I also have to believe... well, all right, chances are that there *isn't* someone for everyone out there, but... God, wouldn't it be wonderful if there were? To be able to *know* that, to *have* that against the dark times --"

"The fucking *lonely* times --"

"Yes. Yes, *those*. And, certainly, I've had my share. And no, Bruce *didn't* actually help with those. But... I think he would've if I'd asked. After all, it's not like a game of chess now and then *wouldn't* also count as training."

That... "I guess it would be better than sitting up all night watching Christmas movies, at that."

"I... what?"

Roy shakes his head. "Just thinking about something Dick said once about Bruce failing to do anything about *his* loneliness."

"I -- oh."

"Yeah, that," Roy says, and moves to Tim's other shoulder. "Jay wasn't lonely."


"No. Not like that. He always knew Bruce would be right there for him -- and he learned *quickly* not to say anything like that in front of Dick, and I'm just --I'll never stop being grateful that he let *me* see it -- anyway. Jay... like I said, he needed people his own age, and we didn't really count for that as much as we could've, but he wasn't *lonely*. If anything... if anything, he needed *space*."

"Space. From... Bruce. Ah. Hm."

"Yeah, does *not* compute, I know. The first time he really opened up to me about that stuff... well, I was *glad* that I'd gotten him a little drunk first, because otherwise I would *not* have been able to hide my expressions. And -- yeah, *probably* incredible sex, because he never really talked in detail about *that*... but. He'd get this look on his face whenever he'd -- almost -- mention it. His eyes -- which were fucking gorgeous and more like a really *lucky* woman's than a man's -- would get all hazy and he'd swallow a few times... and then he'd shake himself like a dog and smile ruefully. And ask me to change the subject."

Tim shivers --

And Roy takes a moment to chafe him a little, warm him up... "You must *freeze* in the winters."

"I will *not* miss bare elbows when I change my uniform. And I've considered a full-face cowl."

"Like Batgirl's?"

"Mm. More blank than hers. And *thicker*."

"Heh. I hear you. Practical *and* terrifying. Jay... *no* one talked more shit about his uniform than he did, but everyone -- and I mean *everyone* -- could tell that he secretly loved it, and was more proud of it than pretty much anything else."

"Oh, I... I wore one of his uniforms once. His *first* uniform -- which was still too big for me. I thought -- well, no, I *didn't* think. I was just... a *ball* of feeling until several hours after I stripped the suit *off* and gave it back to Alfred to care for. I've wanted... I've spent a lot of time wanting to walk in his footsteps."

"You want a lot more than that," Roy says, and rests his hands on Tim's ass.

Tim laughs -- "I -- timing?"

"Always the best, little 'mano. C'mon, own it --"

"I wanted him. I *still* want him. I want to see what makes him laugh and then do it repeatedly. I want to watch him make love with Bruce and I want to join him. I want to patrol with him. I want... he had so much *power* --"

"Oh, fuck yeah. I've *watched* him punch a guy and send him *flying*. Like, he told me it was an actual problem -- that sometimes he'd accidentally hit someone so hard that they'd fly far enough away that they could *get* away."

Tim snorts and *chokes* --

"Heh, I like that sound. And? He did that at least twice. The *only* people I know who could put more behind a punch at the end -- when you factor in body weight and lack of superpowers -- are Bruce and fucking Ted *Grant*."

Tim sighs. "I used to want to... well, no, I was about to tell you a lie. Sometimes I *still* want to... just be *like* him. To swagger as much as I walk, to smile and make people *know* they're going to *hurt* --"

"I got news for you, little 'mano -- you already *do* that. The smile thing, I mean."

"It's not the same --"

"*You're* not the same," Roy says, and a part of him just *is* noticing how much tension Tim *isn't* carrying right now... yeah. "You're not the same -- and that's just fine. Robin fills a hole everyone in this whole *community* has, but? He always fills it *differently*. Whoever's *your* Robin will probably wish like hell they could be like *you* -- just like Jay sometimes wished he could be like Dick -- and then... well, hell. Maybe you'll do better than Bruce at making him or her know that it's cool that he or she's *not*."

Another sigh. "He... Bruce... I know he respects me. I know he cares about me. I know... I want to make him less lonely."

Roy strokes down to just beneath Tim's ass and *grips* those long, lean thighs. "Tim. Some people are gonna be lonely no matter what you -- or anyone *else* -- does."

"But --"

"No, listen to me, I've thought about this, okay?"

"I -- I'm listening."

Roy squeezes a little harder for a moment --

And Tim spreads his legs just a *little* bit more.

"Oh... hey..."

"I --" Tim blushes. "Talk. Please."

"Mind if I touch while I talk?"

Tim closes his eyes. "Roy... this isn't the best idea."

"It's not the worst one, though," and Roy strokes down Tim's thighs and -- spreads them even wider. "You can tell me about your Dick fantasies. I could tell *you* --"

"Jay. Give me -- it's been a *hole* in me --"

"He loved kissing more than -- more than a lot of damned things. One night we spent so long making out that we were too tired to do more than jerk each other off."

"Oh -- oh, God --"

"One night -- one *day* -- we sat up on the roof of the Tower for hours. I got a sunburn in some *unfortunate* places. Jay... he just got golden," and Roy cups Tim a little, feels him -- "You feel good."

"Ah. So do you."

"Yeah...? I can feel better --"

Tim snorts again and pushes up onto his hands before flipping over onto his back. His eyes are narrow and his bulge is --

Tempting. Roy cups him again and gives him a squeeze --

"I -- Roy --"

"You don't need your control with me, Tim. You don't ever... heh. Maybe I'm just a little spoiled."

"Ah -- how so?"

"I've gotten *used* to seeing you Bats without your masks on. Without your *armor*."

Tim touches his tongue to his upper lip. "Yes, I. I suppose you have. I --"

"Jay's cock was... mm. Thick. Even when he only had a few inches."

Tim moans -- and covers Roy's hand with his own. "Roy. I -- I. We both --"

"You want me. I want you."

"That's not *enough* --"

"You know it is. You *know* it."

Tim squeezes Roy's hand -- and thus his own cock.

"You like it hard."

"Sometimes. Often. I --"

"You ever let Bart get over on you?"

"We -- discussed it at length. He's not comfortable with the emotional... side effects of that. He told me that he doesn't feel ready to see me on my knees."

"He needs you... heh. A certain *kind* of strong."

Tim smiles ruefully and sits up on his elbows. "I feel the same way about Bruce."

"Tell me about Dick."

"I --"

"Give this to me. I'll only give it to him if you tell me I can --"


"I -- heh. What was my tell?"

Tim's smile is wry. "You didn't have one -- and I didn't need you to have one. Dick's your brother, and you love him more than nearly anything -- or anyone -- else. You'd give him everything. You *do* give him everything."

Roy sighs and starts working Tim through his briefs. "Yeah, I do. And I'll give him this -- the feel of you hard and *hot* beneath your sexy, sexy underwear."

"Bruce bought these for me."


"Hn. All right, no, not these in *particular*... but I grew taller and heavier while I was living in the manor and my father was in that coma. Bruce and Alfred picked a wardrobe for me that included burgundy boxer-briefs. I *had* only worn plain briefs before then... well."

That -- Roy snickers. "You know how good you look in these, don't you?"

"Certainly, my lovers appreciate them on me."

"Uh, hunh. I'd appreciate them off you."

Those eyes get narrow again --

"You know, they look *only* grey when you do that in this light."

"Do you like it?"

"You look too cold, little 'mano. It makes me wanna heat you up."

"Some cold goes down to the bone."

"Some heat goes a lot farther than that."

Tim shows his teeth and tilts his head back, bending one knee up --

"It's killing him that you didn't moan for him the last time he saw you. He thinks you don't need him anymore."

"I'll always need him. I'll always want him. I'll always love him."

"And you'll always hold yourself back?"

Tim's smile is rueful and ancient -- "No. Not that. Right now, more than anything else, I'm afraid I won't be able to give Dick *enough*."

"You can."

"Roy, I'm in love... I'm in love all over the place. And this life -- this *weekend* -- is telling me that I can *have* the people I love. I can't -- I *won't* -- say no. Not to any of it."

Roy takes a breath --

"Hn. Yes, Roy. I've wanted you... well. You're a beautiful man. You're a kind man. You're a *strong* man -- stronger than most because of everything you've suffered and because of *how* you pulled yourself --"

"I had help."

"You're yourself, and I've wanted to know how you kiss for --"

No question, no *hesitation*, because it feels too damned good to haul Tim up into his arms, to hold him close, to give him *this* kiss -- because Jay hadn't *taught* him to love it messy, but he'd damned well taught him to love it even more than he already had --

Tim moans and cups Roy's shoulder with one hand and the back of Roy's head with the other --

Tim presses close --

Tim gives him the kiss right *back*, because someone had taught *him* that when it's wet it should be wetter, when it's loud it should be *louder* --

Roy grabs Tim's ass and squeezes, spreads him through the boxer-briefs --

Tim grunts and *bucks*, and yeah, he's wanted this from *someone*. Sometimes that's enough, too. Roy slips one hand under the material, one finger into that hot place, that *dark* place where everything is sweat and oil and musk --

"*Roy* --"

"Shh, I've got you, little 'mano. We can play this any way you want."

"I -- I." Tim grits his teeth and turns away *while* pushing back against Roy's finger --

And Roy has dealt with mixed messages before. Just -- he kisses Tim's jaw line, soft with his lips and just a little hard with his stubble. He kisses his way to Tim's ear, breathes there --


"He jerks off thinking about you, Tim. I've *watched* him try to figure out what kind of rhythm you'd like --"

"God, I -- don't, Roy --"

"He spreads his -- God, his *beautiful* body out on his empty bed --"

"No --"

"He *reaches* for you --"

"*No*," Tim says, pulling back and glaring. "Not Dick. Not here. Not -- not *now*, all right?"

Roy takes a breath. "Then -- Jay?"

The glare becomes another one of those old, old smiles as Tim reaches to stroke Roy's mouth. "How about just you?"

And that -- that's enough for a *seize* inside, because -- "I didn't know you."


"I didn't *want* you, Tim --"

"Hn. I figured as much. Things change," he says, and it's not a question until he raises his eyebrow.

Roy laughs and *yanks* Tim's boxer-briefs down --

"*Roy* --"

"*Fuck*, yeah, things change. *All* the time."

Tim tilts his head back -- no. He offers his *throat*.

Roy growls --

"Some things -- some *protocols* -- remain the same -- *hnh* --"

"That for my hand around your throat? How much *can* I push?"

Tim lets his eyes slip most of the way closed. "I'll tell you... when to stop."

Roy squeezes --

Tim *pumps* his hips -- and keeps pumping. One thrust after another until Roy's uniform pretty much has to be chafing that blood-dark cock -- yeah.

Roy shoves Tim down onto his back and squeezes hard. "Blow a kiss when you need to breathe, little 'mano," and Roy wraps his other hand around Tim's cock, squeezing and giving him a corkscrewing stroke --

Tim opens his mouth -- and no sound comes out but a thin and *wrong* little whistle of air.

"Haven't -- haven't played *this* game too much --"

"It's not a game," Tim mouths -- and *smiles* --

"Heh. Okay, you can fuck with me *while* I'm doing this. Maybe I need to do you another -- way."

And yes, that really *is* Tim reaching blind to open the drawer of his bedside table and taking out a bottle of slick --

A bottle of slick that's seen some *use*, and yeah, that's *always* enough to make Roy twitch in his pants --

Pants that need to come off *soon* --

"Does he ever call you Daddy?"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut -- shakes his head --

"Or -- heh. Kon-El was the Daddy. You -- were something else."

Tim nods and reaches up to grip Roy's arm, stroke and *touch* --

"No, *slick* my hand, little 'mano, little *mommy* --"

And *that's* what a snort sounds like -- *feels* like -- when there's no air for it. Jesus --

"I love making you *laugh* --"

"Make me *come*" is the mouthed response, and --

"Maybe I should make you wait for it," Roy says, loosening his grip enough for --

Tim growls, sits up, and *dumps* slick on Roy's right hand, which --

"Okay, maybe not. Uh -- do you have condoms?"

"You don't?"

"I didn't actually plan to screw *anyone* this weekend --"

And Tim's got his eyebrow up high --

"Okay, yeah, that was *incredibly* short-sighted of me --"

"You were -- just -- with Starfire."

"You should really call her Kory more often. She *likes* you."

"I like -- and fear -- her. Hmm. You... I'm not sure I want to go down on you if you've just been -- ah."

Roy licks his lips. "That's -- that's what you wanted?"

Tim grins -- it's something *between* a real smile and a threat -- and starts sliding the slick all over Roy's fingers. "I want you to finger me -- and continue to say things designed to drive me up the outside wall of the *Tower*. And then -- yes. I want to swallow you. Dick... Dick refused to *not* tell me about your... accessories."

Roy squeezes himself through his pants. Just -- hard enough to really *feel* the ladder --

"Oh... Roy..."

"You're into that."

"I've... thought about getting my own."

"For Dick?"

"For me," Tim says, and that smile just gets sharper. "I like to hurt, Roy. It always... hn. Narrows my focus."

Well... fuck. Fuck and fuck some *more* -- "I like you."

"The feeling is entirely mutual. Now, I *could* just use one of my condoms on you... but."

"You want more."

"I always do," Tim says, and drags Roy's hand down and down...

"You don't know where I've been. Not everywhere --"

"Does anyone?"

"Heh. *Good* point. And maybe you like the idea of living dangerously."

"Certainly, I like the idea of living dangerously with *you*."

Roy narrows his eyes and starts to rub his slick fingers behind Tim's sac -- "Because you think I'm safe?"

"Hn. What's safer than family?"

Roy's a little too breathless to *laugh*, but --

"How do you want me?"

"On your back, with those legs spread just as wide as they go, little 'mano. I'm gonna do you *exactly* the way I did Dick the last time."

Tim pants once, twice -- "Hard."

"He cried."

"*Fuck* --" And Tim drops onto his back, spreads his legs and *arches* --

"You thought about him when you fucked yourself --"

"Him, Bruce, Clark, Kon, Jason, Oracle --"

"Jesus fucking --"

"Connor," Tim says, and raises that eyebrow *again* --

And yeah, that *was* enough to make Roy growl, make him push in with two instead of *testing* --

"*Hnh* -- Roy --"

"Don't play him. Just don't -- don't fucking *play* him --"

"Never --"

"Not even the way you play *me* --"

"Friend -- *good* friend --"

"The *best*, I --" Roy growls again and shakes his head. "You got toys?"

"Second drawer --"

"Love the fact that you *don't* keep them hidden --"

And Tim's smile is wide and *bright* even though his eyes are already dazed --

Maybe *because* they are --

"I *like* being honest --"

"*Liar*," Roy says, and he's laughing *and* fucking, challenging himself a little to stay away from Tim's prostate --

Tim's just tight enough to *make* that a challenge --

And -- fuck, just --

Working his hips in perfect little circles, in just the right *rhythm* -- but.

"Stay still."

"Roy --"

"Stay *still* --"

Tim grunts and does it, tensing up hard enough to make Roy think about giving him the kind of massage that makes any date an all-night thing --

The *best* kind of date --

But Connor wants to talk to him, wants to --

God, to have Connor like *this* --

But he'd be gentle, or at least -- he'd try to go *easy*, to give him as much *uncomplicated* pleasure as possible, try to give him the *right* kind of first time, the kind that doesn't leave you wondering who you are and what you're doing --

And yeah, Roy will *always* be just that conflicted about Ollie buying him Jilly-the-pro's time for his fourteenth birthday --

And none of that is *here*. Here --

Here is Robin, all over again for the *first* time, because this Robin doesn't smile unless it's a weapon aimed at *someone*, and this Robin will never steal a case of Roy's beer *or* offer to share it out of his own *mouth*.

*This* Robin is panting and tossing his head. This Robin is curling his toes and grunting for *every* thrust. This Robin --

"You've been dying for this --"

"*Yes* --"

"You've just -- *nn*. I can *hear* you begging for it in your head, in your great big bed in the manor --"

"Always -- every night --"

"Stretching yourself wide --"

"For *him* --"

"For me right now," Roy says, smiling his own weapons and *gripping* Tim's dick. "Tell me to make you come again."

"Ah -- fuck -- make me *come* --"

"Absolutely," and Roy strokes him once --

Twice --

Three times --

"*Roy* --"

He lets go and grips Tim's fuzzy little *sac*, instead --

"*Fuck* --"

"Not fast enough, little 'mano. This is what comes from having too *much* control."

Tim laughs breathlessly -- "God, *fuck* you --"

"Yeah, maybe -- but *Clark's* been reaming me for years, little 'mano. Might not be much of a ride for *you*."

Tim laughs again *and* plants his feet, fucking himself on Roy's fingers like maybe he's been wanting this --

For exactly as long as he has. Roy licks his lips. "Ever want *my* cock?"

"God, right *now* -- wait. Wait, no, I -- I have to --" Tim shakes his head and groans, clawing at the sheets --

"It feels like it would be cheating. *More* cheating."

"*Yes* -- and. I know it's ridiculous --"

"It isn't. But -- heh. Keep the option in *mind*, little 'mano."

"God, the way you *talk* --"


*Another* laugh -- and a high tenor *cry* when Roy crooks his fingers *just* right --

"Maybe I'll call your comm some night when you're all suited up and buttoned *down*."

"Oh -- *fuck* --"

"Maybe... heh. There are a *lot* of shadows in Gotham..."

"Made -- it's made of them, built from them --"

"And those go deeper than anything else --"

"God -- *please*, Roy --"

"Please what?"

"Please -- fuck me harder, give me *more* --"

Roy grunts and crooks again --

"*Roy* --"

-- and starts giving it to Tim as hard as he would give it to Dick --

"Fuck -- fuck -- ow, fuck, don't *stop* --" And Tim is beating at the bed with one fist, clawing at the sheets with the other --

"I love the smell of your *sweat*, kid --"

"Please --"

"It really -- *really* -- lets me know that I'm doing a good *job* --"

"Good hands, such good *hands* --"

"Like my calluses?"

"*Yes* --"

"Want more --"

"*Yes*," and Tim sits up on his elbows and starts working his hips *faster* than Roy's thrusts --

"Oh, yeah?"

Tim growls and pants, tosses his head --

"*Fuck*, you're a hot little thing --"

"*Fuck* me --"

And the only thing to do --

The only thing he *can* do if he's going to keep this anything like sane, light enough to fight back any *regrets* --

"I want this *again*," Roy says, and it's more of a growl than anything like speech, it's --

He's holding Tim down with one hand on his abdomen, pressing *hard* --

"Come. From. *This*," Roy says, speeding up and letting himself be more than a little brutal, more than a little *wrong* --

But if Connor ever wanted this, ever wanted to feel *everything* Roy could give --

Tim cries out loud --

He does it again --

*Again*, and his cock has almost no curve to it. Just -- it's twitching for him, leaking for him, or --

"Who are you *thinking* about, kid --"

"*You*. *Fucking* me --"

Roy feels *himself* twitching and leaking, and it's a damned good thing he'd brought extra uniforms. Just --

He's gotta remember that Tim doesn't *want* that, yet, doesn't --

It would be so easy to *lose* himself in this, to just --

He can't --

Roy pulls out --

"*No* --"

"Kneel *up* --"

Tim does it with a grunt, shaking and bracing himself on Roy's shoulders --

And it's just right to kiss him this way, to fucking *take* that hard little mouth while he seeks and presses with his fingers, seeks and finds --

*In*, and Tim shouts into his mouth but *doesn't* stop kissing --

*Good* fucking boy, and Roy can't help thinking about *all* the things he likes to do with good boys, all the toys a kid like Tim *might* wanna play with if Roy ever managed to lure him back to his place --

God, Dick could *watch* -- and probably lose his mind in the bad way, so -- no. But still --

"Want you, kid. Want you so much --"

"Does it *hurt* --"

"*Fuck* yeah, it does. And it's gonna hurt even worse when I shove my dick down your *throat* --"

Tim *screams* -- and cuts himself off with another kiss, a darker kiss, a harder, *toothier* kiss --

So much *better*, and Roy wants to tell Tim that Jason would've loved him, loved this --

He can't stop kissing and he *can't* stop fucking, because Tim --

God, Robin always knows *just* the right ways to cheat, to rig the fucking *game*. Tim's fucking himself against Roy's uniform, and --

Fuck it. Roy yanks his top up enough that Tim can get to his abdomen --

Tim *whimpers* and starts to shake, starts to lose it just that *fast* --

"Yeah, skin *is* always better. Can't wait to feel your mouth on me, pretty boy --"

That gets him a *gurgle* --

"Heh, can't decide if you like that, can you. Maybe I'll make you *my* pretty boy..."

"God -- *Roy* --"

"You've never had that. You don't know how sweet it can *be* --"

"Can't -- I -- *please* --"

"I'll ride you hard and put you away *wet*, baby... and Jason would do the same damned thing if he could --"

"*Hnh* -- I -- oh, God, I --"

"Yeah, you can come for me *any*time you want, baby --"

"Need -- I need --"

"*What* do you need? You know I got you --"

"Another -- another finger --"

*Roy* thrusts -- and pulls out enough to give it to him, just -- just one *second* --

"*Please* --" Cut off with a *loud* scream, and if Kory's in the hall, she's thinking thoughts --

If Bart's in the hall, he's *vibrating* --

If Connor is --

A *short* scream, cut off with a choke, a *shudder* -- and Tim's coming all over both of them --

Shaking and *jerking* --

Grunting for every thrust and sometimes just for the *feel* --

"Oh, baby, that's so *sweet*..."

And Tim clutches at Roy's shoulders and slumps, clenching randomly and panting like the aftermath of a *beating* --

And Roy is never, ever, *ever* gonna get tired of being able to do this to people, being able to *have* this with the best people, the most beautiful and brave and *real* --

Tim's breath hitches once --

A few times --

He's laughing, shaking his head and just -- laughing. Letting it *out*. Well.

"Heh. Share the joke?"

Tim squeezes Roy's shoulders one more time and waves a hand. "No joke. Just... ah. Wow. That was..." Tim looks up and meets Roy's eyes with a smile. "That was *exactly* as mind-blowing as I always thought it would be."

"With that *impressive* list of people?"

"Roy. *No* one has a more impressive list than you do."

"Heh. You're just starting out, pretty boy. I have *faith* in you."

That gets him a smile sunny enough that it only looks like Tim's thinking of stabbing people a *little*. "'Pretty boy,' hunh?"

"If the fingers fit..." And Roy wiggles them a little bit.

Tim narrows his eyes and growls. "Pull out."

"You sure about that?"

"Oh... very much so. You're about to go in my bathroom and wash Starfire off. Then you're going to come back here and fuck my throat."

And yeah, his cock has things to *say* about that... Roy licks his lips. "Breathe --"

"*Do* it."

Little. Baby. *Bat* -- and he's gonna forget about that pretty much never. Roy pulls out as slow as that *command* lets him manage and gets up, stripping and heading for the bathroom.

It only takes a few moments for the water to get warm enough that he won't *scream* when he hits himself with the washcloth -- yeah. Fuck, right now the texturing on the damned cloth is good enough that he has to brace himself on the *wall*. Just --

Hot boy.

Hot fucking *boy*, and that was --

He could've had him. *Really* had him, and they could've driven themselves crazy with it, needy with it --

Somewhere, Clark has got a front row seat for *just* this -- or wishes he did. He *already* wanted Tim, and now --

Yeah. Yeah. He'll talk about *that*.

Roy rinses the cloth, hangs it up about a fraction as neatly as the other ones are, and heads back in --

To find Tim on his knees on the floor, face twisted into a *razor* of a smile --

"I've *seen* Bruce smile like that, you know."

"Hn. Should I try to lower my voice?"

Clark, giving him a *parade* of voices -- Roy shakes it off and gives himself a hard squeeze, enough to get him leaking again. "Can you?"

"Not well. Though..." Tim narrows his eyes. "Get over here. *Now*."

Fucking -- "Okay, first of all? That's wonderful. Second -- there is no way in hell that you'll ever get Bart to fuck *you* if you keep that up --"


"*Third*," Roy says, and moves close, close enough to bump his knees on that skinny little chest, close enough to push *in* --

Tim narrows his eyes and takes all of him. Just --

"Third, I -- God, your *throat* --"

Deep-chested groan that's more communication than appreciation, and -- can't have that.

Heh. Roy shoves a hand into Tim's hair and gets a *good* grip --

And Tim's eyes narrow for a much better reason.

"Third... ever have Clark do his voice trick for you?"

An eyebrow raise -- and an *impressively* hard suck.

Roy grunts. "*I'm* not a meta. You can go a little easy on me."

The eyebrow gets higher.

"Heh." Roy strokes the bridge of Tim's nose. "Sometimes? I *don't* wanna hurt. Not even when it's *Clark*."

And ooh, those eyelids look nice and heavy *now*.

"He's listening to... oh, I'm willing to bet he's listening to every moment of this."

Tim starts trying to work his head -- and Roy holds him still.

"He *could* be watching. He told me that he's watched you before..."

There. Wide eyes showing more of the blue that makes him look *just* like a Robin -- at first glance.

"Uh, huh. He's a complete perv. Men, women, people who are something else, people who aren't -- strictly speaking -- people... you get the idea?"

Tim presses *up* with his tongue -- and nods.

"Move... move that tongue a little more. Really *taste* me -- yeah. Yeah, like that."

And Tim's expression starts to burn a little, starts to get a little of that vicious and *toppy* bastardy back...

"He wants you. *And* your boyfriend. And... he told me that Bruce is jealous."

Tim's throat tries to *reject* him -- but one good thrust stops that.

And cuts off what had sounded like the beginning of a *very* nice moan. Mm. Roy thrusts just a *few* more times, pulling out for *just* long enough to let Tim suck air through his nose --

"Love the way your nostrils flare, pretty boy..."


"Heh. I'm just saying, little 'mano -- you make even gasping look hot."

Narrowly *hot* look...

"Love the way you *talk*, too. You..." Roy grins and shakes his head. "You do so much with so *little*."

Tim pulls back against Roy's grip --

Roy lets him just a *little* --

And Tim hums loud and long, making Roy's cock twitch and *want* --

And he can absolutely *take*. He shoves in *hard*, listening for that *sweet* little gulp --

"God, yeah, so *good* --"

Tim tries to work his head on Roy --

"*Not* yet."

Tim stops and gives him a *burning* look.

"Heh. You know I'm gonna fuck your pretty mouth, *I* know I'm gonna fuck your pretty mouth... be *patient*."

And there's a laugh in Tim's eyes when he raises his arms -- and points to his wrist --

Because he has a date with his boyfriend. *And* with Connor --

Who's in the *hall* right now? Just --

"And if I wanna take it nice and slow? Take *you* nice and slow?"

Hot look -- and that tongue is working overtime, seeking and finding every bar of the frenum ladder it can reach and *playing* with them --

And Roy has to admit that this is going to last an extremely short period of time -- day of alien super-sexcapades be damned. Roy cups Tim's face with his free hand, strokes his cheekbone with his thumb. "You wanna do this with Clark."

Slow and *fervent* nod.

"Ever think about... heh. Calling him?"

Another nod.

"What would you do if *I* called him right now?"

Wide eyes -- even though Tim *should've* been able to see that coming.

"We could let him watch from *right* up close. Show him *just* how good you can be..."

Tim shivers and strains against the hold Roy has on him --


Tim *grips* Roy's hips -- but stills himself.

Roy nods and breathes through his mouth for a few moments. "He told me, once, that he gets off on the smell of horny teenagers more than pretty much anything else."

Wide eyes *again* --

"Heh. He didn't say it *that* way -- or in this language -- but it's what he *meant*."

Tim claws Roy's hips just a little --

<<Do you speak the Language?>>

Tim's eyes *start* to roll up -- he stops himself, shifts on his knees -- and nods.

<<Would you have me call to the one most high?>>

Tim squeezes his eyes shut --

<<Open. Now.>>

Tim shivers -- and his cock is starting to rise for the party again. That -- is a beautiful, beautiful thing, but --


Tim pulls back enough to pant, searches something behind his own eyes -- and shakes his head.

"You know you're disappointing him, right?"

Hesitation -- and a nod.

Roy grins. "I *love* boys with good self-esteem. In fact..." Roy thrusts five times and stops, doing his own panting. "You feel *so* good to me, pretty baby..."

And those short little fingernails bite *deep* -- and Tim starts mouthing him, putting a little pressure on with his teeth tucked under his lips --

Roy moans --

Tim keeps it *up* --

And Roy lets his head fall back for *just* a moment, just long enough to get a good, *solid* grip on the back of Tim's head so he can move him, *work* him --

Out and there's a moan --

In and it's choked off --

Out and Tim gasps --

In and there's a deep-chested *groan* --

"He -- he'll do you just this way if you ask him to. Nice, slow *torture* with that big, fat cock --

Tim shivers again --

"Yeah. He'll take you like you've *never* been taken before," Roy says, and grins down at Tim again. And licks his lips. "Dick won't -- can't -- give it to you this way. He loses *control* like no one else --"

Tim winces and *shudders* --

And Roy sucks in a breath. "God, you're sweet. Just so -- *mm*. This is something even your lovers don't get to see that much."

Hesitation -- and a nod.

"Don't ever think I don't feel *privileged*, Tim. Just -- God, I need --"

And this time Roy can't bring himself to stop Tim from working his head. It's just too much, too *sweet* with the muscular vise of Tim's throat and the *raw* heat of his mouth.

Like -- God, like fucking something much muskier, like --

"Fuck, little 'mano, I think if you had a pussy, the world would stop *spinning* --"

Coughed out --

And Tim is laughing around him, drooling and coughing more --

"Heh, I'm *gratified*, but..." Roy points at his own wrist --

And Tim swallows him in one gulp, groaning and stroking Roy's hips, *scratching* Roy's hips --

Sucking in hard little *pulses* --

"Fuck, yeah, just -- wanna *watch* you with Clark --"

Tim grabs Roy's ass and *pulls* --

"Can't *get* any deeper, little 'mano -- but. *Nn* -- he can. He can get so deep that you just --" Roy licks his lips and shakes his head. "Faster. Take me faster --"

And Tim does just that, taking it from him *exactly* like he's used to working over a speedster, like he's just that --

Fuck, but he's never getting tired of *Bats* --

"You -- you're gonna make me come... in about a minute."

*Focused* eyes --

"If you don't want it in your mouth -- and that's a shut-the-fuck-up-Roy, okay, I hear you, you don't *have* to crush my nuts --"

Tim narrows his eyes at him and squeezes *harder* --

"Oh, fuck *me*, but I could love the hell outta you. *Here*," Roy says, cupping Tim's face and holding it just right, just --

And the fuck feels like it *flows* out of him, feels --

God, he's made for this, *only* this, just like how the prettiest *boy* currently in Roy's world was made to *take* it, made --

Oh, his eyes are so *dazed*, so --

"You look so *lost* --"

And then there's *that* moan, that *choppy* moan that lets Roy know exactly how fast he's thrusting, how *raggedly* he's thrusting --

"Tim -- *Tim* --"

Riding his hips with his hands, staring up at him so sweet so *right* --

And the knot at the base of his spine turns into a bomb, turns him into something that can *only* twitch and spasm with it, spill and fucking *spill* for it --

"*Robin* --"

*Claws* hooked into his hips --

And it's a reflex he's grown *into* to spread his legs enough to brace for the yank -- that doesn't come.

Because he's having sex with *this* Robin, who has more and better things to do than roll around on the floor with him until they can cuddle. Heh.

Roy pulls out and drops into a crouch so he can stroke Tim's throat and get *glittered* at while Tim pants.

Roy grins. "Now what, pray tell, can I do for *you*?"

Tim hums and narrows his eyes like *Kory* after an orgasm -- no, he's not gonna make that comparison. Not this time, anyway. "You can tell me *which* Robin you were thinking about at the end."

"Uh... heh. The *ur*-Robin, I think --"

Tim laughs aloud. "Panties?"

"*So* tight. Though they were a green that would look good on you, I promise."

Tim touches his tongue to his upper lip and smiles. "Thank you."

"Thank *you*, sir --"

"May I have another?"

"Oh -- absolutely," Roy says, and pulls Tim into a messy, *salty* kiss --

A slow kiss --

A *long* kiss, because Tim is studying every surface of Roy's mouth with his tongue, and Roy is looking for every drop of come Tim didn't swallow --

So maybe it's a kiss of cross-purposes a little, but it gets the job done -- where the job is all about getting Roy back into his own skin enough that he remembers that Tim isn't the one he wants in his bed all night.

Hell, with all this sex... there probably won't be a safer time for it.

Roy kisses Tim, and keeps it up, and just deals with the fact that one of the reasons he's loving this so much is that Tim's lips are now swollen and soft.

Connor --

Tim pulls back and smiles at him ruefully. "You could consider telling him how you feel -- by which I mean, you should start with those feelings which are situated above the waist." 

"Is that what you did to make him want you?"

"Before Bart, before I was truly close to the Spoiler... I had Connor to be some variety of honest with. Some variety of... human."

"I -- you're saying I'm not human?"

"I'm *saying*... that you've made yourself something of a sexual icon in the community, Roy. Everyone 'knows' that you'd rather make love than do just about anything else, that you never settle down when you could be spreading it *around*..." Tim shrugs. "Even with me... well. When you ran out of other ideas, you turned to sexuality --"

"It *worked* --"

"Oh... it worked brilliantly," Tim says, and smiles *wetly* at him. "But -- I would've been more than a little nonplussed if I had still been a virgin inclined to *stay* virginal."

Roy winces. "I know that. I mean -- I knew that. Hell. I just don't want --"

"You have a lot of reasons to fear giving your heart into someone else's keeping --"

"I'm not *repressed* --"

"No, you're not," and Tim cocks his head to the side. "But you're also not above offering... hm. The upper skim of emotions on the surface of yourself. It looks like you're giving quite a lot -- and even feels that way -- but there's still more beneath. Connor can sense that. And Connor... you have to realize that he didn't have much in the way of a family, Roy."

"None of us really got covered in glory *there*, Tim, but --" Roy sighs and scrubs a hand over his hair. "I know what you're saying. He's got good reasons not to trust *me* -- or anyone who doesn't give trust back. I -- did I make you feel like I wasn't *with* you?"

"Hardly. But then... you came to me driven by one of the greater passions of your life. You don't seem to ever hold back when Dick is on your mind, so... maybe you should try talking to him about your father."

"He's not -- fuck," Roy says, covering his face with his hands and scrubbing *there*, a little.

"Or not. Hn."

"Yeah, maybe I just *forgot* I was talking to someone who *rolls* with the parent kink."

Tim spreads his hands. "What other choice do I have?"

"Festering, unhealed wounds. Nightmare erections. An un-fillable hole in your soul."

"Hn. All excellent choices to be sure, but... ah. Not for me."

Roy smiles at Tim ruefully. "You're not too sane for your big brother."

That gets him another glitter -- and a hum. "I'll keep that in mind."

"No one -- he won't leave you when he's fucking you. He won't be *able* to."

Tim raises an eyebrow at him.

"Okay, so he'll think about Bruce and maybe Oracle, too, but you people are *Bats*. That stuff is in the *rules*."

Tim blinks --

Laughs --

And -- hugs him.

"Oh, I -- hey," Roy says, and he doesn't really have anything that comes after that.

Tim holds on.

Roy does the same.


He doesn't think Roy is doing it on purpose. He --

*It* --

Superman --*Clark*.

Koriand'r when Connor had only meant to spend a moment with the Titans' dead.

And, now, Tim.

Or rather *then* Tim, because Connor hadn't exactly stayed in the hall once he'd heard --

The sounds Tim had made. The *rhythmic* sounds he'd made, and Connor isn't nearly as ignorant as he knows most people believe him to be -- as if he'd be falling into bed with people right and left if he only knew what could be done with two reasonably healthy bodies.

Roy had been --

Roy had obviously --

And Tim had -- enjoyed it immensely. Even though he has Bart, and the Spoiler --

Bart's smile had been a sly and narrow thing --

Then a quiet and *thoughtful* thing --

Then, simply, an amused thing in the moments before he had clasped Connor's forearm and disappeared, leaving Connor to his own devices.

He'd decided to give the memorial room another try, and it had even been empty this time -- though the lingering scent of sex --

Of *love*, because Roy and Koriand'r had shared a team and several other loves --

He'd like to ask Roy about his life and how he lives it. He'd like --

Just to know, better than he does now, whether living and loving that way truly makes him happier than the alternative. But --

Connor is more than a little afraid of the answer. And *that*...

Well, feared knowledge tends to be knowledge that should be sought out *immediately*, but he is not now -- nor has he ever claimed to *be* -- especially enlightened. He just wants to live his life the way that feels the best, and --

And have someone to hold, and speak with, and *be* with. Someone who understands both who he is and *why* he is who he is. A friend. A -- better friend than what he has now.

(A brother.)

Connor smiles ruefully. That's *not* whose room he's standing in front of right now, and --

(It could be. *Tonight* --)

He'd invited Roy to speak with him tonight in a moment of heady -- something or other. A blend of hopeless, useless lust and desire for intimacy, just as if he *wouldn't* be afraid to ask the salient questions.

Maybe Roy will fall asleep early tonight. He's certainly *earned* his rest, and --

The door opens --

Flash of something --

Connor drops and rolls, nocking an arrow --

And Tim laughs from the other side of the door. "I presume it's *just* you in the hall, Connor?"

"Ah... yes? I didn't mean for that to be a question. Though I do *have* questions."

"Sorry, you were... hm. Lurking. Loudly. I have certain reflexes for that," and Tim steps out of his bedroom --

And removes an extremely sharp-looking batarang from the wall.

"Ah. Tim?"

"Hm? Oh, no, that was aimed to miss. The *next* batarang would've taken your hands."

Connor laughs softly and tucks the arrow away before standing. "I imagine that sort of paranoia is necessary in Gotham."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "It isn't in Star City?"

"Well -- not in the *house*."

Tim seems to be thinking about it deeply, and Connor takes a moment to just --

Tim is wearing new -- and deep green -- boxer-briefs and his mask is off. There are no... marks, but --

Connor hasn't seen him moving enough to know if he's moving *differently* because of --

Of --

The hair beneath Tim's navel is straight and seems barely thicker than that on his head. He is far more scarred than Connor is himself, and he seems --

"You don't -- were you ever *young*, Tim?"

Tim blinks and smiles ruefully at him. "Exceedingly so. And -- I still am. Inside, I mean."

Connor reaches out --

He stops, because he doesn't really know *what* part of Tim he would've touched --

Tim looks at Connor's hand with narrowed eyes and then looks up again. "Come in?"

"Oh, I -- I don't have to --"

"You wanted to speak with me. I -- pretty much always want to speak with you."

Connor smiles because -- he has to. "That's a very nice thing to say --"

"I mean it. You were one of my first true friends in this community, which, because of the life I led, means that you were one of the first true friends I ever had. And... I think you know what that feels like."

Connor takes Tim's hand. Just -- his hand. "I like -- I wish we could spend more time together."

Tim smiles and walks backwards into his room, tugging Connor with him. "The world -- and the wonderful people in it -- keep telling me that I should strive to take what I can of the good things in life when it's available to me."

"Is that what you were doing with Roy -- oh. Hell. I didn't actually mean to ask that question."

"But you did, and you want -- and deserve -- an answer," Tim says, stroking over Connor's knuckles with his thumb once before letting go and sitting lotus on the bed. He leaves... a great deal of room.

Nothing -- nothing is *hurt* if he just removes his boots. In truth -- "I've felt overdressed for most of the day, for all that we did have a mission."

Tim hums and narrows his eyes -- in obvious pleasure. "Such is often the case here. On the one hand, it's a *good* idea to always be prepared for anything that may happen. On the other hand... there's a great deal to be said for the Tower being a place to *relax*."

"You... could use more relaxation than most."

"You don't think I'm getting it?"

"I think -- I think I'm going to keep tripping over the fact that I want to know more about your sex life, Tim," and Connor smiles ruefully.

Tim laughs. "To be honest? I'd like to spend a day just... working it all out. Making a list of everyone I desire, charting that list with the pros and cons I can determine in terms of how sleeping with them would work, working out logistics... of course, it would work even better if I had Bart to make the graphs for me and Steph to remind me of all the emotional *issues* other people seem to have no problem thinking about --"

"Tim. Bruce *told* me that you had a better grasp on psychology than any technical layman really *should*."

"Oh, I'm *very* talented at diagnosing psychological disorders -- and at manipulating people *with* those disorders -- but I really do fall flat at the day-to-day sort of thing. I..." Tim spreads his hands. "I learn something new about the human -- and reasonably equivalent to human -- mind and heart every time I come here. Usually, I wind up learning *many* things."

Connor catches himself clutching his own knees -- he stops. "Would you --"

"Roy seduced me. He really is... hmm. Well, part of it is that he's really *exceedingly* good at... ah... pressing the right buttons. The rest of it, however, is that he is who he is. His sexuality isn't *quite* an *open* book, but the book in question is definitely on an easily accessible *shelf*. So. One -- if one is me -- is left with the knowledge that any number of incredibly beautiful people have enjoyed themselves immensely with Roy, and that one could thus do *infinitely* worse. I... that, of course, is not the whole of it."

"I'd like to know --" Connor frowns at himself and shakes his head. "I'm sorry. This really is -- private, and --"

"It's all right," Tim says, and takes his hand again. "Roy is your brother... and I believe you've had a lot of questions for a long time?"

Connor laughs helplessly and squeezes Tim's hand. "It's not -- I've had any number of opportunities to have my questions *answered* --"

"But not without the attendant... ah. Pressures. Yes?"

Connor throws his head back for a moment. Just to -- "Your ceiling is impressively dust-free. Just to offer a complete non sequitur."

Tim laughs softly. "Dust is the enemy of electronics... and there are many in this room."

*Cameras* --

Connor laughs again. "I think -- I think I know precisely why people who know me tend to treat me with kid gloves. If I don't want to be known as *fragile*, then I shouldn't really act like it."

"I wouldn't say you're acting fragile. Confused, curious, hesitant about starting something you have no desire to finish -- in certain ways, anyway... I told Roy I would never pressure you, and that's the truth."

"I *know* that. You are --" Connor shakes his head and looks down at Tim again. "You've always been immensely *comforting*."

Tim's smile is sharp. "Not many people say *that* to me, but... thank you. Am I still? Comforting, I mean."

Connor knows his smile is wry. "You've yet to feel a need to pinch either of my buttocks --"

Tim coughs --

"Or to attempt to shove your hand in my pants --"

"I -- oh, dear --"

"Or to hug me only to whisper in my ear several different sexual acts you wish for us to perform together --"

"Well. *No* --"

"Additionally, you've singularly failed to use my leaving to use a restroom as an opportunity to fold your underwear between the cheese and the sprouts on my sandwich."

Tim's jaw drops --

Tim bites his *lip* --

And Tim's expression sort of... scrunches.

"Is that what it looks like when you're trying not to laugh?"

Tim nods slowly.

Connor grins. "Please, *do* laugh. Especially since the young woman in question informed me -- with great ire -- that she didn't know what my problem was, since the very same act had worked so brilliantly... with Roy."

Tim sounds like he's strangling on something lodged in his throat --

And that was an image he didn't need. Not -- not really, and --

It's good to see Tim *truly* laugh. His cheeks flush red, his teeth flash sharp and white, his eyes narrow in *pleasure* --

He's a beautiful young man.

He'd *been* a beautiful -- and somewhat terrifying -- boy, fourteen to Connor's nineteen --

He's only sixteen now, and that should be something --

It should be *enough* to keep Connor from thinking about what it would be like to kiss him, to taste --

Would he be able to taste Roy?

What had they *done* together?

Tim hums his way out of the laugh and wipes tears away -- but he already looks shrewd, once more. And --

"Tim... you told me, once, that there were both pressures and freedoms in having come into a pre-made legacy. That there was therefore neither room nor reason to complain."

Tim smiles. "The night we first met. I don't think I phrased it that well, though."

Connor laughs. "You were... curt about it. Almost commanding. I can't help wondering..."

"If I'm still in the process of carving a place out for myself?"

Yes -- "Yes. But -- I also wonder if you still feel that free, that..." Connor frowns. "I'm not sure what I'm saying."

Tim squeezes Connor's hand. "I'm not either, but... well. I enjoy *playing* with the legacy a great deal -- on the street and off. I know you've taken great pleasure in showing people all the things the new Green Arrow can do that the old Green Arrow *couldn't*."

That -- "Well... yes. I don't think I'm capable of growing tired of that."

"Heh. Exactly. And then there's also the fact... I have a family. And while that family looks -- extremely -- different from pretty much everyone else's, it *is* still a family, and that's more valuable than anything else."

"Agreed. Though I do wonder about your reflexes. I -- how often *does* Bruce surprise you with an attack when you're not actively training?"

Tim's smile is another blade. "'Training never ends.'"

Connor laughs softly and squeezes Tim's hand. "All right, noted. But... the freedom... I don't ever want to do anything to stain the legacy my father and Roy have created between them."

"Do you really think you *could*? I -- all right, that was catty --"

"Yes, it *was*. Especially considering what *you were just doing.*"

Tim -- snickers, rubbing at his upper lip with his finger and squeezing Connor's hand with his other hand. "I -- I feel I *should* be able to blame Bruce for that. He always gets the *special* smile whenever your father's name comes up in conversation."

"Whereas steam begins expelling itself from my father's ears whenever Bruce comes up. It always made me feel as though we were living in Romeo and Juliet."

Tim hums. "No, I think that's Dick and Roy. Bruce lost *important* parts of his mind when Dick took his mask off for the first time -- and expressly forbade me to do the same with Young Justice."

"That must've been very hard..."

"It was. I --" Tim sighs and shakes his head. "No, that was... a portion of a lie, because sometimes it was incredibly easy. Just -- mm. The *very* first thing Bruce complimented me on was my talent for stealth."

Ah. "Yes, I... it's my understanding that he doesn't give compliments especially often. That sort of thing does tend to... narrow the focus."

Tim raises his eyebrow in question -- and then visibly pauses and nods. "The monks."

Connor smiles ruefully. "Yes. I... still don't especially want to talk about that now."

"We don't have to --"

"But I believe I would like to talk about it with you someday very... very much."

Tim's smile is small and bright. Beautiful --

*Young* --

He has to remember --


Connor winces and lets go of Tim's hand. "I was... thinking about how attractive you are."

Tim looks at Connor's hand, narrows his eyes, and nods, setting his own hand back on his knee. "Thank you. You... well, I think you've guessed that I find you very attractive."

Connor swallows. "Yes, I -- other people. Other people tend to *like* hearing that sort of thing. Don't they?"

Tim smiles wryly. "Dick doesn't."

That -- "He is very... ah. Yes, I imagine -- of course, that implies that I somehow feel he's more --"

Tim raises a hand. "I'm *quite* happy being the plain Robin --"

"You -- you're hardly *plain* --"

"And? I know that that particular metric is *exceedingly* relative," Tim says, and smiles narrowly at him. "While I did have some self-esteem issues *before*... well."

"Bart... Bart helped you feel attractive?"

"He makes me feel..." Tim smiles wider and shakes his head. "I can't be alone with Bart without feeling... perfectly sexual."

"I. I sometimes wonder what that would be like. To *feel* as though sexuality always made perfect sense --"

"No," Tim says, and holds up his hand again --

"I -- didn't mean to let you go. Or, no. I meant to. It's just that I think I regret it now."

Tim parts his lips, and reaches to take Connor's hand again. Neither of them have perfectly dry palms.

Both of them are --

"I don't think sexuality is ever going to make perfect sense. I don't think it makes perfect sense to *Roy*."

"But -- it's so much a part of his life. There are times when I think it would be almost the *entirety* of his non-working life if it weren't for his daughter -- no. I think it *was* the entirety of his non-working life before he knew Lian existed."

"I think... I think we all need something, from time to time, to fill the empty spaces within us -- and let's just pause for a moment to think about all the things Dick and Roy would say for *that* statement..."

Connor coughs out a laugh. "Yes, I believe I have *some* idea --"

"Hn. Yes, well. I think... I think, sometimes, that Roy has felt emptier than most."

Connor frowns. "His life is so *full*, Tim. He has so many friends. I -- I don't know of *anyone* who wouldn't happily spend an evening -- or far more -- with him. It's one of the reasons why... ah."


'Nothing' would be obvious. 'Never mind' would be *painfully* obvious --

And Tim is worth far more than both.

"It's one of the reasons why I've hesitated with him. A part of me believes -- knows -- that I would be just another friend he leaves behind on his way to the next friend, and the next, and the next after *that* --"

"I -- don't think that would be a problem."

Connor blinks. "Did you speak about *me*?"

"Not very much as these things go, but... enough for me to know that he loves you, that he cares about you --"

"I know *that* --"

"You're more to him, Connor. You're his brother, and... I don't know how else to put it."

("You... I just want you know that you're one of the best things that ever happened to me, bro.")

"Tell me... would you tell me more about what made *you* decide to have sex with Roy?"

"Of course. I've desired him to at least some small extent since the days when I would sneak up to New York to watch Dick with his Titans. It was..." Tim laughs. "It was actually fairly easy to get pictures of *him* as opposed to Dick. In those days, Dick usually went disguised in public, and I never wanted to see *that*. It just didn't take all that long to learn the methods he used *to* disguise himself, since they were essentially the same as Bruce's. Anyway, I didn't follow all the Titans by any road, but Roy..."

"He's... very attractive."

Tim smiles. "He reminded me of Jason a *great* deal. That was always... diverting. So, there was old attraction -- attraction that had only increased with all the things Dick had told me about him over the years. Add that to how *professional* he was the one time we worked together, how kind and warm he was after that mission went straight to *hell*. Well."

"But it was more than that." Connor frowns. "I mean... wasn't it?"

"Yes. He... all right, I'm just going to say this as plainly as possible: Bruce explained polyamory to me -- along with everything *else* he thought I would be exposed to as Robin -- when I was thirteen years old. At the time -- and now -- it gave me a sense of pure 'eureka.'"

Connor nods. "You knew it was what you wanted."

"Well before I knew exactly what sorts of things I wanted to *do* with a lover, I knew that I wanted there to be -- somehow -- more than one. I knew that I always wanted to be... God, *surrounded* --"

"Never -- never *alone*."

Tim closes his eyes and smiles ruefully. "Please. Just -- please. Never that." He opens his eyes again. "Roy is, to a certain extent, living the life I *want* for myself. I really didn't expect to get the chance this *soon*, but I can't -- I *won't* -- turn it down for anything. And Roy... well, we can *all* look at him funny for Cheshire, but he's one of the few people *in* this community who has managed to juggle the Mission and his personal life *neatly*."

Connor raises an eyebrow. "His life seems neat to you? I mean -- I know for a fact that it doesn't seem neat to *him*."

Tim laughs. "All right, maybe that wasn't quite le mot juste. It's more... so many of us tend to screw up so *badly*, tend to *hurt* the people we love. God, even *Dick* couldn't manage to -- well, no, that's not my story to tell. Suffice it to say, Roy's lovers never seem to *hurt* themselves with him. And that -- I want *that*, Connor. I *admire* Roy for his lifestyle, and I think more people should. Add that to the fact that he came here actively trying to *fix* things for Dick with me... well."

"I... have you been fighting with your brother?"

"What? No, not that. I -- Roy is of the opinion that Dick wants a physical relationship with me -- and I'm weaseling. Roy *knows* that Dick wants a physical relationship with me because Dick *told* him. I'm pretty sure it wasn't Dick's intention that Roy come here to plead his case, but... well. That kind of devotion, that kind of friendship, that kind of *generosity* --"

"Tim. You..." Connor squeezes Tim's hand and shakes his head. "It now seems even *more* odd that the two of you would make love."

"Maybe? Yes? No, definitely. But -- these things happen, and while I'm quite sure there'll be some awkwardness with Dick over it, it was my fault for not talking to him about the shape of my sexuality, my *mistake* to put Dick in a situation where he felt he couldn't talk to me... anyway. I won't let the awkwardness stand. I'm going to explain to Dick that I'm polyamorous, and that one of the people I'd like to be poly *with* -- all other things being equal -- is Roy."

Connor nods and lets himself stare down at the duvet. He's aware that he's restlessly stroking Tim's knuckles with his thumb, that he's aroused, that he's -- aching.

And that he doesn't have to ache, at all.

"Thank you," Connor says, and looks up. "That was... far more than anyone could reasonably ask for --"

"I disagree."

"I want... I'd like to be with you. Physically. Ah -- sexually."

Tim squeezes Connor's hand. "I'm not the only one you want."

Connor smiles ruefully. "No, you're not. I think... that I have some reading to do --"

Movement --

That resolves into a sheet of paper with the titles and authors of several books written on it. It floats slowly into place beside Connor's knee. Bart is nowhere to be *seen* --

"He's in the hall again."

"Ah -- how do you know? By which I mean how long has he been --"

Tim smiles. "I always leave my door open at least a crack at this time of night."

Connor suspects that he's the portrait of *consternation*. "Tim -- would you tell me why you're turning me down? Is it -- is it *just* that I'm interfering with your time with Bart?"

"I *could* say something about believing that one's first time should be with someone as close to you as possible --"

"But that would be a lie."

"I'm no altruist, Connor. The simple fact of the matter is that if you'd *seemed* as though you were even *slightly* interested, I would've... pressed my case with you two years ago. *In* the Redbird. I... we're friends, and I want us to remain that way. I want us to be as close as it's possible for us to be, and, yes, that includes sexuality. I *don't* want to be the guy you run to when you're afraid of what you feel for Roy."

Connor winces. "Yes, I suppose that's exactly --" Connor uses his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Just -- for a moment. Then he looks up again. "It's more than that. I -- I'm not at all sure how to make you believe me."

Tim shows his teeth. "I plan to be free tomorrow afternoon --"


"-- for a time. Come see me then. *After* you've spent some quality time in Roy's company."

That. "I... I think I can do that."

"I have the *utmost* faith in you, Connor," and Tim smiles and very deliberately lets go of Connor's hand.

Connor laughs, cutting it off when it starts to sound cracked. "Good night, Tim."

"And to you."

Connor moves off the bed, picking up the paper and tucking it into one of his pockets --

And suddenly Bart is kneeling in the space where Connor had been. He's naked save for a chain attached to two *nipple* clamps, and --

Yes, he's leaving.

*Quickly* --

But not quickly enough to miss Bart's rising *howl* --

And Koriand'r's purr as she settles to sit on her heels in the hall.

He'd honestly always believed that Roy's stories about life as a Titan --

Well, no, he *hadn't* believed that they were exaggerated -- Roy never *needs* to exaggerate -- but he'd believed that surely, somehow it wasn't *all* like that --

'Hot and hot running hormones,' indeed. And --

It's not actually *colder* in the hall reserved for guest rooms, but, somehow, it seems that way. The smell of Koriand'r's incense doesn't linger here, and the music coming from Kon-El's room is much, much quieter --

But Roy's door is open.

He walks in, careful to scuff his feet on the carpeting --

"Hey, I was just about to give up on you," Roy says, voice thick with denied sleep... and other things, as well.

"I -- should I be letting you rest?"

Roy turns on the bedside lamp, and the room is just as blank and bland as it should be --

No room Roy inhabits should ever be *bland* --

"Are you okay, Connor?"

Connor -- doesn't laugh. He has *every* reason to be afraid of how that would come out. Just -- "Give me just a moment -- no, are you sure I shouldn't let you --"

"Connor, you should stay right there and tell me what's wrong and who I have to shoot."

"You -- *no* one --"

Roy frowns. "*Something's* got you tweaked, bro --"

"This. This has me... 'tweaked,'" and Connor removes his quiver and bow and sets them by the wall. Then he removes his half-gloves and his belt --


"Yes, I -- yes." Connor curls his fingers under the hem of his shirt -- stops. "Unless. Unless you don't want --"

"You. You wanna stay with me tonight?" And Roy's voice isn't thick, at all, anymore. He --

"Why -- why do you sound *young* all of a sudden, Roy?"

"Uh. Maybe because my little brother is stripping? Don't stop. I mean -- don't stop unless you -- fuck. You're here to *sleep*, right?"

"Yes --"

"Okay. Okay. Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry about that --"

"I meant -- I want more. Than sleep. As well," Connor says, and -- that cracking sound was his knuckle, because he's clenching his fists on his shirt --

"Oh. Fuck. Uh."

"Unless -- now is a bad time. I should've asked, or --"

"Stay *right* there," Roy says, and that was his *command* voice --

"Roy --"

Roy kicks the sheets off the bed and moves to join him. The tattoo on his arm is a patch of deeper darkness, his nipple rings gleam in the lamplight --

Connor can't help but look down --

Roy started sleeping in boxer shorts when Cheshire gave Lian to him, of course, and --

And Roy is cupping Connor's shoulders and searching him, frowning and *rubbing* Connor's shoulders --


"Why. You -- I need you to tell me why. Or -- what you want. That's important, too. There are other things --"

"I want you. I've always --"

Roy kisses him, hard and wet and *not* deep --

His stubble scratches and tickles, and --

Connor moans and leans into the kiss --

Roy pulls back and pants, staring down between them --

"I -- wasn't supposed to do that?"

"God, Connor, I -- I'm supposed to *listen* to you right now --"

"I'm not sure what to say --"

"Then -- we can let our bodies do the talking. We can -- I'll make it so good for you, bro --"

"I know. I know you will --"

Roy squeezes Connor's shoulders hard -- he's still not *looking* at him --

"I -- please, Roy --"

Roy looks up, and the green of his eyes is rapidly getting lost under the *black* --

Connor licks his lips --

Roy narrows his eyes. "You. What did he say to you? What --"

"We spoke about you, about polyamory, about -- he admires you very much --"

"*Admires* -- what. Okay, no, not that, one thing at a time, one -- God --" Roy kisses him again, licks his way into Connor's mouth --

His tongue is so mobile, so *slick* --

Pressed this close, his stubble is something he wants to feel with more of himself. Just -- somehow --

No, he can let go of his shirt and cup Roy's face, rub his cheeks and offer the meager amount he's learned about kissing, about *this* sort of touch --

Roy moans and presses close, shoving Connor against the wall and just -- obliterating everything else, everything --

The world *narrows* to the kiss he's getting, the kiss he's *taking*, and sucking Roy's tongue is enough to make Roy grab his wrists and press *them* against the wall --

Roy *yanks* himself back -- "*Fuck* -- I'm sorry, Connor, I can -- it doesn't have to be like that --"

"You -- do you want to hold me down?"

Roy groans and shakes his head, but it doesn't.

"That doesn't really seem like *no*, Roy."

"We don't -- nothing you don't want, Connor. I promise. There's -- there's a lot we can do --"

"Roy, I. Sometimes. Sometimes when I masturbate I think about your hands."

Roy stares at him. Just -- *stares*.

"I was hoping. I have to admit that I was hoping for something... else. In terms of a reaction to that statement."

Roy nods slowly and -- he doesn't seem to be *blinking* often enough --

"Roy -- please --"

"I think about your mouth."

"Oh. I. What --"

"I think about... God, about *your* hands. Your neat little *nails* -- you've never bitten them."

"Ah. No?"

Roy narrows his eyes and shakes his head again. "That was funny. That was -- a very amusing moment, but somehow I'm not feeling it right now."

"If it's -- *is* it a bad time?"

"Not for you. Never for you."

("Whatever you want. Whatever you *need*. You *always* call me. Okay?")

And -- there's a part of him which only wants to clutch at the wall. It seems so much better-suited to holding him up than his legs -- "Roy. I. I could use... some direction --"

Roy grunts and grabs himself through his boxers, squeezing hard --

"Oh --"

"God, I wanna -- wanna teach you everything --"

"Start with a *few* things --"

"And see, that was funny, too. You always make me *laugh*, Connor, and I don't think you realize how important --" Roy shakes his head and cups Connor's hips --

"Oh, Roy --"

"That touch. You like that?"

"Yes. I -- yes."

"You want -- you were stripping."


Roy licks his lips and *squeezes* Connor's hips --

Connor jerks and stills himself *reflexively* --

And Roy groans and rests his head on Connor's shoulder. It seems strange and it seems -- like so much.

Connor reaches up to wrap his arms around Roy, and he's not at all surprised to feel him shaking. It feels better to hold him more tightly, to pull him *in* --

Roy kisses Connor's throat through his top --

"I. I can't feel --"

Roy *bites* him there and Connor's hips jerk again, his head seems to almost *fall* back --

"*Roy* --"

"Here. *Right* here. And we can do anything you want. *Anything* --"

"Bite. Bite me again. Please --"


"My -- please, Roy, it -- is increasingly difficult to *think* -- *oh* --"

The bite is in the same place, and the flare of pain makes Connor tense, makes him --

No, he's not shaking before Roy bites the other side of his throat --

He's stroking Connor's *hips* --

"Please -- oh, please, Roy --"

Roy pulls back. "Don't. Don't beg me."

"It's not... arousing?"

"*Too* arousing. *I* need to --" Roy smiles at him ruefully. "*You* don't have to think about anything but what you want. *I* need to have a little more brainpower."

Connor frowns. "I don't want you *apart* from this, Roy --"

"I won't be. I *can't* be. This is -- you know I've wanted this --"

"*Yes*, and I -- I think I might finally understand. You're. You're my brother."

Roy searches him again, frowning and *confused* --

"God, don't -- don't listen to me, don't think --"

"Just touch you?"


Roy closes his eyes and seems to be searching *himself* -- and then he nods and opens them again. "Take off. Take off as much as you want to, and *no more than that*."

"I want --"

Roy holds up a hand. "Start there. Okay?"

Connor nods before he knows what he's doing -- no, he means to nod. It's all right. He strips off his top and undershirt --

"You are the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my *life* --"

"*Roy* --"

Roy snorts. "You're scolding me *now*? Okay, I'll shut up --"

"I just -- *Nightwing* --"

"He's not you. He's my brother, but he's not *you*."

Connor shivers and drops his shirts, wanting to know something about how to be alluring in *this* moment, how to *invite* --

"Is that. Is that where you wanna stop?"

Connor blinks. "Oh, I -- no. I just -- would you touch me again?"

Roy narrows his eyes. "You never have to ask me for that. You just -- fucking *grab* my hand and put it where you want it on your body --"

"You don't think that's somewhat... ah... primitive?"

Roy shows his teeth. "You can drag me back to your cave anytime you want, bro."

Connor snorts and reaches for Roy. "At the moment, I don't want either of us near any... Caves."

Roy laughs and lets Connor move his hand to his abdomen. "You... mm. You feel good. Did he piss you off?"

"Not until he pointed out a few salient facts which I'll want to thank him for... as soon as you kiss me again."

Roy curls his fingers in and *scratches* Connor's abdomen --

"*Oh* --"

And Roy uses *all* of his speed to move close again, to tilt Connor's head to the side --

The kiss feels like having something poured into him, something thick and warm and -- not sweet. Not --

Something tangier than that, something sweet because of how it makes Connor *feel*. He *can't* suck Roy's tongue -- that might make him stop *moving* it -- but he can lick at it, try to encourage, try --

Roy groans and scratches him again --

Again --

And it shouldn't be this easy to grab Roy's hand and bring it to his nipple, to --

Roy *pinches* Connor's nipple, and it's too shocking for Connor to do more than gasp --

It shouldn't *be* shocking, he'd brought Roy's hand there *himself*. It's still --

No one has ever done that to him before. No one has ever *touched* him there before, and Connor feels simultaneously painfully young and ridiculously *old* --

He's missed so *much* --

He tightens Roy's fingers on his nipple --

Roy growls into his mouth and pinches Connor *hard*, and -- maybe it wasn't the shock. Maybe Connor *has* to gasp every time someone touches him here --

Every time *Roy* touches him here --

"Stay with me, bro --"

"Here, I'm -- Roy, *please* --"

"Shh, shh... like this?"

*Twist* and Connor thrusts against Roy, *bucks* against him --

His jock is hurting him so *much* --

"Roy --"

"Yeah, I -- one sec," and Roy pushes Connor back against the wall and strokes his chest, cups and squeezes Connor's pectorals -- "So beautiful --"

"Roy, I need -- I think I need --"

"Let me," Roy says, and bends down to suck Connor's nipple into his mouth --

"Oh, *God* --"

"Yeah. You're sensitive, and that's --" Roy licks his lips and sucks him again, sucks hard enough that it *hurts*, and --

Roy's hair is too short now --

And the thought makes no sense whatsoever until Connor realizes that he's trying to shove his hands *into* it, that he's rubbing and scratching at Roy's scalp --

Roy's eyes are closed and he looks like he's *concentrating* --

And then --

"Roy -- *Roy* --"

His tongue. He -- he's *flicking* his tongue against Connor's nipple, and it feels like being jarred, shaken, *shoved* --

No, *he's* shoving --


"No, I -- oh, hell. I didn't mean to push you away."

Roy raises his eyebrows. His lips are --

Very wet.

"Are you sure about that?"

"Yes. No. Yes --" Connor laughs and covers his face with his hands. "I think -- I need a moment."

"That's fine, it's all fine --"

"You don't have to soothe me --"

"Connor. I want this to be so good for you that you *have* to come back for more --"

"I will."

A clicking sound -- Roy's teeth shutting together.

Connor uncovers his face and makes a point of meeting Roy's eyes as he reaches for the ties of his pants. "I'll come back, Roy. I -- I can't -- I need you."

Roy grunts -- and shakes himself like a dog. "You got me. Whenever, wherever --"

"Probably -- probably not on a rooftop --"

"Okay, sure, we can avoid that --"

Connor laughs. "Unless, of course, you look at me in *just* the way you're looking at me right now."

Roy narrows his eyes. "And how is that?"

He -- doesn't want to laugh anymore. At *all* -- Connor works his pants open as quickly as he can, surprised that his hands are working as well as they are and *not* trusting them to continue to do so --

"Tell me, Connor."

"That -- wasn't a request --"

"Do you want it to be?"

And -- there go his hands. They feel like hypersensitized *blocks*, like he'd *break* his bow if he tried to lift it --

"Connor... this. This is pretty important."

Connor *shoves* his pants down, hearing one of the ties snap and not *caring*. Just -- he has to get out of them, get clear, get *free* --

He steps out of them --

"*Roy* --"

Roy's *hand* on him through his jock, cupping and holding -- "Connor. Talk to me."

"I don't know what I want. I know -- I know that I want your hands, and -- more than that. I know that I want to give you an orgasm. Or -- more than one --"

Roy winces. "One's about all I've got in me tonight, bro. But -- there'll be other nights?"

"Please. Please, I need --"

Roy tugs the jock away with a flick of his wrist, and then his hand --

Rough hand, *worked* hand, and the calluses aren't quite the same, the *feel* --

"I can..." Roy licks his lips. "I can make this all about the two of us doing what *I* want us to do. Take away... you wouldn't have to think."

"That's -- that's what you said *before* --"

Roy shakes his head. "This is different. This is me... giving you orders."

And, just like that, Connor is sweating. There wasn't any *moment* -- "Does that -- do *you* want that?"

Another head-shake. "I want everything with you. Everything."

"Would you -- I think I can't do that, yet."

Roy closes his eyes, searches himself -- opens them again and nods. "There's more you're not saying."

"Hold me. Harder. Please -- *ohn* --"

"You feel good in my hand, Connor. You feel... c'mon, talk to me --"

"I think if you lost your control -- I *know* if you lost your control it would be wonderful --"

"You want me to lose it for you."

"It would." Connor licks his lips and tries to keep from thrusting into Roy's fist -- no, he can *do* that --

"Oh, Connor... yeah, show me -- "

"It would *mean* more -- if you were to -- if you felt the way *I* do --"

"How do you feel?"

"*Crazy* --"

Roy laughs and *squeezes* him --

"Roy --"

"I'm crazy right now, Connor. *Hungry*," Roy says, and shoves his boxers down with his free hand until he can step out of them -- "Look at me."

"Hard. You're --"

"For you. For *this*," and Roy squeezes Connor again --

"*Please* --"

"Okay, you like it at least a little rough. I... maybe it just had to be that kind of *day* --"

"I don't -- what did you *do* with Tim?"

Roy pants and drops to his knees --

"*Oh* --"

"Are you asking because you wanna get turned on more... or pissed-off more?"

"No, I -- I heard -- the noises you made him make -- I."

Roy squeezes his eyes shut but leans in unerringly, breathing hot and damp on the head of Connor's penis --

Connor feels himself twitch and *leak* --


"Please, Roy --"

"Don't *beg* -- you. You want me to make you make that kind of noise?"

"Yes. And -- more, please --oh, God, *please* --" And the rest of that is a groan, something like half a *bellow*, because Roy --

His mouth is so tight, so *hot* --

"Roy, I *need* you --"

Roy *hums*, licks him --

And Connor can't keep himself from thrusting once, again --

No, he can stop, he has to *stop* --

Roy pulls off and licks his lips. "You taste like..." He shakes his head. "Listen to me, Connor. Tell me *right* now if you have any objections to coming in my mouth."

"I -- Tim, tell me --"

"I fingered him. Pushed two fingers into his ass and fucked him that way. At the end. At the end, he wanted three. He said he wanted it to hurt."

Connor groans again, tries to *focus* --

"You can do him that way. He'd love it --"

"*Roy* --"

"It only. You only have to be a *little* careful with someone like that, someone who doesn't just like pain but has also *practiced* --"

"No, no, stop --"


"Don't -- just you right now, Roy. I only -- I wanted to know my *options*."

"*Everything*, Connor. I -- I've got some slick in my belt --"

And then Connor wonders when Roy had started reading minds, because he *can't* get words out, but Roy is still moving for his clothes --

Oh, he's *nodding*. That --

Connor slumps back against the wall --

"Is that where you wanna do this --"

"Stop asking me *questions* --"

"Get on the *bed*," Roy says, and his voice is rough, *hard* --

Everything is so *hard* --

But Connor's moving, crawling onto the bed --

"On your *back* --"

Connor flips without thinking and Roy is right there, spreading his legs wide --

"Plant your feet -- oh, yeah, just like that, bro, I love you so *much* --" Roy kisses his way up Connor's inner thigh --

Sucks hard and *bites* --

And Connor means to call Roy's name, but the sound -- the *feel* of himself crying out --

Roy's the first, the *first* --

Roy *licks* Connor's other thigh, kisses Connor's *scrotum* --

"*Please* --"

Roy growls and sucks him *there*, and that -- oh, that *feel* --

Like nothing *else* --

And Connor is *aware* that he's banging his head back against the mattress, but he can't stop, he can't --

"Please, Roy, *in* me --" And that was a *scream*, more shocked than anything else --

Roy is licking him *there* --

Roy --

*In* --

Connor shouts and tries to figure out if he *likes* that, if --

He's not even far enough onto the bed -- Roy is on his knees on the *floor* --

"Please, Roy, please -- I don't know --"

In again, and it's so slick, so -- somehow so *sharp*, because this is something --

He's barely even pushed his *finger* inside, but this --

What Roy must be tasting --

But the flick and *stab* of Roy's tongue is making his palms ache, making him penis try to lie flat to his abdomen even as it twitches again and again --

Roy pulls back -- "You don't know how bad I've *wanted* this --"


"*Everything*," Roy growls, and spreads Connor wide --

His skin feels so taut and thin, so *sensitive* --

And now he's crying out for every lick, grabbing for purchase on the sheet and getting nothing, not *enough* --

"Roy, I have to *touch* you -- *oh* -- "

And Roy lets go of one Connor's cheeks and shoves his hand forward -- close enough that Connor can twine his fingers and squeeze, hold *on* --

And he needs to, he *needs* to, because this is taking him higher, maybe taking him *over*, and he'd never thought of himself in a position like this, never *imagined* --

Every thrust and *stab* --

"Roy, *please*, I -- I want -- your finger --"

Roy growls again and Connor bucks, tries to twist away --

Roy grabs Connor's hip and *holds* him ---

"So strong, you've always been --" Connor shakes his head. "Another *time*. Just -- in me -- and --"

"You'll let me suck you --"

"*Yes* --"

"Then wait just a sec. I've got you," Roy says, and licks Connor's thigh again.

Connor sits up on his elbows just to *see* --

And Roy's expression is almost dark, almost *angry* as he slicks his fingers --

"Roy, are you *okay*?"

Roy looks up and smiles almost *maniacally* -- "So much better than that, bro. That you'll let me have this --"

"I haven't *done* anything --"

"Heh. *That's* a lesson I'll be teaching you. For now, go with the idea that everything you do, everything you say, everything you *are*... is turning me on more than I've been..." Roy shakes his head. "You're *good*, bro, and I love you, and I want this *always*."

Connor feels his heart *seize* --

"God, when you look at me like that --  you'll stay the night?"

"Yes, I -- yes --"

Roy bends down to suck a kiss onto his scrotum again --

"*Roy* --"

"Thank you," Roy says, and nudges *gently* at Connor's hole -- "Breathe."

"I -- I'm *trying* --"

"Think of it as meditation --"

Connor *chokes* on a laugh --

"Oh, but I'm *serious*, brother. This -- this will connect you to *everything* -- if I do it even *halfway* right --"

"You know *everything* about this --"

"No, but I know what I *like*. And you're gonna teach *me*... c'mon, deep breath."

Connor tries --

Connor closes his eyes, because looking at Roy staring at him with this much *desire* --

No, he won't think, he won't --

He opens himself and moans, feeling parts of him almost seem to crumble *away* under the force of his pleasure, his *lust* --

He breathes --

"Just. Like. *That*," Roy says, and pushes his finger in *deep* --

"Oh. Oh --"

"You feel me?"

"*Please*, Roy --"

"*Answer* --"

"I *feel* you and I want to feel you *more* --"

"Then that's what you'll get," Roy says, and does *something* --

Connor hears himself -- hell, that was almost a *bark* --

"Oh, *brother*, you -- again," and he --

He's *crooking* his finger, stimulating --

That *has* to be his prostate --

Connor cries out for every *touch*, and he can feel himself blushing --

Someone could very well be in *their* hallway --

But he doesn't care, he'd only care if they somehow made Roy *stop* --

"Beautiful, so beautiful -- tell me I can suck you again."

"*Roy* --"

"Good enough," Roy says, bending Connor's penis down and --

Oh, so *deep* --

So --

Connor cries out *louder*, and no he's not even doing it on the same rhythm as Roy's thrusts, Roy's *sucks* --

Roy is humming around him, licking and thrusting --

Fucking him, and what would this be like if it were Roy's *penis*?

Just the *thought* is making him want to be more open, making him --

It feels like he *is* opening more, and maybe --

"Another -- *another* --"

Roy *grunts* around him and pulls his finger most of the way out --

Holds Connor in his *mouth* until he's pressing --

Oh, he doesn't feel open, at *all* --

And Roy doesn't move, but Connor can *feel* him ordering him to breathe --

He breathes --

He *shouts*, because two fingers is a burn he'd never considered, pressure and *heat* --

Roy is staring at him, studying him and holding himself so *still*, just --

"Roy, I love you..."

Roy jerks and squeezes his eyes shut -- opens them again and they're wide and so *full* --

"Do it. *Thrust* -- *ohn* --"

No *hesitation* before he does it and *keeps* doing it, before he's *taking* Connor, and the pain is better for this, it --

He doesn't know if he *likes* it for itself, but emotionally --

Something like this should always hurt, should always leave one open and needy and *raw* --

And that's enough reason to scream  --

And to scream *louder* when Roy swallows him whole, throat *working* around the head of Connor's penis until --

Oh, that *thrust* --

The *heat* --

He can *smell* himself and --

This must be what it means to be sexual, to be perfect and desired --

He has to scream Roy's *name* --

But he doesn't know if he manages before the heat *takes* him, twists him and makes him jerk and yell and *spill* --

So warm --

So *hot* --

Everything he is --

Roy *wants* everything he is --

And it feels like he's fallen into his body from a great height, like he *has* to sit up, stroke Roy's hair, feel his face, his shoulders --

Roy pulls off, pulls out, and pants, eyes glazed with *lust* --

"Roy -- Roy, come onto the *bed* --"

Roy blinks and shakes himself, licks his lips -- and smiles at Connor, wide and bright and *hungry* --

"Oh... Roy, you're so -- I need you, I need more of you --"

"Everything I have is *yours*, brother. Scoot back."

Yes, he can *do* that, though the lubricant is making his backside feel decidedly *odd* --

And Roy climbs on *over* him, kissing his way up Connor's body --

"I - I think I'll need a *little* time --"

"Don't worry, I'm just... loving you a little," Roy says, licking a circle around Connor's nipple and grinning at him.

The stubble is long enough that Connor can see the shape his beard would be...

Connor strokes Roy's cheek. "What can I do? What do you like? How can I love you?"

Roy shivers and braces himself over Connor on one hand --

"Oh -- this position..."

"Do you like it?"

Connor licks his lips. "I've liked everything. Loved everything -- though I'm wondering why you seem so *calm* now."

"Calm? I --" Roy shakes his head. "I gave my sac a yank while I was sucking you. Tends to... get my focus back a little."

Connor winces. "I suppose I can see the *use*, but..." Connor feels himself blushing. "I want you -- I want you to lose your focus with me."

Roy searches him -- and narrows his eyes when he looks at Connor's mouth.

Oh. Roy had said -- "Will you let me suck you?"

"*Hnh* -- I --" Roy shakes his head and lowers himself down enough that his penis is a hot bar of slick *feeling* on Connor's abdomen -- "Oh -- God, the *feel* of you --"

"Oh -- I've heard of this particular -- do you like it more?"

"I *like* -- I want --" The rest of that is *incoherent* --

"Roy --"

"Connor. I think. The sounds you were making when I was fingering you --"

"You liked them --"

"They made me want to fuck you --"

"Oh. I -- we can --"

"No. Not --" Roy shakes his head again. "Then I'd *really* need my control, and we really have to stretch you more. At least. At least a *little* --"

"Roy --"

"Shh. Just. Let me have this feel," and Roy thrusts against Connor's abdomen, *moves* --"

"Oh. That..." Connor reaches up to stroke Roy's sides --

"Oh, Connor, your hands -- just -- touch me all you *want*."

Harder then, and more -- more *focused*, because Roy's body is broad and almost *heavily* muscled, Roy's skin is scarred and pale --

His hands seem so *dark* against it --

Roy moans and thrusts *faster* -- but not harder. He --

"Are you teasing yourself?"

"With your *skin*, I -- I want you so *much* Connor --"

"I'm yours --"

"*Fuck*, I --" Roy *drops* on top of him, shoving his arms under Connor's own and gripping Connor's shoulders from the back --

And the kiss is hard and *deep*, as rhythmic as the grind of Roy's hips against him, and Connor has never been so *aware* of the texture of his own skin, of how it must feel against more *sensitive* skin --

Of the taste of his own *musk* --

Connor cups the back of Roy's head with one hand and reaches down to stroke and squeeze Roy's buttocks with his other. Holding him, he has to *hold* him, show him, promise --

Roy groans into his mouth and starts to *shake* as he thrusts faster, as he almost seems to shove Connor *into* the bed, and this --

Connor turns out of the kiss -- "Is this the rhythm you'd use if you were inside me?"

"I -- fuck, Connor, I'd *try* --"

"Harder. I'd want it *harder* --"

Roy groans again and shakes his head --

"Roy, you won't *break* me --"

"Need you -- have to be *good* --"

"You *are*, you've always been -- it took me too long to *see* -- *mmph* --"

Kissed again, and Roy seems to almost be talking to him with it --

No, he *is* talking, the words slurred and heavy on both their tongues even as the rhythm starts becoming sharper, more *jagged* --

Connor doesn't know what that would *feel* like inside, but he has to, he *wants* to --

Connor *scratches* Roy's buttocks and tries to urge with his kiss, tries to say something of his own --

Roy rolls them over onto their sides, and this --

Connor presses closer, hooks his leg over Roy's own --

Roy cries *out* into Connor's mouth, and now every thrust is power, pure muscular *force* to remind Connor of the differences in their *strength* -- but he can hold on with his arms and legs, he can ride this and kiss, suck Roy's tongue for the grunt and *push* --

And slip his fingers into Roy's cleft and just -- press --

Roy pulls back and *shouts*, body *wild* --

"Oh, *yes*, Roy --"

"*In* --"

And it's an order and a plea at once, it's --

Connor *winces* as he pushes in --

As he *seeks* --

"*Brother* --"

"I -- I've *got* you, Roy --"

"Oh, God -- God, *please* --"

Connor pushes as deep as he *can* --

Roy gasps and looks at him, eyes wide as his mouth, as full as Connor wants him to *feel* --

And the splash of Roy's semen against Connor's abdomen makes them both grunt, makes Connor shiver and thrust helplessly, *needfully* --

"*Please* --"

"*Yes*, Roy, *brother* --"

And Roy *darts* in and bites Connor's shoulder hard enough to *hurt*, but it's all a part of this *sex*, this love they've made between them --

Connor hugs Roy with as much of his body as he can move -- no, he needs more. He pulls out carefully and rolls Roy onto his back, pulling back to make Roy break the bite --

He kisses Roy everywhere he can reach, wanting his mouth to be even softer for this, more broad, more --

He doesn't *know*, but he groans helplessly when Roy pulls him into another kiss --

He holds on.

Over time, the kiss turns into many smaller ones, and Roy whispers his name between every one, Roy makes his name sound like something so much *more* --

Until Roy pulls back and smiles at him. "How are you?"

"Somewhat... somewhat drugged, I think."

Roy blinks at him. "You -- you haven't been inhaling any of Kory's incense or anything, have you?"

*Connor* blinks. "Um. No? I mean, the scent of it in the halls is noticeable, but --"

Roy blows out a breath. "Okay. Just -- okay. Sometimes... people can get a little loopy on those fumes. And do things they wouldn't normally do."

Oh. That -- "I wanted this, Roy. I still do. I... I have to admit that I'm going to be somewhat regretful about leaving this bed."

"Then don't."

Connor laughs. "In the *morning*."

"Kory will *bring* us breakfast here if I ask her nicely enough."

"Roy. If you ask her nicely enough you might not be able to... ah. Ask *me* anything."

Roy snorts. "You just made a dirty joke."

"I did not -- that hardly counts."

"Oh, it counts."

"It does *not* --"

"You, my friend and brother, are not a virgin anymore."

Connor blinks again. "I... oh. I'm not."

Roy's smile is gentle and knowing. "This is where you let it throw you, a little."

"I'd rather not."

"Connor --"

"I'd rather save that sort of thing for when I *can't* simply touch you. Speak with you."

And Roy's smile for that is soft. *Broad* --

"I feel -- like an idiot."

"Hey, no --"

"You've been trying to tell me how you feel about me from the very beginning --"

"I did a *terrible* job. I mean, Clark *and* Tim called me on it. I kept -- I kept trying to act like my feelings were a joke..." Roy shakes his head and grips Connor's biceps. "I was so jealous when I found out that Ollie had a *real* son, but I couldn't hold onto that for five *minutes* after meeting you. You're just so -- God, pure."

Connor raises an eyebrow.

"Don't look at me like that, bro, you *are*. You'll *be* pure even if you decide to screw everyone in this Tower *and* on the Watchtower. You -- fuck, I don't know. I'm always warm when I'm with you. And so is everybody else you give even a little bit of yourself to."

Connor blushes again. "I... there's a light in you. And... something like the raw, physical definition of hope. *Strength* --"

"Hey --"

"Be *quiet* for a moment, Roy. I need to tell you this. I need you to know -- I *did* think that you were joking, but more and more I realize that you don't really joke like that with anyone. You have... there's so much *love* within you, and you're the most generous person I know. There's always *more*, and I was a *fool* not to see it. And worse than that to believe you could ever make love with less than all of yourself --"

"Connor --"

"And worse than *that* to want... to want to keep you to myself."

Roy blinks. "I... what?"

"I see what Tim admires in you, Roy. And I think... I think I want to try to live the way you do. At least -- a little. Well, very little comparatively, I think --"

Roy snorts -- "Oh, God, sorry, I'm not --"

"Laughing *at* me, yes, I know," Connor says, smiling and stroking Roy's stubble again. "I believe you made my face somewhat raw -- and I'm *not* complaining."

"Maybe you'd like to feel that other places...?"

Connor shivers. "I want to feel *you*. I want... it seems terribly wrong that I don't know your favorite sleep position, or which side of the bed you prefer... I suppose I'm being ridiculous."

"You're not. You've just spent a lot of damned time avoiding people's bedrooms. Which, if I looked like *you*..."

"I feel as though I should ask Nightwing for *advice*."

"Heh. Dickie gets by *mainly* by being as oblivious as he can possibly manage. I mean, he also *is* oblivious -- but he's not above working it a little harder than he has to in order to get out of -- potentially -- sticky situations."

"Roy, people often feel the need to *explain* to me -- in *detail* -- what they'd like for us to do."

Roy smiles ruefully. "Like me."

"You never went into quite so *much* detail as some of the individuals I can name. Including multiple people Dad has tried to fix me *up* with."

Roy laughs again and bangs his head against Connor's shoulder a few times. "Ohh... God. Yeah, I can see it. *Most* of them just stuck with the talking, right?"

"Thankfully, yes. Although there was one woman..." Connor shudders.

"Now *that* looks like a story."

"Well, *yes*. She put her underwear in my *sandwich*. Her *used* underwear."

"Oh -- man. You're talking about *Michelle*. What's her last name? Gurewich?"

"Greenway," Connor says, and smiles ruefully. "She *told* me that it had worked on you, but I've always hoped that was something of an exaggeration...?"

Roy coughs. "Ah... well... no."

Connor makes a face.

"Aw, don't be like that, I *always* wear protection with civilians."

"You -- with -- I. Never mind," Connor says and laughs helplessly. "*Why* did that work?"

"Well -- okay, first and foremost, you have to admit that she was *hot*, Connor."

"She... I suppose she was aesthetically pleasing, but it was really difficult to see that *after* I was spitting out distressingly *tangy* *cotton*."

"Oh, she did that thing where the crotch was right -- uh... yeah. Okay. Okay. Look at it this way -- okay, you're making skeptical-face and I haven't even *started* --"

"Roy. There is no way you're going to make me regret not taking her up on her... offer."

"She had these *fantastic* little freckles all over her --"

"*Roy*. *Before* the freckles. Please."

Roy laughs and rolls onto his back. "God, c'mere," he says, and tugs on Connor's arm until Connor is draped half on top of him. "Oh, so *good*. Okay. So I took one look at her and thought to myself -- 'self, this is a woman who would look good on your cock.'"

Connor snorts --

"Yeah, exactly. After I agreed with myself -- and complimented myself on my self's wisdom and sagacity -- I chatted her up a little. She immediately started making these *filthy* jokes, and I just fucking love that. *Always*. Especially since she wasn't making any of the *racist* sex jokes that so many people think are actually funny *and* think they can get away with because of how I look."

"Oh... eugh. All right, yes. The two of you hit it off."

"Uh, huh. So, by the time I had to head to the little boy's room, I already knew that there was a *good* chance I'd be going back to her place -- there's just way too much incriminating *stuff* at Ollie's -- but I *didn't* know what it was gonna be like. The thing is, a lot of people who *talk* a lot about sex really are *all* talk, and you'll be lucky to get missionary with the lights off. So there I was, trying to come up with some good ways to figure out how kinky she was without scaring her off --"

"Ah... hm."

"Yeah? What is it, bro?"

"I'm just... we were really rather... well, the word 'vanilla' comes to mind --"

"And you're worried that you'll bore me? Never. Just -- never. I -- okay, for me? It *has* to be at least a little kinky with a civilian in order for me to really feel that *connection*, and it's the connection I need the most. I mean, I know that's really kind of fucked-up, but... well. I've accepted that about myself. With the *community*..." Roy shakes his head. "One of the single hottest sexual experiences I've ever had was my *first* time with Dick, when all we did was stare into each other's eyes while we both jerked off. On *opposite sides of the room*."

Connor thinks about that...

And suddenly he has an image of doing the same thing with *Tim*. Just...

The things he might be moved to *say* -- Connor swallows. "I -- yes. I think I can understand that."

Roy's grin is slow and broad and lazy. "Tim?"

Connor blushes *again* -- "I... yes. Though he does seem to be... rather kinkier than that. At least with Bart."

"Heh, *really* yeah. I mean, I haven't seen them do more than *kiss*, but the way Tim *talks* about Bart..."

"He -- loves Bart a great deal. And seems to *control* him almost utterly."

"See, I *want* to blame Bruce for that, but Tim makes Dick and Jay look like the most sane and normal guys in the *world*. Which is *terrifying*."

"But highly sexually attractive?"

*Roy* blushes. "Well... yeah. Let's just say that I wouldn't mind hitting that again sometime. If *only* to find out *how* he'll scare me."

"He's... gentle with me. Careful."

"And I'm willing to bet he will be right up until you tell him to stop. At which point..."

"Roy... are you jealous?"

"Are you? No, I'm not gonna play that game. I was jealous as *hell* when we first got here, but now that I know how much you care about me, how well you *think* of me... it's easier. And I would *never* try to get in your way, just like how I know you won't try to get in mine."

Connor frowns and strokes Roy's chest. "That seems... easier than it should."

"Does it? I don't know, Connor. I believe in going with what *works* -- and sharing with the people who share with *me* -- and we both know we wouldn't be here right now without the creepy little bastard."

Very true, but... "Roy... I never want to make you feel jealous, or... unloved. Unappreciated."

Roy turns to smile at him again. "I'm pretty sure you're physically incapable *of* doing those things, bro."

"I -- I'm *not*. *Obviously*, I'm not --"

Roy presses a finger to Connor's mouth --

Roy narrows his eyes and purses his lips --

Connor *kisses* Roy's finger --

"Oh, yeah, I -- wait, I was saying something."

"Possibly you were about to disagree with me in some way that makes me blush?"

Roy laughs. "Maybe, yeah. I -- look. We were both working from too little good information and too many *bad* assumptions about each other. We know better now. If anything, what this tells me is that we need to communicate even more than we already do... and I already know you're good at that."

"And so are you."

Roy nods once. "So? Easy. Sometimes easy happens naturally, bro. We just have to appreciate it when it does."

And *that*... Connor laughs, and then laughs a little harder than that --


"Sometimes -- *just* sometimes, thankfully -- I really wish I'd been raised with *you*."

Roy grins at him. "Yeah, but then you wouldn't have all that natural *zen* that gets the girls' panties wet."

"Oh -- God, I'd *almost* managed to block Michelle out again --"

Roy snickers. "Aw, c'mon. It was the *world's best way* to let me know that a, she wanted my face in her crotch, b, that she was ready, willing, and able to do just about anything to *get* it there, c, she wasn't above doing it in *public* --"

"And d, you'd almost certainly *need* your condoms?"

"Aw, now that's just insensitive. Sure, there *are* disease-ridden sluts in this world, but some of us sluts check out clean every six months like clockwork."

Connor swats Roy lightly and laughs until he's tearing a little.

Roy's grin for that is sunny, warm... and as happy as Connor has ever seen it.

Connor sighs. "You're beautiful."

"I am when I'm with you."

Connor takes a breath. "Can you -- no, never mind --"

"No, what?"

"I just --" Connor smiles ruefully. "I was going to ask if you could stay out here longer. You need to get back home."

Roy frowns and sighs. "I do, but... Ollie could probably do without you for a few days? Maybe?"

"I'd love to visit. If there's room --"

"Connor, Outsiders HQ takes up most of a city *block*. Not to mention the fact that Tim would probably love to put you up in the manor."

"Oh... God. I just imagined trying to have a meal with *Bruce*."

"Heh. Robins have been surviving that for *years*, bro. Dick *swears* it builds character."

Connor laughs again and rests his head on Roy's chest. "I believe I'll continue to keep my character quite small, at least for the time being."

Roy hugs him close. "Anything that works for you? Works for me. Sleep?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Then dream of something beautiful, bro. I love you."

Connor sighs and closes his eyes. "I love you, too."


Dick is staring at the pommel horse.

It's -- well, it's a pommel horse. It's neither moving, nor growing a mane and a tail, nor morphing into a bowl of oatmeal.

He is never going to be able to look at a bowl of oatmeal again. He --

No, just the pommel horse. Just that.

Look, how steady it is. How clear. How non-inducing-of-trauma.

Yes. It's a pommel horse --



Bruce moves to stand beside him. "'No?'"


"Hm." Bruce puts his hand on Dick's shoulder.

Dick checks the stairs --

"He doesn't come down to do the cleaning until the afternoon, Dick. It's all right."

"You're touching me."

Bruce touches his tongue to his upper lip --

"You're touching me and you're trying not to laugh, Bruce."

"Both of those things are true."

Dick goes back to staring at the pommel horse.

It is, perhaps, the pommelest of pommel horses. The horsiest?



"Hm." Bruce shifts on his feet and squeezes Dick's shoulder gently. "I... I believe that he will stop being angry with us relatively soon."

Dick shudders. It's just --

It had been a *fantasy*, and after yesterday afternoon --

After last *night*, in Bruce's *bed*, and God, that had been so perfect, so *wonderful* --

Bruce squeezes Dick's shoulder. "Dick."

"I. He *looked* at me, Bruce."

"This... this is true, but --"

"He *yelled* at me."

"Also true, Dick, but he -- ah."

Dick checks the stairs again -- no Alfred.

After last night, it had seemed like it would be... all right to act out a few of his fantasies. Not necessarily the wilder ones -- most of those involve the decided misuse of de-cel lines and the brisk night air over Gotham proper -- but... the other ones.

The old, *familiar* ones.

Like, for example, crawling under the dining room table and fucking his face on Bruce's dick.

Nothing too fancy, nothing too weird.

Nothing involving Alfred *slamming* Bruce's bowl of oatmeal down on the table --

("Master *Dick*, come out from under there this *instant*!")

Or Alfred glaring *down* at him --

("Never in all of my years of service have I *ever* seen something so shameful!")

Or Alfred wagging a gloved *finger* at him --

("There is such a thing as a sense of *place*, sir!")

Dick stares at the pommel horse.

He is never, ever, *ever* going to have another erection in this house again. Just --

It's possible that he won't have one in this *state* --

"Dick, it really is all right --"

"Bruce. It was like. Being caught. Masturbating. In a church."

"I --"

"By a *nun*. Who's also my *mother*."

Bruce touches his tongue to his upper lip *again* --

"Bruce --"

"That seems... improbable."

Dick pinches the bridge of his nose --

Realizes *where* he got that gesture from --

And shudders. All over.

"If you'd like, I could give you a list of the areas of the manor Alfred has deemed appropriate for... dalliances."



"*Dalliances* -- I." Dick turns to stare at Bruce. "Did he use that word?"

Bruce swallows and *coughs* back a laugh. "Yes."

Dick -- whimpers.

Bruce pats his shoulder gently. "It really is an extensive list --"

"Did he -- did he do that to Jay? Is *that* why he ran away?"

"Hm... ah. No."


"Jay felt strongly that the kitchen and dining room were... sacred."

"... I behave worse than Jay."

"Dick --"

"The *oatmeal*, Bruce! The oatmeal!"

Bruce bites his lip briefly and pats Dick's shoulder again. "I'll tell Alfred not to serve it again while you're here."

Dick takes the last step closer and rests his forehead on Bruce's shoulder.

"It will be all right."

"You could've said something."

"... probably, yes."

"Probably. *Probably*?" Dick looks up again, goes over the last few minutes of conversation -- "*Bruce*! You knew and you didn't *stop* me!"

"You seemed... determined."

"I've had that fantasy since I was *thirteen* --"


"You -- " Dick glares.

Bruce seems -- as ever -- impervious. Or -- not that. Right now, Bruce's imperviousness seems to be built on a very specific sort of... distraction.

"You're thinking about it."

Bruce hums noncommittally.

"You're thinking about me blowing you when I was thirteen."

"Perhaps more... fellating me."

Dick narrows his eyes.

"I've always felt there was -- or should be -- a difference between the two," Bruce says, and pushes a lock of Dick's hair back behind his ear.

Dick tries to narrow his eyes more, but it becomes too difficult to see Bruce that way. He attempts another glare, instead.

Bruce's eyes are... twinkling. Merrily.

"You're going to hell."

Bruce nods solemnly.

"You --" Dick stops.

Thinks about it.

"He was fucking with me."

"I wouldn't presume to know the ins and outs --"

"He was fucking with me."


Dick nods slowly, and then lets his body get into it a little, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking on his heels.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

"*Why* was he fucking with me?"

Bruce bites his lip again --

"Bruce, so help me --"

"I believe -- and this is only a guess -- that he feels you don't visit enough."

Dick narrows his eyes --

Thinks about trimming his eyelashes --

Dick glares. "You. He. When I'm peeing on you from heaven, you'll all be sorry."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "Have you had many urine-specific death fantasies?"

Dick feels --

He thinks there might be a vein in his forehead that's just --

Dick presses it down as best he can.

Bruce twinkles at him.

"I hate you."

"Have I mentioned how happy I am to see you, Dick? Because -- I am."


"Oh... ecstatic." 

"I see."


Dick takes a deep, cleansing breath -- and punches Bruce in the stomach.

*Tries* to punch and gets blocked --

Bruce leaps back over his leg sweep and gestures a come-on that's no more of a goad than his smile.

The smile that pulls an answering one out of Dick like --

God, like *air*. So --

Bruce bends back under the kick *he* hasn't been able to manage since Dick was seventeen --

Spins into a kick that would only stave in Dick's ribs if Dick *wasn't* good enough and fast enough to dodge --

Spin --

*Spring* into a donkey-kick --

Bruce catches Dick's ankles and throws him --

Dick tumbles with the momentum and pushes up into a kick that's given many, many bad people *nasty* concussions --

Bruce sidesteps --

Bruce *attacks*, and dodging the punches is like breathing, like *being* --

Dick fakes a vulnerability on his chest and catches Bruce's wrist when he moves for the strike that *used* to take Dick out every time. Just --

"*That* stopped working before I put on the first Nightwing suit, boss --"

"Call it the persistence of nostalgia," Bruce says, *yanking* Dick in --

Dick lets go and drops, tangling his legs with Bruce's own -- *there*.

Bruce goes down like the world's most dangerous tree -- and uses his greater power to *lock* Dick's legs down --

Spun onto his stomach and --

*Not* pinned, because he's *just* a little faster than Bruce now, and that stops being scary once Bruce kicks for his legs before Dick is fully balanced on his feet --

Dick leaps, tumbles in mid-air --

Bruce tags him just above his kidneys and Dick has to take the three-point landing --

Has to use *all* his leverage to flip himself in a roll to avoid a kick that would make his lower jaw try to relocate itself to another *county* --

And Bruce is coming for him double-time, forcing Dick into roll after roll -- *there*, and a partially-uncoiled extension cord for the generator is anything *but* a bolo, but it still slows Bruce down enough that Dick can get onto his feet --

Attack --

And Bruce blocks *Dick's* punches like he's been dreaming of doing just that --

Stares into him with joy, pleasure, *promise* --

"Nuh-uh, boss -- you have to *earn* my other fantasies --"

"Perhaps," Bruce says, catching Dick's wrist and *attempting* to twist Dick into a drop --

Letting go and dancing back when Dick heel-kicks the air where his left knee used to be --

"Perhaps you'll tell me how I may begin to do that...?"

Dick grins, knowing it looks wild on his face --

It feels even wilder *inside*, and for this --

For this he can use *all* of his speed and every ounce of power he's built in himself over the years --

*Hit* to Bruce's wrist when his attempted grab is too slow --

"Tell me *yours*," Dick says, and gets his lower body into the game again, using his knees and shins to punish Bruce for every step closer --

Every moment of *loss* --

And Dick has a *moment* to know he'll pay for the distraction before Bruce starts stomping for his ankles and insteps --

*While* finding every space Dick is leaving for punches --

"Stay with me, Dick --"

"*Fantasies* --"

"*This*," Bruce says, spinning around Dick just in time to *miss* Dick's elbows -- thrown and pulled out of play *just* that fast, thank you very much --

Dick spins -- and gets tagged in the side just hard enough to make the next breath challenging, *sweet* --

The one after that is only itself, and it's a disappointment --

"*More*, Bruce --"

"Your hair -- should be longer," Bruce says, and makes *Dick* bend under a kick a man his age has no *right* to --

Dick's too slow to catch *Bruce's* ankle with more than a light strike --

But Bruce grunts and dances back just the same, dancing on his feet and urging, *urging* --

"More *detail* --"

"Of course -- if you let me pin you."

Dick snorts and responds to that the only way possible: He gives Bruce *all* of his kicks -- including the ones Donna tried and failed to teach any *other* male --

("Oh, Dick, you'd be so *beautiful* as a woman!")

And the ones Deathstroke had given him in return for a picture of his son laughing --

("I won't forget.")

And *this* one, because Tim hadn't had the flexibility for everything Shiva had taught him, but Dick had given him that, *taken* that --

("Don't take this the wrong way, Dick, but I can't help but wonder if you think I should castrate myself.")

Oh, never *that*, little brother, little lover-of-not-*me* --

And he's forced Bruce back nearly to the uneven bars -- wait --

*Crap* --

Because Bruce is more than capable of leaping up and *swinging* into a double-kick that Dick has to bend himself back over his own *legs* to avoid --

And then Bruce is on him, and so are his forty-seven hands and nineteen thighs.

Dick has enough leverage to twist and *fight*, but he's not sweaty enough to twist free --

And he stops wanting to when Bruce grabs him by the jock and *growls*.

But. "Fantasy."

"This moment with you beneath me. Your hair tangled and damp with sweat. Your perfect body *contorted*."

"Heh. And *then* what?"

"And then I oil you and bend you into every position I can think of and you don't. Stop. Moving."

Dick licks his lips and works his body in a controlled -- and constrained -- wave --


"My fantasy first."

"Tell me."

"Suit up. Now."

Bruce narrows his eyes. "Really."

And *that*... was a very blatant attempt to appeal to the part of Dick -- let's call it his dick, because it is -- that wants to stay right here and get oiled. But. "Suit up... and I'll do the same."

Bruce grunts.

Dick smiles. "Or did you think I *wouldn't* know you'd kept them?"

"Dick --"

"What did you call it? The 'persistence of nostalgia...?'"

"I. Are you sure --"

"*I* call it... one for the road."

"Don't leave."

Dick blinks. "I -- Bruce?"

Bruce winces and pulls back, taking too *much* of his heat away, and that --

Dick curls and twists up until he can kneel facing Bruce, cup his face, press *close* --

"I can't ask --"

"But you can demand? You --" Dick shakes his head. "If you want me here --"

"I have. Good reasons. *Mission*-related reasons --"

"God, *Bruce* -- Those aren't the ones *driving* you --"

"No. They aren't. Dick, I'm sorry --"

"I can't --"

"I *know* --"

"Bruce, *listen*," Dick says, pressing hard on Bruce's cheekbones with his thumbs. "I can't leave my *team*."

Bruce stiffens, searches him -- "You don't. You don't live with them."

"They need me more than I currently --" Dick shakes his head. "Amy wants me off the force or off the street. Blüdhaven is as quiet as it's ever going to *get*. And you need me."

"Always --"

"Then don't try to -- you can't take anything back from me. From *us*."

And Bruce's gaze is hot, bleak, lonely, needy, *hungry* --

Dick smiles. "You look at my little brother that way, boss...?"

"Hn. Only... when he's sleeping very deeply, indeed."

"Heh. Let me guess -- he wakes up for it."

"Rarely more than enough to get a hand on a likely weapon."

Dick *snickers* -- "I. I probably shouldn't want to try that."


"'Hm?' *What* 'hm?'"

"Once... I slipped into his bedroom and played, softly, a recording of the sounds you made while working out."

"You *bastard*!"

"Does that mean you *don't* want to know what he did?"

"I --" Dick bites his lip.

"Hn. He reached... for something else entirely."

Dick feels his jaw drop and can't actually do anything about it.

Bruce stands and offers his hand --

Dick takes it --

Bruce leads them toward the uniforms --

"Are we your partners or your *social* experiment?"

"I've been told, more than once, that I shouldn't try to limit myself."

"By *who*?"

Bruce smiles at him.

Dick thinks about it --

Dick looks at the *penny* --

Dick stops thinking about it. And --

There's a part of him which is freaking out in many, *many* different ways for doing *this*.

One: The uniform has no right to still fit perfectly.

Two: There is no way in *hell* that he should be thinking fondly of the first straight razor Bruce had ever given him.

Three: He should only want to giggle and jump around after he's been huffing Kory's incense.

Four Through Twelve: God in *heaven*, this feels sweet. Just --

All of it. *All* of it -- including the fact that the world won't end after he takes this off again. So --

Dick takes off back into the Cave proper at a run, building up speed until he can dive into flip after flip --

Until he can *whoop* once he's off the mats --

Once he's close --

Once he's close *enough* that his last flip takes him onto the hood of the car and he has to *sprawl* just to keep from sliding off the finish.

And Bruce is right there, blank and cold --

Bruce shows his teeth and it's all the heat in the world, everything he's always wanted to burn *in* --

"Oh -- Batman --"

"Robin. What do you think you're doing."

Dick's heart seizes, trips --

Dick's dick begins saying *mean* things about the panties --

"Batman, I -- I only wanted --"


No, no, he can't groan *yet* -- but he can lick his lips. "You. You're not *busy* --"

"The Mission *always* comes first."

No, *he's* going to come first. Dick pants and lets his gauntlets slide along the hood, shifting enough to *expose* how much his legs are spread. How much wider they *could* be spread --

"*Robin* --"

"Please, Batman. I -- I need you," and Dick lets his voice quaver as much as it *wants* --

Bruce firms his mouth into a thin, pale *slash* --

"Oh -- oh, I've waited so *long*, Batman, *please* --"

"You *don't* know what you're asking for."

"I do! I've studied, and -- and I know how to make it. Good."

Bruce's right hand twitches. *Just* once.

Dick fights back a smile. "I'll do *anything*, Batman. I promise! It -- it's okay if it hurts a little --"

"It will hurt *badly*."

Oh, *Daddy* -- wait, no. "I -- I can be *strong*! You know I can!"

Bruce's growl has a little too much *feeling* in it to be right, but --

It's possible that Robin -- *his* Robin, anyway -- wouldn't have already pulled his knees up and planted them.

Possibly he'll work on the details of this one later --

Or possibly he'll just groan when Bruce yanks off the gauntlets and lets them *slap* on the hood.

"Oh -- Batman --"

"Expose yourself."

Okay, that meeping noise was actually pretty fair --


Dick rolls up onto his elbows with his legs up straight -- toes pointed because Robin *always* knows his audience --

The panties are *always* much harder to get out of than into --

That metaphor has no *place* here --


"Oh -- God, Batman, sorry --"

"Apologies are meaningless. *Improvement* is all."

Do not snicker do not snicker do *not* -- Dick kicks the panties off and they go flying -- somewhere. Bruce will find them --

"Legs *down*."

"Yes, Batman --"

"Spread," Bruce says, and it sounds like he's threatening the genitals of Dick's entire ancestry --

Right back to the *gibbons* --

Dick spreads *just* until his groin muscles start muttering --


"Oh -- but --"

"Do you need to be *punished*, Robin...?" And that --

That was almost a *purr*, and Robin would --

What would Robin *do*?

"Oh -- please, Batman, please don't --"

"Don't. *What*."

Dick bites his lip --

"*Control* your expressions, Robin."

*Unlikely*, but -- "I. If I've been bad --"

"You're disobedient. Lazy. *Inefficient*."

Dick bites his tongue *hard* until he can breathe --

No, wait, the panting is *good* for this. The panting is making him feel *high* --

"You -- you can *make* me good, Batman! That's all I've ever *wanted*!"

Bruce clenches his hands into fists -- jerks them open again.

Relaxes them.


And tilts his head back until the shadows make even the *cowl* indistinct.

"Off the car *now*."

Dick scrambles, feeling like his dick weighs approximately forty pounds --

"Bend over and *brace* yourself."

Fucking *God* -- "Please. Please, Batman -- may I keep my hands on the car?"

"If you must," Bruce says, *sneering* at him, and really --

Really, really, *really* --

Maybe Dick can find a way to convince Alfred to go shopping or something. Or to let him *know* when he goes shopping, because --

Just *once* under the dining room table --

He *deserves* it --

He's been a *good* boy --


"Y-yes, Batman."

"Tuck your penis and scrotum between your thighs."

Okay, that groan was pitched *way* too low, and also he's never, ever, *ever* going to let Bruce shut up about his kinks, and --

Tucking makes his *eyes* roll back in his head. Just -- his sac feels so *exposed* --

"So. You *can* follow orders sometimes," Bruce says, and the feel of his hand on Dick's ass --

The warmth and *possessiveness* --

"Count. Off."

Dick moans and *locks* his knees --

"*No*," Bruce *barks* --

"Oh, Batman, I'm so *sorry* --"


Sure thing, give me ninety seconds to come all *over* myself --

Maybe seventy-five --

Dick uses everything *in* him to relax, and pulls a little extra out of the ether to keep himself from dropping to his knees right *there* --

"Are you *ready*."

Dick gasps -- "*Yes*!"

The first spank makes him jerk --


The second makes him push up onto his *toes* --

"Oh -- ow, Batman, *two* --!"

The third is on his *sac* --

"Please -- *three*!"

Bruce *cups* his ass with both hands. "Will you beg me to stop?"

*Never* -- wait. Better answer, Robin answer -- "Robin never *begs*, Batman!"

"Maybe you don't deserve Robin. Maybe you're not *worthy*."

O-kay, definitely going to shave Bruce's sac and draw a smiley-face on it in permanent marker when he's asleep sometime, but -- "I *am*, Batman! I'll *show* you!"

"Hn. Do that," Bruce says, and the next spanks come almost too fast to count, too hard to *believe* --

Dick counts and tries to stay still for it, tries not to show --

But he can, he *can* --

Dick *moves*, pushing up into the spanks and crying out between counts, shouting when he can't keep his voice high enough, whimpering for every *touch* to his sac --

He *knows* how careful they are, but this moment, this *fantasy* --

"*Ahn* -- thirty-three! Thirty-*four*!"

"Hn. Signs of improvement already. Maybe I *can* do something with you."

"Oh, anything, *anything* --"

"Reach back and spread yourself."

Dick lets his cheek *drop* to the hood of the car and does it --

And *yips* for the feel of those hands on his ass. Just -- sitting down is going to be --


"Yes! Sorry, Batman, I'm sorry --" God, the skin feels so *taut* --

Bruce growls and strokes Dick's cleft, up and down and up and *down* --

Dick shivers --

"Be *still*."

Dick *sobs* -- *fuck* --

"You've been... abusing yourself."

*What* -- "I -- sometimes -- sometimes I can't *help* it, Batman --"

"You're *weak*."

"Yes! Yes, I've always been -- but you can make me *strong* --"

"Were you thinking of your *Titans* when you did this to yourself?"

Dick *moans* --

"*Answer* me!"

"I -- I let Speedy -- I let him touch me --"

Bruce slaps Dick's *hole* --

"Oh *God* -- "

He'd done it with his *dick* --

"Oh, God, *please* --"

"You let. An *Arrow*. Touch my *property*."

Dick opens his mouth, but the noise that comes out makes him sound like he's *dying* --

"Did you let him *take* you, Robin?"

Dick squeezes his eyes shut and tries to think, to come up with *something* --

"*Answer* me!"

"*Yes*! Oh, *yes*, Batman, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I thought you never *would* --"

"*No* excuses, Robin. Spread your legs."

"Yes -- yes --"

His dick *slaps* against his abdomen, spatters the *tunic* --

"Oh, *Batman* --"

And then all he can do is moan, because Bruce is dragging his dick up and down Dick's cleft, pausing only to *push* at Dick's hole --

They'd forgotten *lube*, but --

His Robin *never* would've asked for more than what Bruce could give. Just --

It's a feeling like floating away, like losing himself -- no, like losing everything he'd *accrued* around himself in the last six years, everything but what *matters* --

Dick sobs again and smiles. "I love you, Batman."

Bruce *grunts* --

And the push makes Dick cry *out*, makes him --

Oh -- "You -- you slicked *yourself*," and he's losing the *character*, but --

"You." Bruce grunts *again* -- "You need to learn how to be *prepared*, Robin --"

"*Fuck* --"


And Dick doesn't know if he wants to apologize or laugh, beg or scream, claw at the car or his own stinging *ass* --

"You. You can *take* this."

That -- was a question. Okay. Okay --

"*Robin* --"

"*Give* it to me -- *hnh* --"

And suddenly Dick's hands just *are* on the car --

Bruce's hands are on his *hips* --

Bruce's dick is a solid burning *rod* --

"Tell me. You want. *More*."

Dick sobs and tosses his head --

"*Dick* --"

"God -- fuck -- *take* me --"

Bruce groans and *pulls* Dick off of him, inch by not-slick-*enough* inch --

"*Please* --"

*In* and it could be the first time, the best time, the *only* time --

Out and he's going to *die* without this --

*In* and he's *beating* at the car, shouting for help but *only* from Batman --

"Dick, tell me -- tell me what to *do* --"

"Don't *stop*, don't ever *stop* --"

"I must --" Bruce groans, shuddering hard enough to move *both* of them -- "Never -- never want to *hurt* --"

"I want it, I *need* it --"

"Dick --"

"You *owe* me this --"

Bruce *shouts* --

And then he's moving Dick into every thrust, *working* Dick, *making* Dick take it --

Batman --

Oh, *Batman*, and right now Dick might as well be nineteen --

Fifteen --

Thirteen and aching, thirteen and *scared*, thirteen and more exhilarated, more *thrilled* --

And Dick is crying out for every thrust, working to *help* Bruce move him --

But Bruce has never needed Dick's help to be perfect, Bruce --

"*Dick* --"

"I'm *here*, I'm *here* --"

"My love, you must never --"

Dick clenches *helplessly* --

And *Bruce* cries out, releasing Dick's hips to grab Dick's wrists in a vise grip --

Bruce kicks Dick's legs further *apart* --

And now the fuck is relentless, jagged and fast, dirty and *fast* --

Bruce is grunting like Dick's using him as a heavy bag --

Dick is --

He's sobbing, and he can't stop, he can't --

This is everything real and everything lost, everything wrong and everything *gained* --

And Dick knows that this is the *real* end, that everything else -- including his own *death* -- will be an anticlimax. This --

No matter what --

He's never getting away. He can't --

He'll never be strong enough to run from this. Not -- God, not for more than a few days at a time, please never *that* --

This --

He's *not* Robin anymore, but he'll always be Batman's property --

Bruce's --

"*Dick*. Your *pleasure*," Bruce says, letting go of *one* of Dick's wrists --

And Dick knows what he wants, knows what he has to *have* if this will ever be anything like *right* for Bruce --

And the sob chokes itself off in Dick's throat when he grips himself, strangles itself into something much louder, much --

"My. *You're* my fantasy, Dick. You -- my *dream* --"

"Bruce --"

"Give me your *pleasure*, Dick, and I -- there is nothing I won't --" Bruce gasps when Dick clenches again --

Dick *shouts* when he can make his hand remember how to stroke, make himself --

God, *Roy* had taught Dick this stroke, and if he could see him now --

Well, all right, there'd probably be a round of applause, cheering, and *suggestions* --

Oh, *Roy* --

And Dick would give him this, too, every moment of it in as much detail as he could *manage*. He'd give, and he'd thank, and he'd beg to be forgiven for still needing this so much --

Roy would *laugh* at him --

Tim would --

Oh, he *wants* this for his little brother, wants to make him understand, make him judder and grunt and *beg* for Bruce --

For him --

For *both* of them, because this was always the promise beneath everything else --

This shuddering body-shock --

This *spiraling* need every time Bruce gasps --

Every time he clutches so hard Dick's *bones* grind together --

"Dick. *Now* --"

And the trigger in him --

He's screaming and jerking himself *raw*, he's --

*Blank* -- and he's terrified, laughing, *crying* --

Losing --

And this time the scream tears his throat on its way out, this time every spasm of his orgasm makes him need to *fight* --

God, don't let this *end* --

He has a *moment* of warning when his knees start to give -- "Bruce, *please* --"

And Bruce catches him by the hips --

Bruce groans and holds him *still*, slamming in again and again --

Taking him away from *everything* but this moment --

("I -- I don't know, Big Bird. Sometimes I just wish I could *talk* to you about it --"


"I -- fuck. It's not important.")

It *was*, Jay --

I'm so *sorry* --

Dick lets his head fall to the hood and teaches himself how to breathe again, how to take and bend and *accept* --

This --

*This* --

And the *heat* when Bruce comes is too electrifying to be real, too perfect to be anything he *deserves* -- but it's his now.

And so are the *dirty* sounds of Bruce's last few thrusts --

The slick feel of Bruce's hands slipping on the sweat between them --

The moment that doesn't end even when Bruce hauls him into an upright hug --

Because Bruce is kissing Dick everywhere he can reach, squeezing and gripping --

*Twitching* when Dick's body *demands* a clench --

Dick reaches up and wraps his arms around Bruce's neck and just -- goes with it.

As much as he *can* --

Good Lord, this uniform has to come *off* --

"Dick...? Are you -- tell me what's wrong," and Bruce sounds *worried*, which --

Dick laughs softly. "Are you thinking you maybe went a little *far*, boss?"


"You didn't."

"Dick --"

"You *couldn't*."

Bruce strokes him, and -- yes, Bruce *is* capable of imbuing *petting* with skepticism.

Dick presses back against him. "Everything you said..."

"Words. Just -- you were always -- I always *believed* in you --"

"I know. But you *did* worry about my discipline, and you *didn't* think I was ready to love you, and you *are* insanely possessive and jealous."

Bruce is silent for a moment -- and then he sighs. "I hoped... in those moments, that we could find pleasure in the darkness of my thoughts --"

"Not just your thoughts. And we *did*."

"Dick... I don't ever want you to feel obligated, or... anything like that."

Dick smiles. "I know that, too. But... part of me -- a *lot* of me -- is *always* going to belong to you. To *be* your property --"

"Dick, no --"

"*Yes*. And I... it's a lesson I learned when I was *young*, Bruce. And telling myself I'd grown out of it got me some wonderful times with some wonderful people... but it also let me hurt them badly."

"I've never been... I have failed at this many times, Dick. I fear -- greatly -- that I will fail again."

"No lies."


"No -- *hiding* --"

"Never from you again --"

"Or from Tim. Or Babs. Or *Cass* --"

"I --" Bruce's laugh is a breath. "My love, I also greatly fear for my *stamina*."

Dick blinks --

Thinks about it --

"Bruce --"


"*All* of them?"

Bruce hums and kisses Dick's temple again. "And others."

"How --" Many -- no. "Uh."

"Sometimes -- when I either made Clark very happy or very annoyed -- he would manipulate me into taking him and then duplicate your sounds."

Dick grunts and clenches again --

Bruce *pants* -- "He has offered, more than once, to share you with me."

"I -- he never asked *me* --"

"Did he have to?"

Dick blushes. Just -- catastrophically -- "Bruce. I..."

"That was too much."

Dick laughs helplessly and reaches down and back to tug Bruce out -- "*Ohn* -- hnh. Bruce." And if he can do this, he can -- he can damned well look Bruce in the eye. He turns -- "I'm not ready to wear your collar. Or -- anyone else's."

Bruce narrows his eyes -- but it looks like more hunger than anger. "Roy has taught you much."

"I --" Dick laughs again. "Everybody gets curious sometimes? No, I -- it was more than that. Roy's really -- well. He can be *convincing*, but it still felt..." Dick frowns and forces himself to really think about it --

"Dick, if it feels wrong to you, we never have to -- I'll never mention it again."

"No, I -- I *want* you to talk to me about all of this. About all of *you*. It's just... there's a part of me which doesn't want to belong to you, at all --"

"I understand."

"*Do* you? I -- it's not even *about* you at base, Bruce. It's --" Dick smiles ruefully and pushes a hand back through his hair. "It feels like betrayal. Like -- like something even worse than that."

Bruce frowns. "Who would you be betraying?"

"Babs. Kory. Roy. Clark -- but that's a lie. What I'd really be betraying are all the parts of me which belong to *them* -- and all the parts of me which... which maybe never belonged in this life."

Bruce closes his eyes --

"Oh, no, no, you know I'd *never* leave --"

"I know," Bruce says, and opens his eyes again. "I always feared it just the same. When I would see... when I would look at you and see the fever to be elsewhere, with other people..." Bruce offers his own rueful smile. "I was jealous of your Titans for having you... and grateful to them for keeping you close."

And that kind of honesty --

He's always wanted to be *honest* with Bruce, about *everything* --

"Then. Then you know. A part of me never came back after you fired me the first time."

Bruce winces and nods.

Dick nods, too, and reaches out to take Bruce's hand. "I guess -- I guess what I'm saying is that I'm always going to need to reject --"

"Me, Dick?"

"Us. Robin. Nightwing. Me."

"You -- you need not stay --"

"Oh, but I do. I *really* do, boss, because this -- this is so good it's *scary*, and I can't run away from the good. Even when I want to. Even if I should. Even -- heh. Even if I *do*. Eventually. Maybe -- God, kiss me --"

Bruce pulls him in --

And Dick gets a hand up *just* in time for the hand to be kissed from both sides. Dick laughs helplessly --

Bruce searches him *hopefully* --

Dick moves his hand. "I love you so much. And -- just to keep going with the whole honesty thing --"

"You belong to your little brother?"

"He belongs to *me* -- er. Ah. Hm."

Bruce hums, and that *merry* light is back --

"Oh, if I could see you happy for just one *moment* every day --"

"You will. I promise you."

"You can't *make* promises like that --"

Bruce shows his teeth. "I can," he says, and narrows his eyes the *Bat* way, "and I will."

"Okay, how do you do that without your *eyelashes* getting in the way?"

"I trim them regularly."


"No," Bruce says, humming and kissing Dick's forehead again. "Tell me what you were going to say."

"Oh -- that. I. Heh."

Bruce pulls him into a hug. "Dick. I regret every moment we could've had this but did not."

"Okay, see, one day you're going to say something like that where other people can *see* us --"

"Would you like that?"

"*No*. Just -- no. Unless -- well, maybe --"


Dick licks his lips. "Roy. Roy would also work."


"Oh -- Jesus, because -- and then I could *grab* him while he was still too stunned to make a good escape --"

"Come with me to pick him up."

"I -- you. Yes. Because... you have a damned good autopilot." Dick narrows his eyes, blinks around his lashes, licks his *lips* -- "Clark could catch the plane if something bad happened."

Bruce hums and strokes down the center of Dick's spine. "And if he wanted a reward for his services?"

"Nngh. I -- can't believe I've never thought of Clark fucking Tim before. It just -- it seems like that should've come *up* before now --"

"Dick. Tell me --"

"I... came real damned close to calling you Dad. Daddy, even --"

Bruce grunts and kisses him, bending him *back*, and it's possible that Dick should question the reflex that leads to him hooking his legs around Bruce's hips and holding on --

("Shoulds are the *enemy*, 'mano. Trust me.")

Oh -- absolutely.


The smell of Cyborg's coffee pulls Tim gently from sleep on warm waves of --

Being molested.

Being *interestingly* molested, because there seem to be at least five pairs of hands on him -- and none of them feel like Bart's.


Tim opens his eyes -- in time to see the ceiling rushing toward him. Well. "Kon."

"Oh, dude, sorry --"

Tim hits the bed with a *gentle* bounce -- no. He hits a reasonably flat surface of nothing --

The nothing *becomes* hands again --

Tim sits up, shivering for the feel of ghostly fingers pulling on his nipples, and Kon -- is in the doorway.

With Bart.

Tim smiles and settles himself comfortably at the head of the bed. At the moment, Bart is in the process of climbing Kon -- who has one hand on Bart's ass and the other splayed toward Tim himself.

The interesting thing is that, even with effort, Tim can't see the pattern in the way Kon's fingers are moving.

"I approve of the inroads you've made in your control, Kon."

Kon gives him a thumbs-up --

And suddenly both Tim's ass and his mouth are *full*.

Well. There are worse ways to start the day. Still --

Tim clenches and bites down simultaneously --

Kon grunts, bucks, and falls to his knees as Bart scrambles up and over his shoulders to avoid being crushed.

The *things* inside Tim widen --

*Pulse* --

Tim clenches and bites down *harder* --

Kon falls over and twitches. Once.

Bart nudges him with his toe. "Is he done? I don't want him to be done. He shouldn't *be* done he's a *super* -- Tiiiim! What did you *do*?"

Tim holds up a finger -- and, slowly, the things inside him dissipate to air and a general sense of having not been violated nearly enough. Tim works his jaw. "He accidentally penetrated me with his aura."

Bart's eyes are wide and shocked --

And then narrow and *hot*. "I want that. I want that right now --"

And Bart is naked --

And Bart is hauling on Kon's shoulders.

"You should probably give him another moment or two."

"I don't *want* to. He -- he's a really good kisser, Tim."

Kon groans and shudders.

"That had always been my hope. He's had... a great deal of practice."

"Oh my God I can't believe I kissed him before *you* did! That's wrong!"

Tim shows his teeth. "Well. Kon is a Super. You? Are my Robin --"

"Fucking *fuck*, that's fucked  --"

"One moment, Kon," Tim says, and turns back to Bart. "I'm your Batman -- "

"No, seriously, Tim --"

"Kon. If you interrupt me again, I *won't* bite your actual penis."

Kon makes a sound like a masochistic seal being lovingly caned.

"Tim. You bit him -- you --" Bart runs in place hard enough to vibrate much of the *room* --

And then he's sitting sideways in Tim's lap. "I'm not going to interrupt you I just want you to know that if you ever bite my penis you pretty much have to marry me."

"Noted," and Tim grips the back of Bart's neck. "As I was saying, this particular dynamic has a certain degree of precedent. Though, by rights, Kon really should've done *everything* with you long before we did."

"You mean --"

"Dude, Clark and *Nightwing*? Wait, no, that actually makes a lot of sense, considering how much he loves your freak-ass family. I mean, I could forgive a whole lot if it meant having a lapful of *that*."

("Ooh, little brother! Were you checking out my ass? No? Yes? Maybe a little? What happens if I wiggle it?")

Tim hums to himself and massages the brief tension out of Bart's neck --

"Ohh, you're getting ridiculously good at knowing -- I don't want you to go home today, Tim."

"I know."

"I mean -- you'll be gone all *week* --"


"And I can't *visit* you --"

"I've decided that you can," Tim says, and flips Bart down onto his back. "You'll be a friend from school. You'll come over to do homework with me on... Wednesday. You'll use your control so well that my penis will *ache* for you --"

"Oh -- *yes* --"

"And then, after I've gagged you, I'll fuck you over my desk. Twice." And --

Bart's penis doesn't quite *slap* his abdomen, but there's certainly a sense that such a thing would be possible with a little more effort in the future.


Tim scratches down the center of Bart's chest. "Kon."

"Uh. Yeah?"

"What did it feel like to be inside me?"

"Uh. I. Can I take my clothes off now? Because mostly what it *felt* like was me *fucking* you, and also there's enough come in my jeans that anyone who does my laundry for me is gonna get a serious case of the pregnants."

Bart snorts -- "Ooh God it always feels so good to laugh when I'm this *hard* --"

Tim shoves two fingers into Bart's mouth --

"*Mm* -- mm *mmm* --"

"Suck. And yes, Kon, take your clothes off."

It actually *seems* to take a moment before Kon is kneeling naked on Bart's other side, which just goes to demonstrate the oft-frightening adaptability of the average human.

Tim looks Kon over slowly, taking in golden skin, a scattering of minor scars, the desperately *regular* humped plane of his abdomen... and his thick, curving penis. Longer than his own. *Thicker* than his own... and slick with pre-come and semen alike. "You're beautiful."

Kon flexes his pectorals. "How long have you wanted to say that?"

Tim shows his teeth. "Since the very first time we met. Bart wants to feel you penetrating him."

Kon bites his lip. "I. Yeah. Uh. You don't think that's kinda *far*? I mean, yeah I already did it, but that was by accident --"

"And this," Tim says, and begins thrusting his fingers in and out of Bart's mouth, "would be entirely intentional."

"Yeah. Uh. Yeah --"

"You'd know -- with every part of you -- that you were choosing to penetrate Bart. To *fuck* him."

This isn't the first time he's seen Kon's lust-wince, but it's the first time he's ever felt like he could *do* something about it.

Tim licks his lips. "He wants it. Don't you, Bart." And Tim pulls his fingers out slowly enough -- there.

Bart vibrates --

Writhes so quickly he *blurs* --

"*Please* -- please please please please --"

"God, fuck, *Bart* --"

"Kon. I've thought about it before."

"You. Uh. *Seriously*?"

Tim nods slowly and twists Bart's nipple *viciously* --

The sound Bart makes -- no, Tim can't classify it. It could be the howl it sounds like... or it could be any number of heartfelt pleas.

"I love you, Bart," Tim says, and turns back to Kon. "I've thought about you using your power on him. About you *forcing* him to be still --"

Kon moans and *grips* himself --

Tim nods and smiles. "I've thought about you *taking* him. I've thought about you burying yourself so deep inside him that he tastes you. That he tastes your *need*."

"Fuck, Rob, *please* --"

"Do it for me."

"I -- Bart hasn't even had time to --"

"He's had the time and you know it. Kon. Fuck. My. Boy."

The sound Bart makes this time is reminiscent of a very large man being simultaneously strangled and electrocuted --

His semen sketches a *high* arc as he comes.

"Oh -- *dude*," Kon says, and his tone is relieved, impressed -- and disappointed. "Uh. You know. Plan B?"


"Oh, Jesus, you're *Kon*-ing me, Tim, and that is so fucking *beyond* unfair --"

"Kon. Look at Bart."

Kon bites his lip --

Whimpers --

And looks.

Tim takes the time to do the same, and... yes. Bart is not only fully erect again, he has that *particularly* manic expression in his eyes which tends to mean that he'll be spending at least some part of the next twenty-four hours spinning threads of fantasy until he can come up with something...

Something that will make Tim lose even more of his mind.

"I believe we've inspired him, Kon."

"He's. He's yours."

Tim knows the smile on his face has... issues -- he can *feel* that it's the same smile which once made Dick look at him like he was frightened that Tim would do something worse to the dealer Tim had stabbed through the *hand* -- but. "Yes. He's mine. Now and forever."

Bart blows him a kiss, giggles -- and bends his knees back to his chest.

Kon *grunts* -- and begins stroking himself.


"*Please*, Tim --"

"If you do a good *enough* job fucking him... I'll fuck your beautiful, beautiful mouth."

And when Kon looks like *that* --

Like he's taken the world's friendliest sledgehammer to the *forehead* --

When Bart's vibration frequency is the precise one that means *happiness* --

Tim sighs and smiles ruefully. "I think I've missed this. Even though we've never had it before." And Tim presses his fingers to Bart's mouth so he can kiss them.

Kon nods slowly --

And then he simply *is* between Bart's thighs, using his power to lift Bart's hips until they're resting on *his* thighs.

"Not. Not my cock. I already *know* you're too small just from *looking* at you -- and I know you won't really stretch." Kon bites his lip and shakes his head. "I *won't* make you bleed no matter *how* much of my brain Tim scoops out with a damned batarang."

"Okay that's fine for now let me *feel* you," and Bart rests his feet on Kon's shoulders, long legs bent and slim, strong and *sleek* --

Tim moves enough that he can press a kiss to the back of Bart's knee, lick and suck mark after bruise after mark --

"Oh -- Tim, Tim it's always so *scary* when you're gentle --"

Tim bites *hard* --

Bart jerks --

"Fuck, Bart, hold still so I can concentrate --"

"Kon. *Now*."

Kon whimpers again and presses just the tip of his finger to Bart's hole --

And then Kon's expression is purest concentration, his brows lowering in something which looks almost like *rage* --

"Oh -- *warm* -- oh fuck oh fuck oh *fuck* -- Tim he's in me, he's *in* me --"

Tim takes a breath and holds *on* to his control -- "How does it feel."

Kon shudders -- gasps and shudders *again* --

"He -- just keeps getting *longer* --"

"Longer than me."

Bart shouts --

*Wails* --

"Tim Tim Tim Tim don't be jealous --"

"I'm *not*," and Tim can't keep the growl out of his voice --

"Tell me it's *good*, Tim --"

"You're beautiful like this, Bart. *Always*."

Kon moans and *jerks*, bouncing Bart on his lap --

"Oh -- it's *moving* in me, Tim!"

Tim licks his lips and moves behind Kon, pressing close --

Kon jerks again --

"Bigger it's bigger it's filling me up oh God Kon *please* --"

Kon groans and shakes his head -- "Tight. So fucking -- Tim, how can you fucking --"

"It lays me open, Kon," Tim says, and presses his thumbnails to Kon's nipples. "It *cuts* me open until I'm nothing. Until I'm rutting and *mindless*."

Kon gasps, working his hips at nothing and *clutching* Bart's hip with his free hand -- "*Hot*, Tim --"


"Hotter. Hotter than *me* --"

"He always will be," Tim says, and *pinches* Kon's nipples --

And Tim knows that Kon and Bart almost certainly didn't cry out at *exactly* the same time, but it seems that way, *feels* that way --

As if everything he does to Kon can *transmit* --

Tim groans quietly and kisses Kon's shoulders, the back and sides of his neck --

"Wanna -- gotta kiss you *right*," Kon says, clenching his fists --

And then Bart is still everywhere save for his wild and almost *rolling* eyes --

Yes. Tim kneels up enough that Bart will be able to see his face -- his *smile* -- over Kon's shoulder --

"*Mm* *mm* *mm* *mmmm*!"

"Can you free his mouth without letting go of the rest of him?"

Kon concentrates --

Kon grunts and shudders, pants and blows like an overworked *horse* -- and that's answer enough.

Tim strokes him gently, carefully -- "It's all right, Kon --"

"Do. Have to -- Bart, you're so --" Kon shakes his head and moans, long and low. The interesting thing is that he seems to be shaking nearly everywhere *except* for his hands --

And Tim realizes that he's trying not to *hurt* Bart, trying to hold him as gently as possible...

Tim licks his lips again and strokes his way down to Kon's thick wrists. He pinches more than he holds --

"Oh -- oh, God, Tim, *please* --"

"*Relax*," Tim says, and he'd meant that for Kon --

But Bart's eyes still and focus, as well.

Tim feels himself so *warm* inside, so --

He'd never thought feeling fundamentally broken *could* feel so right, but this --

"Good boy," he says to Bart and means it with all of himself --

And it seems like he can't *hold* everything he feels when Bart's eyes shine for him --

When Kon shudders again and groans --

*Keeps* groaning --

And it's necessary to drag Kon's hands back to his own hips, to feel --

Heat. *Bart's* heat --

Tim gasps and *thrusts* against Kon's back --

"Fuck, *Tim* --"

"Don't *stop*, Kon --"

"Can't -- *can't* stop --"

"Fuck him, Kon --"

"*Yes* --"

"Fuck him until you *come* --"

Kon cries out --

Bart's scream is muffled and *high* --

And every time Kon pumps his hips, Bart's heat *envelops* Tim, starting at Tim's hips and moving all over his body --

Bart's heat pulses and *squeezes* him --

Kon tosses his head --

Tim has to keep himself from *coming*, somehow -- no. He has incentive. He has -- God, all the incentive in the *world*. There's so much he *owes* them, and his pleasure is just a small part --

Tim opens his mouth --

And suddenly the gag Kon had made with his power is in *his* mouth --

Suddenly it seems like a spreading block with Bart biting and sucking the other *end* of it --

Kon thrusts faster, *harder* --

Bart's muffled, keening whimpers are one long *garrote* of a whine --

The *clutch* of Bart gets tight enough that Tim can't *breathe* --

And every thrust Kon makes now is a sharp thing, a desperate and rough thing --

The *quality* of the heat changes -- and then, abruptly, Tim feels *himself* fucking Bart -- no. He feels himself fucking Bart *with* Kon, as if somehow they *could* do such a thing together, as if it wouldn't --

"Crazy, driving me --" Kon groans and clutches Tim's hips -- "Feel you, feel *both* of you --"

The gag disappears --

"*Yes*, Kon --"

And Bart screams, gaze wild in the moments before his eyes roll up in his head --

"Oh, God, oh *fuck*, Tim --"

"Don't. *Stop*."

Kon nods frantically --

And it's a fascinating thing to watch semen arcing out of Bart, hitting a wall of nothing, and *then* landing back around Bart's groin and abdomen --

Tim wants to *taste*, but it's not really settling to bite Kon's throat. It couldn't be. It *can't* be --

It *isn't* -- not when Kon cries their names and thrusts *hard*, penis twitching powerfully as he spatters Bart with his semen --

No. Tim *needs*, and so it's the easiest, most *correct* thing in the world to reach out --

To *catch* the last spurt on his hand --

"*Rob* --"

And to hold on and *lick* while Kon shudders -- and his aura seems almost to *snap* free, leaving Tim significantly colder. This *would* be something to mourn, but he's a bit stuck on Kon's flavors. Sweet, faintly bitter, and something decidedly... else. Hm.

Tim licks his lips --

"Tim -- Tim Tim Tim let me --"

"Kneel up," Tim says, and lets himself linger over licking his middle finger clean --

Bart leans in -- leans back. "Kon, you *have* to look --"

"He's being porn, I know, but dude, I totally need a *moment* --"

"He's tasting your *come*."

Kon *grunts* -- and all of a sudden his aura is roaming over Tim again, this time focusing on Tim's hand and face --

Bart *rears* back -- no, he's being pushed by something invisible --

Something invisible with at least one protrusion wide enough to stretch Bart's *mouth* -- hn.

"Kon. Did I say you could do that?"

Kon whimpers and flails his hands in a way that seems random until he and Bart are sitting up against the headboard --

Until Tim is standing and *looming* over both of them -- well.

Tim steps closer and vaguely wishes for the entirely impractical stacked-heel leather boots -- in his size -- currently waiting for Bruce to come up with *some* sort of reason --

They're not here, and so the look leaves something to be desired --

But the feel is amazing as he lowers his foot to Kon's genitals, as he *presses* --

So warm, so *slick* --

Kon groans and stares up at him in something like heat-hazed *shock* --

Tim smiles --

Bart's noise is something between a shout and a grunt -- no, it could've been both, but uttered too quickly to entirely parse. Bart is hard again.

Kon... never entirely softened.

Tim licks his teeth --

"Dude. You. Haven't you ever heard of *easing* people into things?"

Tim shakes his head. "Builds bad habits."

Bart snickers. "'One should always strive to be prepared for *anything*.'"

Kon snorts and lifts his hips -- and Tim's foot. "Okay, see, you can be the freakboy's Robin all you want. You just can't *sound* like him."

"But that's the -- that's one of the best parts!"

Kon frowns. "Dude, the *sex* is the best part."

"It's part of the sex! It's it's -- foreplay."

Tim nods slowly and *purposefully* -- enough to get them both to focus on him once more -- and then he takes his penis in hand and begins to stroke.

Lust-wince on Kon's face --

Bart is licking his lips slowly enough to be *noticeable* --

("Okay I think if anyone told me the control could be used for sexual purposes I would've had way fewer issues with it and that was supposed to be *you*!")

He's never going to hide anything -- no, he can't make a promise like that even in the privacy of his own mind. But --

He's going to keep the secrets to a minimum.

It's what *every* Batman owes to his Robin. And --

"Uh. Tim..."

Tim places somewhat more pressure with his foot. "Yes, Kon?"

Kon grabs Bart's hand and *squeezes* it -- "You -- you really need to not give me this kink. Just -- seriously --"

"Not even if I'm wearing heels?" And Tim balances himself quickly --

And it's still *almost* not enough to keep him from *losing* his balance when Kon bucks --

"Dude, sorry -- no, wait --"

Bart giggles and kneels up, pressing close to Kon's side. "The apology was sexier."

Tim nods again, never looking away from Kon's eyes --

Kon squeezes his eyes shut and seems to be counting, or -- possibly praying.

Heh. "What can I do for you, Kon?"

Kon seems to squeeze his eyes shut *tighter* -- he opens them and glares. "You said you'd fuck my *mouth*, Rob --"

"So I did," Tim says, and strokes himself faster, repressing a shiver as best he can. The feel of this --

Kon right *there* --

Bart's shining *eyes* --

"Bart. Would you say he fucked you well enough?"

Bart narrows his eyes --

Blurs --

Kon *grunts* --

And Kon is on his knees with Bart wedged between his back and the headboard.

"He was really gentle --"

"That's a shame," Tim says, and squeezes himself hard --

"Fuck, fuck, *fuck* -- Bart --"

"Until the *end*," Bart says, and shoves his arms under Kon's own before hugging him. "Then it was perfect."

Tim hums something *resembling* a purr --

"Oh -- *Jesus*, you shouldn't be able to make sounds like that --"

*Bart* hums -- "You don't think so? I mean -- I'm pretty sure it suits him. What with the impression of pure evil."

Kon licks his lips and pants -- "Fuck. I. Please?" His aura *ripples* over Tim's body --

Pulls Tim *closer* --

Tim nods again --

"*Fuck*, yes, *please*, Tim, let me --"

"You want to taste me."

"*Feel* you --"

"The way Bart feels me?"

"God, and you guys are doing this shit all the fucking *time* -- *unh* --"

Bart's hands are moving too quickly over Kon's body to be *sure* -- but Tim thinks that must've been for Kon's nipples. And --

Tim steps down *hard* --

"*Rob* --"

"*Don't* close your mouth," Tim says, guiding the head of his penis over and over Kon's lips --

Making them *shine* --

Bart licks Kon's cheek. "Make sure you swallow him *fast*. That always makes him fuck me harder."

Kon nods frantically, eyes heavy-lidded as he pants through his mouth --

His breath is so -- not as hot as Bart's. Not --

"Kon," and Tim takes a *moment* to enjoy the hunger in his own voice, the pleasure and the *need* --

Bart shivers and keens --

And Tim pushes in slowly, teasing all of them at once and feeling powerful and helpless at once. Just --

This is the only thing --

This is what *has* to happen --

Kon groans and *shoves* himself forward, throat impossibly hard and *closed* -- until it isn't. Until --

Tim turns his moan into a growl, pushes deep and gives himself permission to cup the back of Kon's head --

To feel the sweat on his scalp --

To feel the tickle and brush of his hair --


"Mmmnn -- Tim --"

"Will you come on Kon's back?"

"*Yes* --"

"Touch his penis. *Work* his penis."

"Oh yes yes --"

Kon tenses --

And shudders for the feel of Bart's hands on him, for the *speed* --

Tim shows his teeth and *scratches* Kon's scalp --

And realizes that that was the *last* voluntary motion he'll be capable of, because Kon opens his eyes and *focuses* on him, focuses despite the *obvious* haze of arousal --

No, it's heat, as well. It's --

Kon's eyes are beginning to *glow*, but the part of Tim which just wants to *see* that does not, actually, get to make the decisions. So --

"*Close* them," Tim grits, and tries and fails to keep himself from whimpering when Kon follows orders --

"Oh, Tim, is it --"

"Good. *Tight*."

And now Bart is *driving* himself against Kon's back, too fast, too *fast* --

It pulls speed *out* of Tim, forcing him to -- no, it's *Kon*. There are hot hands on Tim's hips despite the fact that Kon's hands *appear* to be slack at his sides --

Kon is *making* him --

"Kon --"

Kon shakes his head *sharply* --

"Hn. I --" Tim throws his head back and shouts once --

Twice --

And then he *can't* shout, because Kon is spreading him wide, stroking him *lightly* --

Oh, yes -- but Kon has exactly enough control not to do it unless --

"*Do* it," Tim says, voice cracking high --

Bart keens again, long and so *sharp* --

And it's *only* Kon's power holding Tim up when he pushes in, when quests and pushes and *fills* --

Tim growls and tries to focus, to take something like *control* --

It's too fast and too *much* --

And then Bart's arms are wrapped around him, Bart is breathing damp and *hot* against his ear -- "I won't ever let you go," he says, calm and sweet, perfect and true --

Tim loves --

He loves and he *is* the feel of himself spilling as he tries and fails to hold himself steady --

He doesn't *need* to hold himself, and that's the most frightening and dangerous thing --

The *best* thing --

And the first thing Tim is aware of once the shuddering stops is that he's smiling. By the feel of it, it's the smile that he'd tended to think of as embarrassingly *bright*... until Bart had told him that it made him look as though he'd just murdered thirty people with joy in his heart.


Tim stands up on his own feet -- and *grunts* when Kon swallows. Really. Tim looks down at Kon.

Kon looks up at him -- no, his eyes are still closed and his lips are still wrapped *firmly* around Tim's penis.

This does *not* mean that he's not still smiling. Obnoxiously, even.

"Hn. Bad boy."

Kon chokes --

Tim shivers for the *feel* of it -- and mourns, just a little, when Kon pulls off to cough more seriously. Tim pats Bart's forearm twice --

Bart lets him go --

Tim drops to his knees and strokes Kon's throat and chest firmly. It's something he's only ever really done for Bart, and it feels strange and intimate. Like -- cheating? No, not that -- or not quite that --

He isn't sure. He'll talk to Bart about it when next they're alone --

And Kon tilts his head forward to smile at him. His eyes are still closed, even though -- hm.

"Bart, *when* did Kon come?"

"Right after you did --"

"Dude, you can totally ask *me* --"

"Hn. I *like* getting my intel from Bart," Tim says, and taps Kon's right eyelid. "Do you not have control of the heat vision yet?"

"Hunh? Dude, *that's* why you wanted me to close my eyes? I didn't even *notice* --"

"Somewhat problematic, that. Hm. Look up at the ceiling."

"Yeah, okay," Kon says, doing so and opening his eyes -- nothing. "Well, that's a relief. Seriously, I thought you just had yet another fucking *kink*."

Tim hums and pats Kon's chest. "For future reference, the kink in question is to *watch* your eyes glowing at me."

Kon blinks at him -- and narrows his eyes. "You totally wanna screw Clark."

Well... Tim hums noncommittally.

"Aw, dude, that's fucking *wrong* --"

"Why is it wrong? Is it the incest thing? Does it really count as incest? Wait, is it wrong that I always thought Barry looked really attractive? Wait one sec --" Bart disappears --

Tim turns to the coffee on the bedside table -- still warm enough, because Bart had brought it in a travel mug -- and drinks about a third of it, taking the way Kon is staring at him as...

It's his. It's a *part* of this moment, because both of them are learning who Tim is *in* this moment. Thinking of it *that* way... Tim looks up at Kon over the rim of the mug.



"Dude, you -- you're a fucking *perv*."


"I mean --"

"Sorry the water didn't get warm fast enough and --" Bart presses himself -- clean and dry and fever-hot -- to Tim's side. "Answer the questions!"

Tim takes another sip. "I don't think it's wrong --"

"Because you're a *perv* --"

"Kon would probably *say* that it was wrong because of the incest 'thing,' since Clark has been *behaving* like a father-figure lately --"

"And that is too creepy for fucking *words* --"

"But I believe Kon's real issue is the fact that it would be somewhat difficult for him not to compare himself -- and his performance -- *to* Clark."


"Ohh -- yes, that makes sense," Bart says, sighing and kissing Tim's shoulder before turning to Kon. "You shouldn't compare yourself to Clark. I mean -- he's a whole different person."

"With -- okay, first of all, no fucking *profiling* during the fucking *afterglow* --"

"Sorry," Tim says, and shows Kon his teeth in just the way to get a 'Wonder Boy' --

"Lying *bastard*," Kon says, and turns back to Bart. "Anyway, yeah, he's a whole different person, but the *powers* are the same. And, like, he figured out how to use them for sex *forever* ago."

"One, only some of the powers are the same. Two, his personality would've -- and almost certainly *has* -- caused him to strive to learn to use those powers in different ways. Three, even if you did have all the same powers and -- somehow -- the will to use them in all the same ways, it would still feel fundamentally different to *me*."

Kon frowns. "I don't really --"

Bart hums and squeezes Tim. "You've fucked Cassie with your power. I mean, she said you did --"

"You talked to --"

"She was in the showers and she said it felt incredible but that you should use your dick more often and anyway -- it totally felt different with me than it did with her."

"Well -- *yeah* --"

"And," Tim says, and takes another small sip. Kon needs... he has an *idea* of what Kon needs, but -- well, he has to try. "The differences ultimately had very little to do with their different powers. Yes?"

"I --" Kon sighs and scrubs a hand back over his hair. "Okay, right, fine, it's different. It's still *fucked*. You *have* to see that, or else you wouldn't be even a *little* weirded out if I said that sometimes I wanna blow Batman."

Tim feels something lurch distinctly to the left inside him. It's a bit like using the JLA transporter, only infinitely more arousing. "Hm."

"See? *That*."

"I... hm."

"Don't fucking *hm* at me, dude, I'm *right*."

Bart snickers and turns enough that he can drum his feet on Kon's abdomen. "You're making him think about it."

"I -- *what*? Fuck, *no*, dude --"

"You're making him think about it and now he won't *let* you forget that you said it --"

"*Augh* -- it was just an *example* --"

"Was it?" Tim raises an eyebrow --

And Kon looks stricken.

Heh. Tim reaches over and pats his biceps. "Very, very many people are sexually attracted to Batman. Including a fair number of our enemies."

Kon blinks -- and then glares. "You'd do *him*, too."

"I won't say I've never considered it --"

"Fucking *fuck*, Tim --"

"But I've *considered* any number of things I've ultimately rejected as being, in some way, not especially worth the attending trouble -- or trauma, as the case may be."

Kon searches him hard --

But Bart does not and, ultimately, Bart is the only one in this bed whom Tim has to explain himself to... for this sort of thing. Tim strokes Bart's hair, carding through it until it's the sort of mussed he likes best --

"So you're basically saying that you're terrifying."

Well --

"If you think about it, Kon, he's been saying that pretty much from the beginning," Bart says -- entirely at human speed, because he wants to make *sure* that Kon understands.

Kon frowns mildly -- and nods. "Yeah, okay, you're right," he says, and sighs. "*I'm* saying that you're allowed to be *not* terrifying *sometimes*."

Tim opens his mouth --

"It's better when he is," and Bart sits up to shake his hair into a different configuration before leaning back in to let Tim start over.

Tim hums and does so --

"It's *hotter* when he is, dude, but that doesn't always mean *better*."

"It's more *honest* --"

"*Not* all the time," and Kon gives Tim a challenging look, which --

All right. Tim tugs on a lock of Bart's hair --

Bart looks up at him curiously, openly --

"You're beautiful," Tim says, and smiles ruefully. "Kon's right. Sometimes I have to... hm. Sometimes I have to work to hold on to my freak flag, as it were."

Bart narrows his eyes. "With Connor."

"And Spoiler. Some others, at some times."

Bart bites his lip -- stops. "Do you want to be more normal with me?"

"Almost never."

When Bart shivers like this, it feels like being a very particular variety of taken -- "You can you can -- you can do whatever you want with me. *Be* whoever you want --"


"I *mean* it," Bart says --

And, abruptly, the coffee is back on the bedside table and Tim is on his back with Bart over him, Bart *holding* him down --

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"I have to know all of you," and Bart is still speaking at human speed -- "I have to know all of you even if -- even *though* all of you isn't for me. I know you understand."

Tim closes his eyes for a moment and thinks of other touches, other desires, other ways to *be* himself --

("You have to let it *out*, little brother. If you don't -- if you don't, it'll come out in ways you won't *like*.")

Dick, and he'd looked perfect in the Batsuit, tall and strong and incredible and so *beautiful*.

Dick, and everything about him promised acceptance and love --

It had only been the third time he'd *called* Tim 'little brother,' but it had still felt so perfect and *right* --

And Tim had promised himself a chance, a hope, a moment that wasn't that one --

A moment to *show* Dick everything he felt -- one day.

One day *soon* if Roy has his way... but Dick isn't here and Bart *is*. Tim rolls his shoulders under Bart's hands *once* --

And Bart lets go immediately --

And Tim realizes that Bart is never going to try to strip Tim again without permission, that he possibly won't even *push* -- and that this weekend has been the end *and* the beginning -- focus.

Tim reaches up to cup Bart's face. "I'll show you everything."

"You -- please. Please please please --"

"All the footage is yours --"

"*Dude* --"

Bart zips away -- and doesn't come back immediately. Hm. Tim rolls off the bed and stretches, taking Kon's searching look for his own. But --

"You could consider asking."

Kon snorts. "I don't know what the question *is*, Rob. Or -- no. The question is how you can take Bart over *and* love him like that. Is it -- was this *always* in you?"

Tim smiles ruefully and works his quads. "Yes and no. Yes, it was always a kink. No, not really *this* way. I mostly think of myself as a bottom."




"Yes," Tim says, and keeps stretching.

"I mean... there was a *moment* --"

"When you were fucking me."

Kon groans. "Okay, so I want -- I mean, *with* my cock --"

"Entirely doable."

"But -- you'd be different for it. Subbier."

Tim pauses and waves a hand. "Maybe. Probably. At least for a little while -- judging by how things went with Roy."

Kon nods thoughtfully and floats up off the bed, using his power to bundle the sheets together and move them into the laundry bag. It's Beast Boy's and Cassie's turn to stay and do the laundry this weekend, assuming neither of them get called away.

Tim pauses in his stretches to finish the coffee --

"Do you think it's the... you know, the *acts* that do it for you? That change things around in your head, I mean."

Tim smiles ruefully and waves a hand again. "Ask me that question after I'm a little more experienced, Kon. I *was* a virgin less than two months ago."

Kon shakes himself. "Yeah, okay, I *knew* that, but -- uh."

"Heh. I'll just take that as a compliment and move on."

Kon's smile for him is *abundantly* filthy. "How'd you like my mouth?"

"Hn. It seemed that you'd finally found the appropriate thing to *do* with it, Kon."

"Oh, fuck off, dude --"

And Bart is wrapped tightly around Tim, crouched enough that he can rest his chin on Tim's shoulder.

"Are you all right, Bart?"

"Yes. Yes yes -- Kon, get out I need alone-time."

Kon raises his eyebrows -- and his hands. "I'm gone, dude. But -- uh. I'm *available* for you to talk to, *too*."

"Yes okay noted *go*."

Kon gathers his clothes -- and flies without them --

"*Dude* -- uh -- sorry, Kory!"

"You have nothing to apologize for, Kon," Starfire says, and the cheerful leer in her voice...

Tim hums and kisses Bart's cheek. "She was there the whole time?"

"Mostly. I think -- I'm not sure -- Connor's room wasn't slept in but I couldn't tell -- it was probably Roy?"

Tim smiles. "Almost certainly --"

"You're not jealous. You're not jealous?"

"Families should be... close," Tim says, and strokes his way down Bart's back --

Bart's snicker is a breathy hum -- "You you -- you think Wally should be *hitting* on me --"

"Certainly, it would be a better choice than what he *is* doing."

Bart rocks them and laughs, pants -- no, he's calm and happy.

Tim closes his eyes and falls into it, sinks as deep as he can --

"Oh you're feeling me and -- I love that. I love *you*, and you were so incredible and you *gave me to Kon* and that was ridiculously hot I want to hump you."

Tim smiles and pulls back slightly --

"Oh no no not right now. I just. You're giving me the *footage* --"

"You'll have to watch it here."

"I *know*! But -- I --"

"And, assuming anything of this sort happens in Gotham, I'll bring you the footage -- *nn* --"

"Sorry sorry --" Bart eases back on the force of his hug --

"It's all right. I... I know this must seem at least somewhat strange --"

"And out of *character* -- no. You -- you *always* tried to be as close to us as possible. Didn't you?" And Bart pulls back enough to look Tim in the eye.

In this light -- there is, actually, unimpeded sunlight today -- his eyes are a bright and beautiful orange. Tim smiles ruefully and strokes Bart's cheek. "Always. But I had to weigh that against Batman's edicts -- and my own impulses."

"Toward being really really *really* private?"

Tim nods once. "If people don't truly see you, then they can never reject you. Not *all* of you, anyway."

Bart frowns and runs in place --

Tim braces on his toes to keep from jarring his *teeth* --

"Gah -- sorry. But Tim I want to *punch* you for that and that's not healthy --"

"Neither was I," Tim says, and presses two fingers to Bart's mouth. "I'm better now."

"Tim --"

"I'm *better* now. Mostly because of you."

Bart's eyes are wide -- then narrow and searching. Hm.

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"Oh --" Bart strokes Tim's eyebrow with his fingertips -- "It's not that I don't believe you."


"It's --" Bart frowns --

Bart frowns *thoughtfully* --

"I'm worried about you," he says, and deliberately slows himself down in a meditation which is now -- and will probably always be -- far too fast for Tim to actually see.

"How so?"

"I... you've changed a *lot*. Or -- have you?"

"I've changed significantly in terms of how much I'm willing to show and in terms of how... hm... dominant I let myself be at any given time. You taught me the former, and you and *Batman* have taught me the latter. It doesn't feel... strange."

"At *all*?"

Tim smiles. "Adapt or die. Or -- worse -- don't get laid."

The snickers explode from Bart like some sort of *confetti* --

And Tim pulls him close again. "I won't go back, Bart."

"But --"

"I won't. Go. Back. And that -- is a promise I'm making more to myself than to you."

Bart hums and rocks Tim again. "Yes all right that's better. You always keep your promises."

Tim bites Bart's shoulder -- lightly enough to not, necessarily, be arousing --

"Ohhh -- I love you."

"And I love you."

"And I -- feel really really selfish that I pretty much only ever want you to top me --"


"But --"


Bart shivers and presses closer --

Tim braces himself more firmly --

Bart growls and kisses him all over his face -- "You're so so good all the time and I always feel like I *belong* --"

"You belong," Tim says, and shoves his thumb in Bart's mouth, "to me."

Bart's knees buckle -- and his erection is heat and *impressive* slickness against Tim's abdomen.

Ultimately unsurprising -- and several different definitions of wonderful. Tim pulls his thumb out and points to the bed.

"Oh -- *how* --"

"On your back. Spread."

"Grife *yes* --"

Tim looks Bart over... not slowly. Just slowly enough for it to register as sexualized torture *to* Bart. The flesh over his ribs has filled out nicely since last night, and his thighs are -- somewhat -- thicker.


Tim shakes his head and strokes a line down Bart's chest to his navel. "I love watching you grow, Bart. Watching you *become*."

Bart arches and groans -- "Always always always want you to *see* me --"

"I'll never look away," Tim says, and sits beside Bart on the bed. "Will you show me yourself now?"

"I yes yes -- no. No please *touch* me --"

"All right," and Tim grips Bart's scrotum and begins to work it in his hand, rolling it on his palm and pressing here and there with his thumb --

Bart growls -- and attempts to clutch at the mattress with his fingers and toes.

"Good boy --"

"Oh, Tiiiim I want I want -- you're so good and I *want* to be good --"

"You are. I don't need you to be someone you're not," Tim says, and squeezes *hard* --

Bart cries out --

"And I don't... hn. When I think about you sexually, you're always on your knees. If only metaphorically."

"Oh -- *God* --"

"You're going to come in my mouth."

"Oh Tim *yes* --"

"You'll need your control."

"For you *always* for you --"

"One day, perhaps, I'll have Kon hold you like this with his power... and ride you --"

"*Hnh* -- now now now --"

Tim darts in and swallows Bart, giving himself just enough time to *start* to groan for the taste before choking himself off --

"Oh Tim I love you I love -- I'll do anything *be* anything --"

Tim bares his teeth --

Bart shrieks and comes, pulsing down Tim's throat again and again --

Tim pulls back to catch the last spurt on his tongue -- sweeter and saltier. He'd already known that Bart was eating properly this weekend, but it's good to have the proof of that.

On a number of levels.

Tim smiles around his mouthful *carefully* -- it wouldn't do to stain the mattress -- and sucks hard enough to make Bart whimper. Repeatedly. *Then* he pulls off --

And Bart vibrates hard enough to move the mattress away from the wall a few inches.

Tim curls his tongue in a little to protect it and waits -- there. Bart is still enough that Tim can stroke him. Touch --

He loves Bart with his hands as best he can and tries to convince himself that he'll be *ready* to have Bart in his parents' house before Wednesday --

He won't be. He -- is not a speedster. There are truths he has to figure out how to tell -- or lies he has to figure out how to make real *enough* --

"Nnh -- Tim? What's wrong?"

Tim shakes his head -- no, not that. He smiles at Bart ruefully. "I was wishing I could have you come visit me sooner --"

"Oh --"

"No, Bart. I -- have to prepare my family. Or, rather, prepare myself for lying to them about who you are to me."

Bart frowns -- and then simply *is* hugging Tim --

"Bart --"

"You won't be with them forever --"

"That's -- one of the things that frightens me."

"Oh, but -- no I understand you love them and you're worried about giving up your human side right?"

Tim thinks about it -- "Yes."

"Don't worry."

Tim laughs. "Bart --"

"No, I'm serious, *don't worry*," Bart says, and it's always curious to be petted and stroked at a speedster pace *while* Bart has slowed his speech down.

"I -- why not?"

"Because -- because you're human every time you don't lie about what you need. Every time you show someone else -- every time you're really *with* someone else."

Tim frowns. "I have to admit that that seems too... easy."

Bart snickers. "Not for *you* it isn't. Just -- you're not human with them. You're -- you're some normal *teenager* who doesn't know sixteen ways how to hit someone in the head without giving them a concussion --"

"Twelve, actually. I'm not checked out on the thirteenth and fourteenth --"


Tim laughs softly and wraps his arms around Bart, kissing his shoulder, the line of his jaw... "Part of me doesn't want to hear this --"

"Because you love them. I know, but -- you have to. You *have* to."

Tim closes his eyes. "I'm listening."

"Okay. Okay. Okay. You have to -- if you want to be with them, to really be a *part* of that family, then you have to be honest with them. Only you *can't* -- at least not until you're eighteen -- so what you really have to do is. Um. Endure but that sounds terrible --"

"Keep going."

Bart squeezes him more tightly. "I love you I love you -- and they'll love *you* when you tell them the truth if they're any good, if they're *worth* you, because you're wonderful and brilliant and perfect and brave -- um. You're probably not hearing that --"

"I hear it every time you look into my eyes."

"Ohh --" Bart rocks him back and forth. "So. You. Um. I got lost."

"I'm human with you."

"And Kon and Cassie and all of us -- and maybe Connor and Roy, too?"

Tim nods.

"And -- Batman and Nightwing and Batgirl and Oracle?"

Tim closes his eyes -- and smiles.

"Ohhh that's your I'm-working-on-it smile. That's your I'm-working-on-it-*evilly* smile --"

"It's really still in the planning stage --"


"When Batman comes to pick me up," Tim says, and turns to kiss Bart softly. "I hear you."

"Do you?" Bart pulls back and searches him --

"More than I want to, so... yes. You should know -- a part of me believed until very, very recently that I would retire someday."

Bart's eyes are *horrified* --

"Not anymore. Not --" Tim shakes his head. "I'm in this for life. If I hadn't made that decision, I wouldn't have allowed myself to become involved with you."

Bart shivers --

Shakes the *bed* --

"Okay I believe you but -- you really would've given *all* of us up?"

Tim smiles ruefully again. "I never really thought about it further than giving Batman my uniform - domino resting on top of the pile -- and going home to be a son to my father and stepmother. Helping out the family business, getting to know my stepmother well enough that it wouldn't feel like betrayal to think of her as my mother, sleeping without nightmares..." Tim shakes his head. "It was a pretty dream, and now I'm awake. For good."

"I -- I don't want you to give up anyone you love, Tim --"

"And I'm going to try to avoid that. I just -- heh. Eighteen. It's not so far away."

Bart nods slowly and bites his lip --

Tim uses his thumb to pull Bart's lip free --

"I just -- I feel --" Bart frowns and shakes himself, vibrates -- "I didn't realize how much you cared about them, Tim."

And that -- well. "Sometimes -- just sometimes -- I'm not sure how much I care about them... versus how much I care about the *idea* of caring about them."

Bart's smile is soft -- and more than a little old. "That makes more sense."

"I was afraid you'd say that --"

"I love you. Even when you're *really* scary and cold. Sometimes especially then."

Tim cocks his head to the side and smiles, stroking Bart's cheekbones once and once. "You're mine."

"*Yes* --"

"If and when you leave me... you'll take a large part of me with you."

Bart grins down -- at Tim's penis. "Do I get to pick which part?"

"Hn. We can negotiate --"

"Right now?"

"Breakfast," Tim says, standing up and taking just a moment to enjoy Bart's flavors --

Until Bart kisses him, and they can enjoy them together.