Roy wakes smiling in *that* way, which usually means he was dreaming of Lian --

"Heh."

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Connor says, and kisses Roy's shoulder.

God, better and better -- "Thank you *very* kindly, bro. I love you."

Connor grins at him and generally looks entirely *perfect* --

"Wait, were you up already?"

"Just to shower --"

"Ay, brother, you gotta wake me *up* for that."

"Unlikely. You were laughing in your sleep."

Considering the dream -- "Heh, okay, yeah, I can see that being... heh. It was a good dream."

Connor raises his eyebrows at him.

"It... was also kind of a *disturbing* dream --"

"But not," Connor says, and curls his fingers in against Roy's chest, "for you."

"Okay, yeah, no, not for me. Lian was blowing away all of the crappy babysitters I've found over the years."

Connor blinks and *snorts* -- "*Roy* --"

"She just looks so *adorable* with a .22 in her hands, bro --"

"I suppose I should be happy your subconscious didn't give her a machine gun."

Roy makes a face. "Those things are *wasteful* --"

"Yes, of course they are. And *bigger than she is*."

"But the .22s? Are not."

Connor laughs softly. "You're going to start teaching her to shoot the *moment* she can handle the recoil, aren't you?"

"You know it. It's a dangerous world out there."

"Mm. Rather more of one with you *in* it, I believe."

Roy grins and grabs the back of Connor's head, pulling him in -- "Wait, no."

"No?"

"I need to brush my teeth something *fierce*, bro. Gimme a minute --"

Connor frowns at him. "Roy --"

"Seriously, it's dire."

"Would you brush your teeth before kissing any of your *other* lovers in the morning?"

"Well... Clark has this *machine* down in the Fortress that cleans you like there's no tomorrow, but --"

"Kiss me."

"Connor, you're *better* than everyone -- *mm* --"

The kiss is deep, hot --

And brief --

"I -- all right, yes, let's go brush our teeth."

Roy snickers and gives Connor a shove. "Morning breath is *special* when you've been rimming somebody, bro. *Remember* that."

Connor laughs and rolls off him --

And Roy apparently wasn't *quite* ready for the loss of contact, because it's just plain necessary to push up close and maybe cuddle his brother into the bathroom --

He loves the way Connor *laughs*, the way it's never loud but always so *present* --

*And* Connor had brought the weird-but-interesting toothpaste from the co-op down by Ollie's youth center, which is way better for starting the day than the fake-minty crap he buys because he can never remember to get anything better.

So.

Two kisses in front of the sink -- one just a *little* too foamy for them *not* to crack each other up --

One kiss in the nice, Titans-roomy bathtub --

Roy reaches for the water - pauses.

"Roy?"

"You already had a shower."

Connor... leers at him. That --

"You're leering."

"I -- perhaps a little. Do you think I was doing it right?"

"That depends. Did you *mean* to make my cock twitch?"

They look at Roy's cock together --

Connor looks with his *fingers* --

They both watch it twitch and rise just a little bit more --

And Connor hums and looks up. "I've been paying a great deal of attention to *your* leers, Roy. They were... educational," he says, and shows his *teeth* --

"Okay, no, you didn't get that one from me."

"Ah -- hm," and Connor scratches at his sideburn with his index finger. "I possibly picked that one up from Tim. It seemed to suit."

Roy waggles his head back and forth, thinks about it... "Yeah, okay it did. But you gotta be careful, bro. You start using that stuff out in the world and you'll have to beat people off with a stick. More so than usual, I mean --"

"Well. If we're going to talk about 'beating people off,' then --"

Roy holds up a hand.

Connor raises his eyebrows -- and smiles gently. "You really are entirely adorable when you're shocked, Roy. Rather like Lian with that flowerpot hat."

Roy coughs out a laugh and turns the water on. "Okay, so you're pretty much going to break my head *whenever* possible. I get it, I deserve it --"

"It's certainly an excellent look on you," and Connor wraps an arm around Roy's waist and pulls him close. "I dreamt of you last night."

Roy licks the edges of his teeth --

"Oh, hm. That seems to imply a desire to *use* your teeth --"

"It really did. Tell me what you dreamed?"

Connor licks his teeth --

"A little slower than that," Roy says, and grinds against Connor to demonstrate.

Connor narrows his eyes --

"That's good, *too*. Though slower people will think you're angry. Tell me."

"Noted. We were in my bedroom. Specifically, on the bed."

"You mean the *pallet* --"

"Which of us never has back problems, Roy?"

"I -- heh." Roy pumps his hips a little --

Connor narrows his eyes again -- and purses his lips.

"Oh, *that's* sweet. I --" Roy leans in and kisses Connor, hating the small height difference until Connor tilts his head up just right, until Roy can *pour* himself into the kiss, into his little brother's beautiful fucking *mouth* --

His hopefully *sucking* mouth --

Connor reaches up to cup the back of Roy's head, pulling him in a little harder, a little more --

God, anything you *want* --

And it's every kind of necessary to fuck Connor's mouth with his tongue until Connor starts to fuck against Roy's hip --

Until he groans and *sucks* Roy's tongue, starts to play with it with *his* tongue --

Such a *natural* -- but.

Roy pulls back. "The dream."

Connor licks his wet, soft lips and searches him -- "The images kept... changing. I was... sucking you until I realized that I didn't know what that felt like --"

Roy groans and *shoves* against Connor's abdomen --

Connor grunts -- "So *strong*, I --" Connor kisses him again, licks the underside of Roy's tongue until Roy can get it back into that *mouth* --

Connor moans and squeezes the back of Roy's head, strokes down to Roy's ass and squeezes him *there* --

Oh, Connor, Connor --

Roy pulls back with a groan. "More. Give me *more* --"

"You were... ah. Fingering me --"

"You liked that."

"Rather a lot," and Connor grins at him, searches him more -- "Frottage."

"Oh, yeah, *anytime* you want --"

"And not the other things?"

"*Everything*."

Connor narrows his eyes in just that way --

"You're thinking of shoving me down somewhere, maybe?"

Connor *bites* the tip of his tongue --

"Say the word, bro --"

"It seems -- I mean. It could be dangerous --"

"I *know* how to be careful. Say the word --"

"Do it," Connor says -- and gasps when Roy drops to his knees. "You -- your shoulders --"

Roy rolls them for him --

And Connor squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip -- "This -- this *feeling* --"

"Stronger than anything, sometimes --"

"*Yes*, I -- oh -- I want to be down there *with* you --"

"Some things are easier *this* way," Roy says, and grips the base of Connor's cock. The foreskin is duskier than the rest of his skin, but the head is... mm. Flushed a rich reddish-brown, like some kind of fruit Roy doesn't know the name of, yet.

He'll learn.

"Some things..." Roy smiles and shakes his head, moving close enough that the head drags across his lips --

Connor gasps and shudders --

"Widen your stance and really... really *grip* the wall --"

"Yes. Yes, I -- oh, Roy, you'll let me do this --"

"God, yes. I've thought about it..." Roy licks his lips -- not incidentally dragging his tongue along the head of Connor's cock --

Connor moans -- "The dream. I --"

"There's more?" Roy breathes hot on the head --

"*Roy* --"

"Go on, tell me," and Roy sucks the head in, going lightly, easily --

Connor groans like it's wonderful, like it's perfect --

Roy looks up -- and Connor's eyes are wide, full, and that kind of aroused that speaks of hurt that needs to be *eased*. So *beautiful*, and Roy can't wait anymore, can't do anything but take Connor *deep*, teasing his own throat and wanting --

*Wanting* --

"I -- Roy, you -- you were inside me. Your -- penis, I mean --"

Roy grunts and feels himself *flex* --

"I want that. I want -- the way you were *moving* last night..."

For you, bro. *All* for you, and Roy swallows him, just -- *has* to --

"I want -- oh, *God*, Roy --"

Roy squeezes Connor's hips, makes it a message by giving the hollows that double-tap --

"Hnh -- I -- yes, Roy, I -- I've. Masturbated -- when I've thought about you in the past --"

Roy's groan doesn't make it out of his chest, but it feels like it *should* --

"You -- your wonderful *hands* -- *oh* --"

*Where*, brother --

"Everywhere -- everywhere on me -- oh, Roy, I love you --"

Roy *grunts* and strokes Connor, holds him and *squeezes* those hips, those slim martial-artist *hips* --

"*Roy* --"

*Here*, Connor, and I won't -- I'm here --

"I -- I have to -- *oh* --"

Because *that* shudder meant that Connor needed to thrust, that this would be better with Roy pulling him, *urging* --

"Roy -- *ohn* -- it seems so *rude* --" And Connor laughs so Roy doesn't *have* to --

Connor gasps and *rolls* his hips, graceful and beautiful, *perfect* --

God, *Dick* moves like this sometimes, moves like this for *him* --

And it's impossible not to feel loved with a cock in your throat. It --

All right, maybe not *quite* that, but it's the story of Roy's *life*. Sometimes -- a *lot* of the time -- life's just *better* on your knees. And to be on his knees for *Connor* --

To be able to look up and see those green eyes get more full, more hungry, more hurt in *all* the right ways --

*Want* you, brother, want you and I can *take* you --

Connor grunts and claws at the tile, knees shaking even as he thrusts harder, *wilder* --

God, yes, *more* --

"*Roy* -- I..."

Say it, c'mon, *say* it, and Roy tries to put that into his eyes, into the motion of his tongue on the underside of Connor's perfect *cock* --

"Touch me? I --" Connor gasps a laugh -- "That wasn't supposed to be -- a question -- oh, God, Roy, *yes* --"

So -- definitely likes a finger pressing on his hole, *rubbing* on his hole --

"I want you so *badly* --"

You've *got* me, brother, and Roy tries to prove it with the push of his finger, the bend of it in *just* the right place --

"*Hnh* -- now -- *now* --"

Roy cups Connor's hip with his free hand just to steady him --

Connor thrusts *hard* and *starts* to pull out -- "*Roy* --"

And the hot-slick-*sweet* splash of his come against the back of his throat makes Roy *need* to push deeper --

"Oh -- *yes* --"

Take more, always *more* -- including the thrust that lodges Connor *right* back in Roy's throat for the last few spasms and spurts --

God, beautiful *brother* --

Connor groans and tosses his head, *starts* to slip --

And makes a kind of *ridiculous* sound when Roy pulls his finger out to be better able to steady his hips --

They'll have to work on that one --

"I -- Roy, that's --" Connor laughs softly, *musically* -- "I think you should pull off."

Roy raises his eyebrows -- and licks the underside in one long, slow stroke.

Connor shudders and purses his lips again -- *licks* his lips -- "Roy. Stand up and let me suck you."

Roy pulls off and licks his lips. "Yeah?"

"You've thought about it. You..." Connor smiles and shakes his head. "You'll have to teach me."

And yeah, that really *is* his hand stroking down and down --

He *has* to give himself a squeeze for that --

"I think I can handle that."

Connor licks his lips again and drops, landing in a straddle of Roy's thighs. The kiss --

The kiss is soft and *warm* until it's hard and hot, until --

God, he can *feel* Connor trying to feel *him*, feel him searching out every little thing to drive Roy crazy --

And the only way to answer that is to give it up, to release every bit of tension he can until Connor is pushing him a little, shoving deep with his tongue and humming, *talking* --

It sounds like love, like family, like every good thing in the *world* -- and things like that *should* be slurred into someone else's mouth, dragged across skin --

Connor flicks Roy's earlobe with his tongue. "I think," he says, "that I would lose my mind if I ever saw you wear earrings."

Roy grunts. "It -- could be arranged --"

"Mm. Terribly impractical, but... I like your other piercings a great deal."

He hasn't *played* with them -- no, say it. "You can... uh. You can play with 'em sometime."

Connor sighs and kisses Roy's ear once, again, *again* -- "They're intimidating. I don't want to hurt you --"

"Start gentle -- and stop when I tell you to."

Connor presses his *smile* to Roy's ear, breathes *hot* --

"God, Connor --"

"Brother. Sometimes I'm worried that I won't *want* to stop."

Roy nods before he can think about it -- wait --

"This," Connor says, and pushes between them to play with Roy's nipple rings, to tug and twist --

Roy feels himself heating up more, *sweating* -- "God, that's so sweet --"

"Is it? Sweet, I mean. Because... I was thinking it was more... sharp." Tug. Tug. *Twist* --

Roy grunts and squeezes himself again -- "Want your *mouth* --"

Connor pulls back --

"Wait, no --"

Connor stares at him, eyes a *hot* green --

Jade -- *no*. Not here -- Roy shakes himself all over and grins ruefully. "You're putting some serious *thoughts* in my head, bro."

Connor narrows his eyes and purses his lips again --

"Jesus, that's --" Roy strokes himself -- just a *few* times --

And Connor wraps his hand around Roy's wrist and squeezes *hard* --

"*Fuck*, Connor --"

"Save that for me? Please."

Nodding *again* --

"Roy... I want to make you think about sex as often as possible --"

"You *do* --"

"I want you to *touch* me when you do --"

"I *can* --"

"And I want you to stand up and make me feel..." Connor shakes his head. "I want you to make me feel taken. *Lost*. I want... I'm not sure if I want it to hurt --"

"I could. Uh. I don't have my cock jewelry in --"

"I *want* you to -- ah. Perhaps not this time." Connor looks down in that way which means he's *probably* blushing under the skin -- and he looks right up again. "*Teach* me. But focus on teaching me how to drive you insane."

Fuck. Yes. And Roy is standing just like that, one hand on the wall, feet braced to *use* the walls of the tub -- experience is the *best* teacher -- and his other hand around the base. "Use your *lips*, Connor, because some god somewhere *made* them for this."

Connor laughs -- and cuts himself off with Roy's *cock* --

"*Jesus*, so quick --"

Connor raises his eyebrows --

Roy gasps a laugh -- "No, that's *fine*, just -- fuck, lip me a little. Kiss me. Show me -- oh, *fuck* --"

Connor is *dragging* his lips up and down the shaft --

Connor is looking right *at* him, and just --

"Sometimes. Sometimes, I wanna *hide* --"

Connor hums a question --

"Not -- God, yes, from you, too, from -- didn't want you to *know* this --"

*This* hum is fucking *indignant* --

Which probably makes it wrong that it also makes Roy need to *squeeze* himself --

Another hard hum --

"Okay. You want me to explain myself --"

"Mm-*hm* --"

"Oh, *Jesus*, Connor -- uh. First? That's always gonna work me over. Just --"

"*Mm*?"

Roy's eyes *try* to roll back in his head, but he'd promised to *teach* Connor something, promised to --

Oh, God, hot mouth soft lips --

Like -- like a *woman*, but --

And when Roy opens his eyes -- he hadn't even realized they were *closed* -- Connor is looking up at him with a light in his eyes --

"Okay. You've worked out that -- that comedy is a great thing in the middle of a blowjob --"

Connor *snickers*, and that's --

"God, so *messy* -- no, don't stop --"

"Mmm..." And Connor starts dragging his lips again, starts --

Roy feels himself shaking, sweating more --

The water running down his back is just making him *hotter* -- no, that's the way Connor's looking at him, seeing him --

Wanting him.

"I --" Roy reaches down to cup Connor's face. "Like this?"

Connor nods and shifts enough to rub his cheek against Roy's palm. Just --

"So sweet. So fucking good -- I. I always wanna touch the person doing this to me..."

Another nod --

"Just -- uh. Intimate?"

Connor looks up at him with another laugh in his eyes -- and then he *sucks* --

Roy beats at the wall with his fist --

Connor's looking a *question* at him --

"Yeah. Yeah. You -- uh. Do *that* --"

Another laugh, and Connor --

"You look so *happy*, brother --"

Question --

"Uh. *God*, yes, you should be, I *want* you to be -- want -- you don't know how it feels to have you -- have you happy *with* me -- *ohn* --"

Hands on his *hips*, and they're careful but not *cautious*. Just --

It's *Connor*, and he's never gonna be even a little bit reckless -- not with someone he cares about -- and that's something to *maybe* mourn for, but --

Not while he's getting this.

Not while his spine is getting tighter and tighter with the need to thrust, to --

God, he hadn't even meant to move his *hand*, but --

"Connor. You -- get your hand around me --"

"Mm?"

"*Fuck* -- I. To keep me. Keep me from choking you --"

Connor pulls on his *hips*, and just that --

Just that extra few centimeters *deeper* --

Roy groans and feels himself pushing up on his toes -- no, he needs his *balance*, and he can just --

Down again, focused -- not even *close* to focused, because Connor is *testing* himself at that depth. Just -- Roy knows how that *feels*. *That* pressure with soft lips, that -- that naturally reassuring slide of the tongue --

"Don't -- force yourself," and Roy's all set to congratulate himself for getting that out --

But Connor gives him a *wry* look and starts pushing Roy out again. Just --

He knows what that *means* -- "Oh, God -- Connor, *fuck* --"

*In*, and Connor's throat is working, Connor took him a little *too* deep --

Roy tries to pull out --

Connor sucks *hard* --

And Roy is crying out and beating at the poor, innocent wall again --

What did it ever do to *him*?

Roy laughs breathlessly and just -- "That's it, Connor. That's -- fuck, that's all I got --"

"*Mm* --"

"*Fuck* -- you -- you have the *basics* -- oh, Jesus, your *tongue* -- no --"

But Connor keeps pushing him out, Connor is panting through his nose -- and licking and stabbing at Roy's slit. Fucking --

"Okay, who *taught* you that?"

Connor snorts, coughs --

"I'm sorry -- only not -- "

God, licks and -- yes, kissing and mouthing and sucking --

Roy groans and works his hips because he has to, because it's *safe* when he's only this deep -- "*Please* --"

"Tell me. *How*," Connor slurs, and there's *no* pretending he didn't hear that --

"Uh -- you -- fuck, you *swallow* -- you. Gulp? I -- it takes *practice* and first I'm gonna -- oh, Jesus, *deep* --"

"*Mm* --"

"Oh don't cough don't cough -- *hnh* --" Pushed out just far enough *for* Connor to breathe, but it feels like a *tragedy* --

And Roy is *not* surprised to see himself practically *mauling* Connor's head with hand, pressing as much as petting, begging as much as he's *stroking* --

Connor looks *determined* --

"Brother..."

Connor nods, breathes deep, and *yanks* --

"*Fuck* me --"

Connor's throat working and *working* --

"Oh -- God, Connor, you -- love you so much --"

And this hum is *hungry*, *angry* --

His lips are so *soft* --

*In*, in so deep so hot so *tight* --

Roy hears himself shouting and can't *stop* --

Connor's eyes are *wide* --

"Fuck, don't let me -- I have to --"

And Roy's hand shakes in the moment before he clutches --

Connor *claws* at his hips --

And the thrusts just happen, just --

"Should -- more *control* --"

Connor shakes his head and urges him, eyes narrow and hot, throat so --

His lips are pressed right *there*, one kiss after another, one --

Roy groans and pushes himself, and the images are all right there:

Connor on his hands and knees.

Connor on his stomach --

Connor smiling up at him as Roy thrusts and begs and *takes* --

And if nothing *else* had let the Tower know what Roy's doing, *this* shout is more than enough for it, this --

*White-out* and Roy wants to beg with more than his body, wants Connor to know --

So good --

God, please, let him always *have* this --

So --

Connor tightens his hands on Roy's hips enough to *hurt* a little -- oh, yeah, *thought* --

All right, not that, but he can move --

Pull out of that sweet, sweet *home* of a throat --

Connor gasps and laughs and gasps *more* --

And it's absolutely necessary to pull him up into a hug, a kiss -- God, just to *taste* his dick in Connor's mouth --

Roy tries to say it with his kiss, and it winds up --

All right, so he's basically walking Connor around in the tub -- there, handy wall --

Connor's hands *right* back on his hips --

And Roy's hands on Connor's face, kissing every laugh, licking every smile, *sucking* that tongue -- no, those lips, those wonderful *lips* --

Connor is *snickering* --

Roy presses as close as he can and maybe -- wait no. He pulls back to kiss Connor's *throat* -- can't forget that --

His chin and jaw --

"Roy."

"Mm?"

Another snicker. "I take it that went well for you?"

Roy licks a stripe from Connor's throat to his ear. "I'm about as high as it's possible for me to get without help from something *illegal*, brother." He kisses Connor's ear. "Seriously, though. The tongue thing. Wha?"

"Roy. You were doing that to *me* --"

"Not that *much* --"

Connor pushes him back and gives him a capital-L Look. "I *am* capable of extrapolation --"

"Okay, now you sound like *Tim*."

Connor raises *one* eyebrow -- and strokes a line over Roy's collarbone.

"Ooh. You're thinking about it."

"I --"

"You are. I *know* you are, because you've got that look like you're *about* to purse your lips, and now I know what that *means*."

The expression turns to *consternation* -- and from there to amusement. "I'm reasonably sure I'm not ready for a... threesome."

"Okay, just hearing you use that *word* is a turn-on --"

Connor snorts. "Roy."

"Look, Connor, you have to understand that good blowjobs make me *extremely* pleased with the world and *my place in it*."

And that makes Connor's smile soft, warm, *happy* -- and really very kissable. Just --

Mm, right now --

Right here --

And maybe he can walk them into the spray so they can *start* getting clean --

"Wanna lick myself out of your mouth sometime, brother..."

"I feel -- ah. Sure -- I believe in our ability to make that happen."

Roy grins and grabs for the soap, lathering up his hands and working them over every part of Connor he can reach --

Connor does the same --

And, in the end, it's a *long* damned shower --

But that's what weekends at the Tower are for.

*One* of the things, anyway.

*

Breakfast was rather more mustard-intensive than that which Connor has become accustomed to, but none of the others had seemed to find it especially strange, and he'd had to admit that it went well with the few non-sausage-related things which had been available.

Very few.

And Roy had explained to him -- quietly -- that it was Koriand'r's opinion that humans rarely consumed *enough* meat, though the fact that she hadn't seemed offended suggests that someone had explained Connor's vegetarianism beforehand.

He has his suspicions as to who that someone had been, and --

Koriand'r had taken Roy to join her, Victor, Bart, and Cassie for the usual prisoner transfer.

He could join Garfield and Kon-El with the staggering collection of video games --

He doesn't particularly want to.

He --

Roy had, Connor knows, left him alone for a reason --

("And if, you know, you feel like bringing it *up*...")

It.

Connor smiles to himself and walks down the hall. A part of his mind is all but *taken* by the increasingly hysterical question of what he thinks he's doing. The rest --

The rest knows.

Connor knocks on Tim's door --

"Come in, Connor."

Connor blinks, thinks about it, walks in -- "You do that to drive your teammates some variety of insane, don't you."

Tim smiles -- *mostly* down at his sketchpad. "At this point, it's more reflexive than anything else, but... yes. I believe Bruce thinks it's good practice."

"For your future of frightening the daylights out of friend and foe alike?"

Tim spreads his hands, sketches a few more lines, frowns mildly, and sets the pencil down. "We all must keep our reputations duly in mind, Connor."

Connor raises his eyebrows. While Tim is *mostly* suited up, the cape, mask, and gauntlets are conspicuously absent.

Tim flexes his hands and moves up into a perch on his stool. "I might just have decided that Batman II will need a *different* reputation."

Connor laughs softly. "There is no doubt in my mind that you've done just that, but..." But what? What, precisely, is he objecting to?

Right now, Tim's entire body is a -- polite -- question, and --

Connor laughs again. "This weekend..."

Tim smiles sharply. "It's been rather... full."

"Yes, that. I... most of me would like to make it even more so."

A thoughtful nod. "The rest?"

"The rest... is spending a great deal of time yelling rather stridently. How do you do this, Tim?"

Tim stands up on the stool --

Jumps down --

And moves into Connor's space, reaching up to cup Connor's face --

"Oh... Tim --"

"A part of me wants to be ruthless with you. To... push for the things we both know you want..."

"And the rest of you?"

"Remembers our years of friendship with something much deeper and greater than fondness... and remembers my promises to Roy."

Connor frowns. "He made you make promises about me?"

Tim's smile takes *half* of his mouth. "Are you really surprised? At this point?"

Well. Connor strokes Tim's forearms to the wrists and then pulls them down --

Tim nods once and starts to step back --

"Don't. Please," Connor says, and presses his thumbs to Tim's pulse points.

Tim sucks a breath in between his teeth. "Connor."

"Roy has... made himself clear. About a number of things."

"Tell me?"

"He wants... a threesome with us. I want it, too -- even though the prospect makes me feel rather like a hunted animal --"

"Not the best state of mind for that sort of thing, I'd think?"

Connor smiles ruefully. "And if the animal has discovered something of a kink for *being* hunted?"

Tim growls quietly.

"I -- goodness. Tim --"

"Hn. Sorry. You just reminded me of something Bart said just before the *second* time we made love."

"Oh?"

This smile takes the *other* side of Tim's mouth. "He told me that I was the most frightening person he'd ever met -- including Batman. When I started to apologize and pull away, he explained to me that he very much enjoyed being frightened. That he never wanted me to stop. That he *trusted* me..." Tim closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Do you trust me, Connor?"

"More than I trust Roy. And less, as well."

Tim nods. "We hold different parts of each other."

"I don't -- want to use you to experiment. I've never wanted that."

"You shouldn't tempt me more than I already am."

"You're tempted by the prospect of being an *experiment*?"

"Well. I tend to test very well, Connor," and Tim twists his hands free -- and clutches Connor's wrists. "You came here."

"You told me when you were going to be free --"

"And you came here. Let's... be together."

Connor laughs. "Euphemisms? *Now*?"

Tim grins. "Yes. Though -- it doesn't have to be. We could talk, meditate, compare notes about Roy --"

"I think *that* would be a rather brief conversation -- all things considered."

The grin gets wider -- and Tim expertly massages his way up Connor's forearms to his elbows.

"Oh, thank you --"

"You're very welcome. Roy used massage to get me to relax."

"He is... very good."

"And not even the slightest bit clinical. He was... shamelessly personal."

"Roy uses shamelessness the way other people use *oxygen*," Connor says, and he's aware that he's protesting again, but --

Tim is nodding. "He is... ruthless with himself. He'll use himself ruthlessly, I mean."

Connor nods back. "To get the things he wants --"

"And needs --"

"And to make other people *take* what they need --"

"Connor. Did you need him?"

Connor sighs and smiles ruefully. "I need him right now. I... we're going back to New York together."

Tim smiles *brightly* -- and it's notable that such smiles are much, much smaller than his others. "Have you thought about relocating...?"

"Star City is... quiet. And my father will have Mia -- ah. Apparently, I *have* thought about it --"

"The eastern seaboard can *always* use another hero or five. Hundred, that is."

Connor laughs breathlessly. "Tim..."

"No pressure -- save for this," Tim says, and rubs small circles in the hollows of Connor's elbows with his thumbs --

"Oh, I like that --"

"Mm. It always makes me want to be tied to something."

That --

It feels, perhaps, *too* good to laugh his way into a kiss, to lean down and *take* -- feel. Tim's mouth is much less generous than Roy's own, and, as such --

Connor isn't sure. Tim's mouth is mobile, appreciative, *careful* --

And then nothing of the kind, because Tim bites Connor's lower lip *hard* --

Connor pulls Tim *close* --

Tim's hands skid and *clutch* at Connor's biceps --

And the kiss becomes something else entirely, something --

Connor catches himself kissing Tim the way Roy had kissed him, and it feels like so much, like something *impossibly* dirty and sweet at once. Like --

Tim moans and strokes up to Connor's shoulders --

Connor walks Tim back -- but there's no wall nearby, nothing to support what Connor *wants*. He stops and tries to pull Tim closer, to *feel* --

Their uniforms are in the *way* -- or. Is this what he should be doing?

He'd come here to *seduce* -- no, worse than that, or at least different. He'd come here to take advantage of friendship and *Tim's* seduction. He's making *assumptions* --

And that train of thought lasts *precisely* as long as it takes for Tim to bite his lip again, drag his short, even nails down his arms --

It's suddenly *clear* why Roy had found his own fingernails arousing --

Everything could be arousing, anything --

And a part of Connor's mind only wants to offer example after example of all the things which could never be arousing -- but it takes a frighteningly small amount of effort to push those thoughts back in favor of taking -- fucking -- Tim's mouth with his tongue.

Tim smiles --

And begins to walk Connor... somewhere. The bed?

Connor really *wants* the use of a wall -- and he can open his eyes -- there.

Connor uses a certain fraction of his strength to -- lightly -- throw Tim against the wall --

Tim's eyes widen and narrow in the space of one *desperate* heartbeat -- "Remind me," Tim says, and flexes his hands again, "to have at least one spar with you in New York before you return to this coast."

Connor licks his lips -- "Done. But -- that wasn't too much?"

"'Too much' is when you damage me too much for patrol."

Connor moves -- it's perhaps something of a stalk -- close. "That leaves a rather wide range of activities."

"Doesn't it, though."

And --

It's something like instinct to cup Tim's jaw, stroke, tilt his head back --

"You shouldn't ever be self-conscious about your height -- ah."

Tim's expression *quirks* -- "I'm usually not."

"Until brilliant people bring it up in misguided attempts to be helpful?"

"'Small... can be very, very stealthy, indeed.'"

Connor licks his lips. "Bruce?"

"Mm-hm. And Dick quoting Bruce. They encouraged me to think of myself as something like an improbably beneficent ninja."

Connor strokes the line of Tim's jaw -- very sharp -- with his thumb. He searches Tim's face -- no, he's not looking to read Tim in this moment so much as he's looking to *see* Tim, to study and know and touch --

And perhaps Tim sees that realization, because his expression shifts to something much hotter, less *deniable* --

"Tim..."

"Yes?"

"I must admit that it's reassuring to hear you speak of Bruce's training in a way that doesn't involve *trauma* -- and I believe I'm throwing out a kind of verbal filler."

"If you're not sure about this --"

"I'm sure about you. I've been --" Connor shakes his head and smiles. "I was quite jealous when I realized you and Bart were involved."

"Were you."

Connor licks his lips, leans in -- and kisses Tim's mouth gently, softly --

"Connor..."

"I want to tell you what I've fantasized about you, but I fear it's not especially exciting."

Tim's smile is sharp even without being able to focus on his eyes in this moment -- "You could allow me to decide."

"Would you tell me your own fantasies?"

"Rather Redbird-intensive for a rather long time -- Connor."

Connor licks Tim's mouth again --

Again --

"You taste... I'd like to know your tastes."

"At the moment, I imagine I taste something like the tea Starfire prepared for me. In Tamaranians, anyway, it tends to... ah. Increase stamina."

Connor laughs helplessly and pulls back. "Did you *request* this singular beverage?"

Tim smiles and --

"How many of your smiles do you use on the *street*, Tim?"

"All of them... depending on the situation and the company. I..." Tim strokes up Connor's chest, cups Connor's shoulders. "I didn't need to request it. I believe Starfire -- Kory -- is invested in me remaining... in top form."

Connor laughs again. "I can't decide if she's the worst guardian for you and your friends or the *best*."

"Some of both. Though I'm certainly feeling charitable toward the tea."

"*Just* the tea...?"

"Well, I *suppose* it could be something about your beauty, charm, intellect, and strength which is making me tumescent --"

Connor *snorts* --

"But I'd rather blame the drugs."

"Would you?"

"Never," Tim says, and wraps his arms around Connor's neck. "Kiss me like Roy again. Please."

"Oh... with pleasure." And Roy is so tactile, so sensual --

And it's easy to see *why* in a world like this one, where touch can be something soft *or* something rough --

Where a lover -- *this* lover -- will moan for the feel of Connor's hand on his throat --

His long and *graceful* throat --

Connor squeezes just to *see* --

And Tim almost *sprawls* against the wall, legs spread and body eminently *available* --

"You -- I'd like to see you naked, Tim --"

"Kiss me again --"

Connor does, and wonders about hesitation, caution --

And stops wondering about anything of the kind, because Tim is urging Connor to fuck his mouth, to --

Oh, it's the easiest and *best* thing in the world to remember that he'd wanted to shove Tim against the wall this way, that he'd wanted --

*This* thrust, and their jocks are in the way, their *selves* are in the way, but Connor can take another few moments of this pain, this pressure and pleasure --

Tim moans and jumps, hitching his legs around Connor's hips, and --

Connor *is* more than strong enough to hold him, but the move is such a *surprise* -- "Tim --"

"Why not... hn. Fuck me into the wall?"

Well -- that's a little ridiculous. "You don't think that sort of thing is rather more Kon's purview?"

Tim laughs and licks Connor's *chin* -- "I'd tell you to be careful of giving him *ideas*, but that would imply a certain conservatism that I singularly lack."

Connor kisses Tim's temple, his cheek -- "I'd noticed. You are... you've thought about sex extensively."

"You haven't?"

"Not without guilt. Repression -- that sort of thing."

"Hn. And I take it that it wasn't the sort of guilt and repression that adds spice."

"*Spice*? Spice... I. Hm. I think I'm rather conservative in my *eating* habits, Tim."

Tim laughs again and hitches himself up --

Connor *grips* Tim's hips --

"Oh -- I enjoy that a great deal, Connor."

"Hips like yours... ah. I don't suppose we could remove our clothes now...?"

"It just seemed as though you *wanted* me against this wall, Connor," Tim says, teasing *just* as though the belt knife Connor had felt is exactly as sharp as it should be. And --

"I did. I *do*... but."

"Well, then," Tim says, jumping down and doing *something* with his belt before removing it -- hm.

"It's booby-trapped?"

"Extensively," and Tim continues to strip. "Actually, the whole uniform is. It's come in handy."

"You know, for all that I receive rather more than I believe is my share of sexualized attention... ah?"

"The sheer number of people who attempt -- and succeed at -- removing my clothes... well. I've only had to use the booby-traps defensively once."

Connor works on his own uniform. "Yes?"

"Ten thousand -- approximately -- rats. They electrocuted themselves on me. The smell was... itself."

Connor makes a face --

"Technically, I *could've* used them a second time, but the criminal stripping me was smart enough to *avoid* the booby-traps... well. I have other things planned for him."

Connor frowns and works off his boots and socks -- "He got away?"

"He managed to steal one of Bruce's cars. That..." Tim shakes his head and smiles like a moderately *demented* shark. "He's going to feel a certain amount of pain before I'm done with him."

"A certain amount...?"

"Nothing... untoward," Tim says, and peels out of his boxer-briefs --

There are distinct finger-shaped bruises on his hips.

His lean, pale --

"You're beautiful."

"Coming from you..." Tim smiles again and traces Connor's pectorals with his fingertips before letting his hand splay on Connor's chest. His gaze... roves. "I believe I'm in danger of developing a fetish."

Connor snorts and covers Tim's hand with his own. "Please don't *ever* remind me of all the women -- and men -- who've insisted to me over the years that it's 'cool' for me to be a person of color, since people like me tend to be more 'interesting.'"

Tim coughs and turns aside, shoulders hitching with repressed laughter. "I'm sorry, I -- ah. Wow."

Connor turns Tim back to face him. "Precisely."

"Well," Tim says, and his eyes seem almost to *sparkle* -- "I promise to only fetishize you for other things."

"You could try to avoid fetishizing me, at *all* --"

"Oh... doubtful. Highly, highly doubtful. As an example, the fingerless gloves you tend to wear --"

"Are *useful* for *archery* --"

"Yes," and Tim brings Connor's hands back to his hips. "They also tend to leave your palms relatively soft, while your fingers are... mm. Very rough."

Connor strokes Tim's skin -- sleek and only *lightly* scarred here -- distractedly -- he'd said something. Connor shakes his head and laughs. "Roy once gave me something of a treatise on the differences between 'Arrow' and 'Bat' calluses."

"Oh, yes?" And Tim works his hips in small circles --

Connor clutches them hard. *Stills* them --

"Connor..."

"I..." Connor licks his lips. "I've spent the year since that conversation going over and over my memories of Roy's calluses and attempting to *apply* that knowledge --"

"They're wonderful --"

"Yes, and --" Connor smiles ruefully and drags his thumbs along the shallow bowls of Tim's hips. "This touch..."

"It's yours. And others, too."

"I -- confess that I've had some rather *random* fantasies about Nightwing, as well --"

"You *could* call him Dick --"

"We've never actually had a *conversation*, Tim."

Tim blinks and shakes himself like a dog. "That... is both understandable and *deeply* bizarre. You know *Bruce* better."

"Yes."

"*No* one should be able to say that."

Connor laughs a little breathlessly. "I have another confession to make..."

Tim blinks at him -- and steps closer. "Do tell."

"It's only that... ah. His *gauntlets* became damaged during a mission."

"Were they melted, sliced, or chewed?"

"Ah -- melted, that time --"

"Then I believe I know the mission you're speaking of. Go on."

Connor touches his tongue to his upper lip --

"Did he do that?"

Connor blinks. "Yes, actually --"

"Hn. He noticed you looking at his hands."

"To be fair, I was joined at the time by Kyle *and* Wally."

"They're incredible hands."

"Yes, I -- the scars were hardly visible, at all."

Tim reaches up and wraps his arms around Connor's neck. "He's been working to keep his hands *deniable* since his late teens."

"That seems -- well. They were *manicured*."

"Mm-hm. He once made Dick and me join him *for* a manicure."

"I. *What*?"

Tim grins and strokes the side of Connor's calf with his toes. "He has a unique sense of humor. I believe Dick was ready to climb the walls by the time the technician was finished."

"And you weren't?"

"I appreciate pampering... when I'm in the mood for it."

"Oh... that. Now I'm feeling guilty about all of those fantasies I've had involving throwing you around."

"Please don't."

"If you're sure."

"Oh... very," Tim says, which is more than enough of a cue for *this* spar --

Tim is *faster* than he once was, and while Connor had seen that against Robotica, it's something else to face it --

To *need* to use his own speed to block --

To parry --

To understand, too late, that Tim has *let* him catch his wrist --

But Connor is more than flexible enough to bend under this *vicious* kick --

To use his momentum to sweep --

Tim leaps and *then* twists his wrist free, tumbling in the air --

There are no *mats* in here --

But Tim makes a two-point landing on his hands, twists his *nimble* body --

The kick is weak. Still too fast for Connor to catch -- "You need to put more of your... hm. Hips into that one."

"Noted," Tim says, flipping back onto his feet and coming for him --

"Dick taught you these kicks?"

"*All* of them," and Tim is grinning, *using* himself and his body, hitting mark after mark *despite* his impressive erection --

Connor blocks, dodges, strikes for ankle and calf --

Contact --

And Tim spins with it, coming from the side --

*Catch* --

"I take it you saw Bruce use this kick."

"Once or twice," Connor says, and makes his throw a good one -- and his pounce a better one --

"Oof --" Tim laughs and *moves* under him, and that --

Is a wonderful idea. Connor shoves his arms under Tim's own and hauls him further onto the bed --

"You *beast* --"

"Yes, I believe I'm going to ravish you now. Prepare yourself."

Tim *snorts* -- and tickles Connor's sides *viciously* --

"*Tim*, that's *horrific* --"

Tim makes it *worse* --

Connor rolls off *giggling* --

And Tim pins him. "Ha ha! At last, I have the fair maid in my power."

Connor raises an eyebrow. "I believe you'll find that I'm neither maid nor *fair*, Tim."

Tim snickers rather more than the joke was worth --

Connor raises his eyebrow *higher* --

"I -- just manipulated you into making a Star Trek reference. I'd apologize, but it would be a terrible lie."

Star Trek -- well, that's entirely *new*. Connor laughs. "*Noted*. I still want to ravish you."

Tim cocks his head to the side. "What if I want to ravish *you*?"

"Then I hope you're filming --"

"Oh, always."

"-- because the sheer number of people who've expressed a desire to see just that is staggering."

"Hn. I always *did* want an independent source of disposable income..."

Connor grins and throws an arm over his forehead. "I'll feel so very *used*, Tim. Hopefully soon."

Another snicker --

And Tim leans in to kiss him, refusing Connor's attempts to get him to fuck his mouth, and instead --

Mm. It's a *slow* kiss and a thoughtful one. It's almost --

Connor has the rather *ridiculous* image of Tim introducing himself to someone via the judicious use of this kiss --

This *touch*, because Tim is cupping Connor's cheeks and stroking them with his thumbs, occasionally pushing back to tease Connor's ears and hairline --

Tim sucks Connor's lower lip, hums, and pulls back. "That's the kiss I wanted to give you when I was fourteen."

"You grew out of it?"

"Hn. I believe it's more accurate to say that I grew *impatient*," Tim says, hooking his thumb into the side of Connor's mouth --

And this kiss is as hard as it is messy, as *promising*.

It frankly makes Connor think of Roy, for all that Roy hasn't kissed him this way -- or kissed anyone else this way in Connor's *presence*.

It's *wet*, and licking Tim's thumb makes Tim push it deeper --

Makes Connor *need* to turn out of the kiss in order to *suck* Tim's thumb, to taste the salt and feel the pressure of it in his mouth, the *fact* of it --

"Connor. I sincerely hope that you'll let me suck you off."

Well. Connor drags his teeth along Tim's thumb until Tim pulls it out with a small and rather *pointedly* sexual sound. "I was hoping to -- use -- your hands."

"Both of them...?"

Connor licks his lips --

Tim -- waggles his fingers *and* his eyebrows.

Connor snorts. "I can't decide if that was more Roy or Kon."

"Pure, unadulterated Dick. Perhaps we all have kinks in common."

"I -- wouldn't say I'm attracted to Kon."

"No?"

Connor strokes his way up Tim's abdomen and chest until his small, dusky-rose nipples are sliding and teasing his palms --

"Oh, I --" Tim bites his lips and grinds his *hips* --

"Beautiful, I -- he's your friend, and, as such, I've been jealous of him."

Another eyebrow raise -- and its sharpness is blunted by the way Tim's eyes are narrow with -- shameless -- lust. "This morning was the first time we made love. We've yet to have a kiss as serious as the ones you and I have shared, Connor."

That -- Connor shivers. "I believe I might be somewhat *possessive*, Tim."

"Hn. That sounded like a confession."

"You told me I was your only correspondent."

"You were... until five weeks ago."

"Yes, and I --" Connor shakes his head and drags Tim's hand back to his mouth, close enough that he can kiss the palm, lick --

"Connor..."

"I love your tastes, Tim, and I -- you were mine, for a long stretch of time in the dim fastnesses of my own ridiculous mind."

"O, no. How terrible. I'll never be able to look at you with respect again."

Connor *bites* the heel of Tim's hand. "I believe we're running *smack* into the differences between 'Arrows' and 'Bats.'"

Tim grins and grinds his hips again --

Connor *clutches* at Tim's hip. Just one. Just to *feel* --

"Bruce considers an entire city with eight *million* residents his own. With no sense of irony whatsoever."

"*None*?"

"Well. He *pretends* to have a sense of irony about it... but he's lying like a lying, lying thing."

"Mm. Whereas my father prides himself on being able to let go -- of anything and anyone -- at a moment's notice."

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"He is, of course, lying like the proverbial lying *thing*... but it's still a value he tries very hard to instill in me. I have... some measure of guilt."

"You shouldn't."

"I've -- we've hardly known each other --"

"I enjoy belonging to people, Connor. *Multiple* people."

And that... is really a *series* of exciting images. Thoughts. *Flavors*. A very -- one could almost -- "I don't suppose I could convince you to get on your hands and knees."

Tim's lips part, his eyes widen -- "Oh... it wouldn't take much."

"I'd like... there's... certain art..."

"Ooh. Intercrural. I tried that with Bart until he started cursing me with *actual* curses."

"He's interested in the *occult*?"

"He read -- and memorized --the entire San Francisco Public Library. These things happen. I... hands and knees?"

"I..." Connor sits up and hugs Tim, holding him close and enjoying the warmth --

And *letting* the heat take him the way he hasn't, the way he'd always tried to *avoid*.

Tim's sigh as he wraps his arms around Connor's neck --

The feel of his strong, *lithe* body --

"I believe I'm fetishizing your size."

Tim turns his head enough that Connor can feel his smile against his ear. "I'm... portable."

"Yes, I -- I find I want to move you. Extensively, even."

"Perhaps bend me into interesting shapes...?"

Connor blinks --

Thinks about it --

And Tim *lets* it be wonderfully easy to throw him onto his back and push his knees up to his chest --

"I... ah. Wow."

"Yes, Connor?"

"This view is... deeply pornographic."

"Hn." Tim reaches down and begins to play with his scrotum, squeezing and rolling it on his palm, squeezing again and *presenting* it --

"I think I've just come to the conclusion that I'm definitely bisexual."

Tim -- coughs. "It was a question before?"

"You needn't sound so *incredulous*, Tim --"

"Ah -- sorry." Tim bites his lip and raises both eyebrows.

That -- Connor snickers and pinches the bridge of his nose. "No, that thought *didn't* occur to me last night. Or this morning. Or any of the times I've masturbated while thinking -- yes, well. Perhaps I should have Bart take me to the library sometime."

"If you'd rather talk..." And Tim stops playing with his scrotum --

"Oh, don't do that."

"Connor --"

"Maybe..." Connor closes Tim's fingers around his scrotum and squeezes gently --

"Mm. Maybe?"

"I -- hm. I was going to suggest that we talk about the matter *while* we continue to do wildly arousing things to, with, and near each other --"

Tim snorts -- "We could try? Ah?"

Connor smiles ruefully. "It's just that I assumed that I was *only* terribly repressed."

Tim touches his tongue to his upper lip --

"That is a -- wonderfully arousing way to not quite laugh."

"Certainly, I stole it from Bruce with -- sexualized -- malice aforethought --"

"Meaning you've used it against your team when they were young and vulnerable. Tim."

"Hn." Tim squeezes himself --

Oh, wonderfully --

"There's a case to be made that I was young and vulnerable *myself* at the time."

"Yes. And *fourteen years older* than Bart and Kon."

Tim snickers and hums. "There's also a case to be made for the beauty of the young and nubile."

"God, you sound like *Roy* --"

Tim shows his teeth. "I like to give people what they *like*, Connor."

"You --" Connor growls and yanks Tim's legs out straight --

Tim spreads them to --

"All right, that's impressive."

"And see, the problem with comments like that is that they make me never *want* to introduce you to Dick. I have to retain what little cachet of -- heh -- impressiveness I can."

Connor raises an eyebrow.

"I'm... ah... fragile?"

Connor snorts --

"Definitely, I'm..." Tim *pumps* his scrotum in his hand -- "I'm -- sensitive. Deeply -- deeply invested in making people *happy* --"

"I would like... ah. Hm. I seem to be back to the desire to ravish you with but little idea of how to *do* it, Tim."

"I just happen to have -- hnh -- a few suggestions --"

"Would you ever --"

"Yes," Tim says, and *glitters* at him.

"I might have been about to suggest the decidedly non-standard use of my *quiver*, Tim."

Tim cocks his head to the side... and moves his hand to his penis, stroking up and down the underside with his fingertips --

"All right, that's unlikely, but -- ah. Have you ever... hm."

"Would it help to think of the words Roy would use...?"

Connor blinks --

Thinks about *that* --

"I'd like to fuck you."

Tim grunts and *arches* -- "God, that may have been the best suggestion I've ever *made* -- ah. I've never done it --"

"Oh, then --"

Tim sits up *and* rests one ankle on Connor's shoulder --

"Oh -- my. That probably shouldn't be so *inspiring* --"

"Yes, yes it should, because I *learned* these stretches for sex --"

"You learned them for the *Mission* --"

"And to make it easier to picture Dick -- and you, and various others -- doing it to me for much, much stickier purposes --"

"Oh. I -- I think I'm going to want you to talk about sex *extensively* in future letters --"

"Done. Connor. Roy fingered me."

"He fingered *me*, too, but --"

"Connor. He gave me *three* fingers before he was done."

Connor blinks. That --

That *is* what Roy said, but now that he's had *two* of Roy's fingers --

Oh. "You. You've... practiced."

"Extensively," Tim says, and raises an eyebrow. "Including back in the days when most of my fantasies about you revolved around you bending me over the Redbird."

Connor -- licks his lips. Yes, *those* fantasies -- "That was a wonderful car."

"Yes."

"You -- I don't... want to hurt you."

Tim shows his teeth again. "That lacked rather a large amount of internal conviction."

Connor squeezes his eyes shut and thinks of Roy's hand, Roy's *penis* -- "Roy... hurt my mouth and throat when I fellated him this morning."

Tim's wince seems *intensely*... lustful. "He probably wasn't happy about that --"

"I managed to hide it from him -- I believe. It gave me a rather good reason to go with my suspicions that I could enjoy sexualized pain --"

"I enjoy it, too. Immensely."

"Tim..." Connor strokes along the side of Tim's thigh before pushing under and lifting Tim by his buttock --

Tim sighs. "Connor. I would... I would understand if you wanted to save certain acts for Roy --"

"No, that's not --" Connor swallows and shakes his head, moving his hand back to Tim's hip --

"You like touching me there."

"I *like* -- ah." Connor frowns. "I mostly thought about your *mouth* --"

"Which is *eminently* available --"

"Stop -- stop trying to -- do you want me inside you?"

Tim lets his eyes slip most of the way closed, parts his lips -- "Very much."

"Then -- hell. Which position is *better*?"

Tim smiles and cups Connor's face. "For beginners, like us... hands and knees would probably be best. And I must admit to having... mm. It would feel rather like being *thoroughly* used."

Connor frowns --

"Which is not to say I would say no -- or anything resembling no -- to face-to-face."

Connor licks his lips. "I'd like -- if it didn't work for us --"

"Done. Kiss me?"

Connor cups the back of Tim's head and pulls him in, crushing his leg between them --

He's almost *certain* that shouldn't make it better --

It does, as does the way Tim *relentlessly* coaxes Connor's tongue into his mouth --

The way Tim *tightens* his mouth so that it's like penetrating --

Connor groans and thrusts, opening his eyes --

And Tim's eyes are open, as well, and his smile manages to be both warm *and* hot, accepting and goading --

Connor tightens his grip and makes the kiss harder, more *brutal* --

Tim groans and squeezes Connor's shoulders, presses closer --

The *stretch* of that --

And Connor is less than surprised to find himself growling --

Into the *air* when Tim tilts his head back --

"Tim --"

"My *throat*, Connor -- oh, *fuck* --"

That for a bite, a sucking kiss --

He has to find every sensitive *place* --

And it's easier once he cups Tim's buttocks again, lifts him --

"Oh -- God, *archer* strength --"

Connor hums agreement and licks where he's bitten --

"Connor --"

He *bites* again, and Tim bucks against him, twisting his body in an obvious attempt to get more contact for his penis --

More --

Connor shoves Tim down on his back --

Shivers when Tim grunts and wraps his legs around Connor's *waist* --

And pushes Tim's head aside so that he can have as much access to that throat as *possible*. Just --

"Ohn -- oh, *suck*, Connor --"

"I'd rather bite --"

Tim bucks again and tightens his legs into a *vise* --

Connor moans and bites Tim lightly if not truly carefully, sketching a path across his throat --

"You feel -- oh, Connor, you -- you'll make me lose *control* --"

"*Good*," and Connor licks Tim's throat, licks again for the tang of salt --

He's making Tim *sweat*, and that seems so --

He can *imagine* throwing all of this feeling into a spar or a patrol -- he's done just that countless *times* -- but now all of those thoughts end with bodies, skin, *touch* --

Connor sucks *hard* at Tim's pulse point --

Tim *grips* Connor's head, holding him there --

Yes, *here*, and Connor bites again, licks at the flesh caught between his teeth --

Tim groans -- "*Please* --"

And Connor can't keep himself from thrusting against Tim's thigh, can't --

Oh, the *feel* of him --

Connor licks his way back to Tim's mouth, stabs in with his tongue -- no. He holds *Tim's* mouth open and kisses him that way, and immediately gets lost to image and fantasy. Would Tim ever want to be... to be *rimmed*?

Tim had spoken as if his list of kinks is as extensive as Roy's, but wouldn't there have to be *some* limits?

He doesn't *want* limits --

He --

That seems like the most revolutionary thought he's ever --

Connor laughs and bites Tim's lips, upper and lower --

Tim raises an eyebrow --

And Connor believes, deep in his heart, that that is a sign of far too much critical thought. How to --

Connor smiles and kisses him hard again, crushing his lips against his teeth --

Tim rears back and bites *him* --

Connor thrusts again, growls -- yes.

He kisses his way down Tim's body, pausing to lick and bite at his nipples --

"Oh -- *Connor* --"

"You *like* pain --"

"Don't. Stop."

"You sound like you're thinking too much," Connor says, and he's aware that he's managing to whine *while* growling, but --

"You can change that..."

"Yes, I *can*," and Connor scrapes his teeth down Tim's abdomen --

And sucks the head of Tim's penis into his mouth, stunning himself with the differences in taste, of *feel* --

Of course he wouldn't taste like Roy, but --

"*Connor* --"

He wants to hear his name called that way --

"Oh, you -- *God* --"

More of him, then, because he hadn't strictly *needed* Roy to tell him that his mouth could be used this way --

Any number of people had informed him of that wholly out of the *blue* --

More. Just --

Connor sucks and drags his lips along the shaft --

"Hnh -- *fuck* --"

Connor goes down as far as he comfortably can, ignoring the twinges he can't make himself enjoy --

The feel of Tim against the back of his throat, the twitch and heft of him --

And when Connor looks up, Tim is staring at him *hotly*, dangerously --

Connor smiles. And scrapes his teeth --

"*Hnh* -- you. Don't make me come this way --"

Connor sucks the head again, mouths it --

Watches a flush spill down Tim's chest and wants --

A flick for the head --

And Tim is sitting up and *gripping* Connor's head, and it's always a mistake to underestimate the hand-strength of *anyone* in their community, but of someone trained by *Bruce* --

"Connor, stop sucking and *fuck* me --"

Connor hums just to *see* --

Tim growls and *yanks* him off. "Just for that? You *don't* get to play with my neck, anymore."

The neck in question... is marked. Bruising *interestingly*. Connor licks his lips. "Are you sure about that?"

The light behind Tim's eyes *flares* -- and he shows his teeth. "I suppose you'll have to find other ways to make me curse for you. Connor."

"On your *back*. Tim."

"Hnn. Lube's in the top drawer --"

"*Down*."

Tim throws himself back --

Bounces --

And plants his feet. "Connor? Fuck me *hard*."

Connor growls and *yanks* open the drawer -- and is less than surprised to find a supply of zip-strips and a set of cuffs which certainly *appears* to be made from the same speedster-proof compound Wally had described to him once. Connor pulls out the bottle of lubricant --

"Get any other ideas...?"

"Where did you get the cuffs?"

"Bruce gave them to me."

Connor blinks and *coughs* --

"Hn. *Before* I became involved with Bart. He may have simply been being... cautious."

Anything is possible --

No, Roy would say that *everything* is possible, and it's hard to argue the point in *this* moment, when he's pouring lubricant on his fingers and preparing to --

Tim arches and licks his lips, spreads his legs *wider* --

"Tim --"

"You can... start with two."

"Is that what you like? Or are you being impatient?"

"Is impatience a punishment-worthy offense...?"

"It depends on whether or not you think *this* --"

"Fuck -- *Connor* --"

"-- is punishment," Connor says, and he's reasonably impressed with himself for being able to maintain a consistency of tone, but Tim is so *hot* inside, so --

It's *incredibly* difficult to believe that three of *Roy's* fingers had been here --

This tight little *hole* -- but.

Connor moves his fingers experimentally -- there's room. *Barely*, but --

He can fit. His *penis* can fit, and, right now, that's everything he wants to *know* --

"Connor -- Connor --"

"Tell me. Tell me to fuck you again --"

"*Fuck* me, I -- I'll beg --"

Connor shivers and *twists* his fingers --

"Oh -- *God* --"

"Then beg. Show -- show me --"

Tim pants and bangs his head back against the pillows -- "Please. Please fuck me. Please *give* it to me --"

"Have you ever -- who do you beg in your fantasies, Tim?"

Tim's laugh is cracked, high-pitched -- "Oh, it depends on how I *feel*, Connor -- oh --"

Connor slips out most of the way --

"*Please* --"

"How would you beg *Roy*?"

"I -- as filthily as possible?" Tim licks his lips and clutches at the sheets. "I'd beg him to take me, to *use* me, to fuck my ass into a new *shape* -- oh, God, *deep* --"

"*In* you --"

"Archer -- calluses --" Tim tosses his head and licks his lips -- "I'd beg him to *hurt* me --"

"Tim --"

"To -- to make me scream and *cry* -- oh, *yes*, Connor, don't stop, don't stop --"

"It -- it shouldn't be so easy to *thrust*, Tim --"

Tim laughs again and works his hips into every thrust -- "I -- ohn. You didn't see what's in the *other* drawer --"

"*Never* stop talking about *sex* --"

"Hnn -- I -- beg me?"

"*Please*, Tim, please *encourage* me to fuck you *harder* --"

"Hnh -- *hnh* -- oh, God, that's already so --" Tim licks his lips and sits up on his elbows --

"*Down*," Connor says, and he's not even sure he *wants* Tim in that position, but it had felt wonderful to say --

And even better to see Tim *do* it. And --

"Play. Play with your scrotum again --"

Tim grunts and reaches down to do it, consciously *working* to keep as much of what he's doing in view as possible --

"You -- I have an image of you as an exotic dancer that's wildly inappropriate --"

"I have -- *nnh* -- no rhythm whatsoever. Trust me --"

"I *do* --"

And Tim opens his eyes and smiles at him like Roy, bright and beautiful and *happy* -- and hazed over with arousal.

That -- "I want to be *inside* you --"

"You -- just a little more lubricant --"

Connor pours some on *directly* --

"Oh -- God, yes, push it in, work it *around* --"

And then Tim is groaning and growling for him, tossing his head again and working his hips perfectly --

*Sharply* --

Oh, Connor had *forgotten* -- he crooks his fingers up --

"*Connor* --"

Again --

"I -- oh -- I'll *come* --"

Again, because he *has* to --

And Tim *yanks* on his scrotum and yells -- "You're a *supervillain* and I'll hate you until you're fucking me *blind* --"

"I almost wish I *wanted* to apologize --"

"Now, in me *now* --"

"*Beg* --"

"*Please*, Connor, please let me feel -- I've always wanted to *feel* you --"

Connor -- breathes. *Just* breathes, forcing himself to pull out slowly enough to make it a tease --

A *wonderful* tease, because Tim groans and bangs his head again --

And the feel of his slick hand on his penis --

The way the feeling *promises* --

It's the first *time* --

And he can't stop himself from hooking an arm under Tim's knee, pushing it back as he pushes --

Oh, so *tight* --

Tim brings his breathing *ruthlessly* under control --

"I want you to be *loud* Tim --"

Tim hooks his other knee over Connor's shoulder and *pulls* --

Connor manages to brace himself on one hand --

Tim *whimpers* --

"Oh -- oh, Tim, I -- if you need me to -- "

"*Please* --"

"*Yes*," and the word just comes out of him, *forced* out, perhaps by the pressure around his penis --

The *heat* --

Oh, all the way *in* --

Tim's eyes are squeezed shut and he's panting, wincing --

"Does it *hurt*."

"God, not *enough*, I -- fuck me, *please* --"

"Tim, I -- I never knew, never *had* --"

"In me, you're --" Tim clenches around him --

They *both* shout -- and Connor's hips are moving without anything resembling --

No, they're finding their own rhythm, *taking* --

"Oh -- *ohn* --"

"Your *sounds*, Tim --"

"*Kiss* me --"

"I want to *hear* you," Connor says, and he's moving -- too fast now, too much --

Tim is crying out for *every* thrust --

"Yes, like --" Connor shakes his head and licks his lips, tries to convince his body to flow, to *accept* --

"Connor, oh -- Connor, I wish --"

"*Tell* me --"

Tim laughs again, and this time it moves up and down, breathless and *mostly* high -- "I don't *know* --"

"Tell me -- I have to make this *better* --"

"Then -- thrust *up* -- a little --"

Connor nods somewhat frantically and works on convincing his body of *that*, works --

His spine feels so tight --

Tim's *body* is --

"So -- you're *tight* --"

"And you're *long*, and I -- ohn -- *ohn* --"

There. The *right* angle, and it had only taken a little thought, a little --

Connor groans helplessly, does it again for the way the sound makes him move, makes him almost seem to *roll* into every thrust --

He feels so *slick*, sweat and other things, the power of this *moment* --

And Tim is biting his lip as he --

Oh, Connor is moving them *both*, and it's an obscenity to be able to read the motion of his own body in the way that Tim's body is jerking --

A *beautiful* obscenity --

He has to --

Connor leans in to kiss Tim's mouth open --

Tim *shouts* into his mouth, and doesn't seem capable of kissing back. It's possible that it means Connor shouldn't, but he has to tell Tim, to *show* him with more than his noises and *greedy* body --

He licks his want over the surfaces of Tim's tongue, sucks his gratitude along Tim's lightly swollen lips --

And suddenly Tim gasps and clutches Connor's face, kissing him clumsily, messily --

Robin should never --

But he'd *made* Robin like this, taken something so beautiful and perfect and made it -- better.

This has to be better than *anything*, sweeter --

Tim *keens* into Connor's mouth --

And Connor realizes that he'd started thrusting *harder*, almost -- but could this be cruel? Could something so sweet be --

Tim turns his head out of the kiss and yells once --

Again --

And the *clench* around Connor is powerful enough to make him grunt and clutch at the bed, bend Tim's knee back *farther* --

And Tim's cry is high enough that it seems like it should crack in his *throat*, should call down all the Titans *and* Batman on him in *vengeance* --

But the splash of Tim's semen against Connor's abdomen is a benediction, a *reason* --

"Oh, *Tim* --"

He cries out *again* --

And then his cries are rhythmic again, *fast* --

Connor's moving --

*Taking* --

He has to be *with* Tim in this moment --

And it seems as though something cracks inside him, something hot and blindingly *bright* --

"*Tim* --"

And Tim rears up and *takes* a kiss, sucking Connor's tongue hard enough to hurt --

Oh, to hurt for *this* --

He has no *control* --

He's thrusting so *hard*, spilling and *spasming* --

Oh, *again* --

"Connor, *yes* --"

Connor drops onto his elbow, holding Tim's leg bent and -- God, barely managing not to *head-butt* Tim --

Connor pants.

Just -- pants.

Tim wraps his arms around Connor's chest and squeezes --

Connor focuses on panting for just a little while *longer* --

"Hnn."

"Tim. I --"

"That was... magnificent," Tim says, turning to kiss Connor's cheek. "I thought you were going to fuck me into the headboard."

"Again... ah. No, I have nothing. I *am* nothing."

Tim laughs softly. "Perhaps you could treat all of this as a new meditation."

Connor laughs *breathlessly* -- "I think my childhood in the monastery would've been rather more entertaining if the monks could've ever been convinced of that sort of thing."

"Mm, you have a point. And an entirely wonderful penis."

"Now that's the interesting thing, Tim," Connor says, and pushes up onto his hand again. "I feel entirely the same about your rectum."

Tim's smile is broad and somewhat *lazy*. "I highly recommend using clinical language as much as possible with the dirtier-minded types. They make *incredibly* entertaining faces the first several times."

Connor considers trying that with Roy... hm. "I feel that particular game might backfire with Roy..."

"Yes?"

"But I would also almost certainly enjoy every moment of my just deserts."

Tim hums, expression growing thoughtful.

"Oh... yes?"

"I was just thinking... I controlled most every aspect of my threesome with Kon and Bart. It would *have* to be incredibly different with you and Roy."

"It's not something you *have* to think about --"

"But you want to see me with Roy... and I want to see *you* with Roy."

Connor -- blushes. It seems *deeply* odd to do it now, but Connor suspects that this is one of those things which will *keep* surprising him in various ways until he dies. But -- "Yes. Both of those things..." Connor shakes his head. "I'm rather embarrassingly *sappy* with Roy."

"He's a wonderful man."

"And I have you to thank for helping me to see... well, for helping me to put all of my memories of him into the *proper* context."

"Robin," Tim intones, "is *always* helpful."

Connor hums. "In every possible way?"

"And some of the *impossible* ones -- whenever appropriate."

Connor smiles -- and sighs for the feel of himself softening. It really has been a wonderful day so far, and -- "You're going back today."

"In... hm. About ninety minutes, assuming Bruce is able to arrive on time."

"I would think it would be easier for Kon-El to fly you here? Or... for Bart to run you here, I suppose?"

Tim's smile is sharp and a little distant. "I believe Bruce wants to stay... somewhat close. To remind me of where I *truly* belong, perhaps."

"You *belong* wherever you find a *home*, Tim."

"Sometimes I think the Cave is my home more than any other place. It's where I go where I'm hurt, or confused, or frightened --"

"Happy? Lonely? In need?"

"Those things, too... in different ways. There are other times when I feel this *is* my home -- mostly when Bart is close. There are other times when I think Steph's bed is the closest I'll ever come to a real home..." Tim sighs and shakes his own head.

"You mentioned, once -- without much in the way of explanation -- that you didn't feel that your parents' house could ever *be* your home."

Tim's smile turns wry. "Too many lies for too many years. And, before that... before that it was worse."

Connor winces and lets Tim's leg down so he can stroke Tim's cheek. "I'm sorry."

"Hn. So am I... but I'm an *exceedingly* lucky teenager, and I will never, ever forget that."

Connor leans in and kisses Tim softly, moaning a little when he slips out the rest of the way --

Tim moans, as well -- and rolls them onto their sides.

It's a simple necessity to push one thigh between Tim's own, to nudge -- carefully -- at his scrotum --

Tim hums into Connor's mouth and turns the kiss into something slow, *warm* --

They hold each other, and -- "I'd hoped for this with you."

"I did, too," Tim says, and licks Connor's chin.

Connor laughs. "Roy did that."

"It's a very nice chin."

"It's... hm. Rather more square than yours."

"There are times when I've thought I could *puncture* people with mine, Connor."

"It's hardly *that* sharp --"

"Look at who I'm comparing myself to."

"Ah -- hm. Bruce's jaw is rather... lanternous."

"I have *seen* him use it to knock criminals unconscious."

Connor coughs a laugh.

"Yes."

"I -- that seems --"

"Yes."

"It just seems as though it would be rather more effective to use *any* of the countless other means at his disposal."

Tim smiles. "He's not above... ah... *working* the legend. And the myth, for that matter."

"And the man?"

"Well... he has his moments. And I'm going to give him an opportunity -- or two, or possibly even three -- to have another."

"With you?"

Tim shrugs lightly -- but not entirely easily. "I love him. It... hm. It seems as though I *should* be able to say it *to* him. Repeatedly, even."

And *that* -- Connor laughs a little helplessly.

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry, it's just... I have this image of you *leaping* out of some dark alley --"

"Of which Gotham has several --"

"-- only to pounce upon Bruce, wrapping your legs around his waist and *gritting* out -- 'I. Love. You.'"

"Connor. You really shouldn't tempt me."

Connor snorts and gives Tim a light push --

And Tim hums and smiles at him.

*

Dick stares at the ceiling of the plane.

He realizes that he's doing a fair *amount* of staring lately, but really --

When one has *just* finished watching one's little brother get the fucking of his life --

Specifically the *first* fucking of his life --

Specifically from Connor *Hawke* --

After he's had sex with -- with *Roy* --

"Why, Bruce."

"Hm?"

"I --" Dick pauses. There are a lot of different whys he can ask. Just --

A lot.

Pick one to start, pick one -- "Why didn't you tell me he'd had sex with *Roy*?"

"I don't suppose 'you didn't ask' is an adequate answer."

Dick flips Bruce off.

Bruce hums.

"He -- he wouldn't let *me* help him with *Connor* because he said I'd wind up *married* to him --"

"He's quite the eligible bachelor."

"You're laughing at me again."

"Perhaps... perhaps more *near* you," Bruce says, and the rumble under his voice --

"My little brother is a slut, Bruce."

"Does four people count as --"

"In one *weekend*? Yes, Bruce. Yes, it counts."

Bruce's hum is noncommittal.

"I'm not -- some of my best friends are sluts."

"I've often thought so."

Dick narrows his eyes and turns to glare at Bruce.

Whose shoulders are shaking. Just --

It's possible that the glare would be more effective if Dick didn't still have a hand around his dick. Dick sighs and goes back to staring at the ceiling. "How far out are we?"

"Fifteen minutes."

Okay. Okay, he can wait that long, and -- "Wait. We weren't watching *live*?"

"I... hadn't intended to watch, at all."

Dick narrows his eyes again.

Bruce -- coughs. And clears his throat.

"You were -- you were giving me something to keep me busy."

"Dick --"

"I'm the hyperactive toddler in this plane. Aren't I."

Bruce hums again.

"It's just -- I can only do three back-flips in this thing before I run out of plane."

"I'd noticed."

Dick narrows his eyes more -- his lashes are in the way. "Bruce."

"Yes."

"Bruce."

"Yes."

"Bruce --"

"Dick," Bruce says, and there's just a *hint* of quell in his voice --

"You can't quell me when you've been holding out on me like this, Bruce."

"Holding... out."

"Yes, you -- sure, you *talk* a good game about honesty and openness and *intimacy*, but you -- God, *Roy*? *How*?"

"I believe... hm."

Dick glares at Bruce again. He considers taking his hand from around his dick to make it a serious one --

No. His dick needs the comfort right now. And --

"What do you believe, Bruce."

"Dick --"

"*Bruce* --"

"Roy seemed to have... hm. Every intention of fulfilling his role as duenna --"

"Duenna. You -- no, keep going."

Bruce hums. "He was trying very hard to convince Tim to enter into a sexual relationship with you --"

Dick -- well, that was a squawk. That -- "He *told*?"

"Dick --"

"He told -- oh, God, what do you mean *convince*? Does he -- he doesn't *want* me --"

"Dick, you were *listening* to the recording of Tim speaking to Connor."

"Yes, and he wants me to fold him and spindle him and -- *gah*. But he doesn't *want* me --"

"*Dick* --"

"Wait, no, I have to freak out," Dick says, folding himself out of the straps and pacing --

Maybe tumbling a little --

Stupid, stupid *bulkhead* --

Okay, a few cartwheels -- always funny with his little friend flopping in the breeze --

Yes. Okay. He's fine.

Dick pushes himself back into the restraints.

Bruce stares at him.

"*What*?

Bruce bites his lip. Slowly.

Dick -- no, he doesn't narrow his eyes. "I suppose you think I shouldn't kill Roy. I suppose you're just *fine* with him -- what did he *do*? -- with our Robin?"

"Our --" Bruce *licks* his lips and stares at him a little more.

"*Yes*, *our* Robin. Our -- incredibly slutty and *filthy*-minded --"

"The two don't go together?"

"Not *often* enough -- er. According to Roy, of course."

Bruce touches his tongue to his upper lip.

"Oh -- fly the damned plane!'

"Of course," Bruce says, and turns to face the controls.

Dick breathes. And breathes a little more. And -- "Did he sound convinced?"

"Yes."

"Are you *sure*?"

Bruce smiles. "Yes."

"I should've had sex with him years ago. Just -- years."

"Perhaps staked something of a claim, Dick...?"

"Ooh, that was the warning voice. You're giving me the *warning* voice for this, which means that you think the right answer *isn't* 'yes, damn it, yes,' but you're *wrong*, Bruce."

"Am I."

"Yes you *are*," Dick says, emphasizing his point by jabbing at the console -- whoops --

"Not an important button."

"Well -- good. Anyway, you're wrong, Bruce, because you *know* what happens to Robins when they get a little nookie in all the wrong places."

"... nookie."

"Yes."

"Wrong... places. Dick. Are you saying you regret --"

"*No*, I'm not saying that. God, stop *listening* to me!"

Bruce frowns and licks his lips again. And just --

"You... are the most adorable thing ever when you're confused, Bruce. You just -- always."

"Hm."

"It doesn't *happen* often enough."

"More is the... pity?"

"*Yes*. And -- and. Okay, so Tim has to -- spread his cape. And his legs. And -- when did he get that *flexible*?"

"He works on it every day."

Dick sighs and lets his head fall back against the rest. "He's so good. So, so good. So -- are you *sure* --"

"It's entirely possible he would try to reject you if we give him time to muster his arguments. However..."

"Oh. Oh, you're *evil*."

"So I've been told."

"And you -- wait, what if he doesn't want the threesomes? The many, many -- God, and we have to -- I haven't even *been* in your Jacuzzi in *years* --"

"I have faith," Bruce says, and starts taking them down to landing speed, "in your ability to be convincing."

"Oh, that's -- that's *really* sweet, and thank you --"

"You're welcome --"

"But you're going to have to do the convincing, too. Maybe..." Dick licks his lips. "Maybe with that one kiss..."

"The one where I'm gripping your hair and nudging my thigh between your own?"

Dick moans and gives his dick a *squeeze* --

"Hm."

"Nn -- yes. But no. Not that one."

"I'm listening."

"That one where your eyes are *open*, Bruce, and you're staring into my eyes and *willing* me to bend over something. That -- that's a good kiss."

Bruce nods thoughtfully.

"Wait, that *is* what you're thinking at those times, right?"

"Not particularly."

"No? Then *what*?"

"Mostly..." Bruce smiles again. "Mostly, I'm thinking about what I will do when and if you choose to leave again. How I will feel."

And Dick... well, he's aware that he's making what Roy always referred to as the hurt-puppy face, but -- "Bruce..."

"It's all right, Dick. I'm quite happy to have you read that expression in other ways."

Dick sighs. "You -- you're gonna get *such* a hug when we land. Just -- the soles of my *feet* need to hug you right now, Bruce."

"Now that you mention it, many of your kicks have felt deeply affectionate over the years."

"That's because you're a twisted, *twisted* man, but I love you for it."

"And I you."

"We're gonna do him right here, Bruce."

"In the plane."

"God, yes, in the plane. He's not going to spend one more *minute* in, on, or *near* that -- that *cesspit* of debauchery."

"Hm."

"You're thinking about my Tower."

"Hm."

"I -- it was *different* back then, Bruce. We were all... ah. Innocent."

Bruce raises his eyebrow *extremely* loudly.

"I only had sex with all of them *sometimes*!"

"Of course."

"And not like -- what did he do with *Roy*?"

"Roy massaged him --"

"Oh -- that's *my* job --"

"And manipulated his penis with his hand --"

"And Roy's hands -- God, he's used to speedster and *Arrow* hands --"

"And penetrated him with his fingers. As you heard."

Dick groans. "I -- I *know* I heard it, but it's *dirtier* when you *say* it, Bruce."

"Hm."

"How did -- *did* he get Roy off?"

"Tim fellated him."

"Oh -- *Jesus*, I want -- that pinched little *mouth* --" Dick moans and strokes himself once, twice --

Wait, no, he's going to step out of the plane to make sure Tim gets *in* it --

Dick bites his lip and tucks himself away again.

Bruce makes a small and *mournful* noise --

"Heh. Next time just *tell* me you want me to be naked for the flight, boss."

Bruce narrows his eyes *promisingly* --

"Only don't make that face until *after* Tim is safely restrained."

"You want to tie him down, Dick...?"

"And tie him up, and hang him from things -- does he *do* that?"

"He's suspended the -- Bart from the beams in his ceiling."

"God, and how did he get so *toppy*? Did *you* teach him that?"

"I strongly suspect that Bart's personality brings it out of him."

"He..." Dick bites his own lip and drums his fingers on the console. "He's always been so -- well, the name Impulse really *suited* him --"

"Yes."

"And Tim -- God, Tim was his *first* real authority figure --"

"Yes."

"That's so *kinky*."

"Hn. He told Roy that at least a part of him considered Bart to be his... son."

Dick's jaw drops. Just -- that -- "What."

"Yes -- well. Correction: he considers Bart to be his son... and his *Robin*."

"Oh my dear Jesus in *petticoats*, that's dirty. I -- where does he get these *ideas*?"

Bruce turns to face him. Slowly. *Very* slowly --

"All right, that's creepy, but don't look at *me*! I'm the one who didn't *get* any when I was in the panties."

"Dick. Your entire mode of *being* --"

"I -- all right, fine, but -- and he *did* watch you with Jay -- and he knew you'd *adopted* him -- no, I'm blaming you and Jay for this."

"I... I wasn't much of a father to him --"

"Oh, Bruce. You're *you*. No matter *how* fucked-up and *perverted* you get, you're still our father."

Bruce closes his eyes for a moment --

"The plane, boss, the *plane*! Oh -- I didn't mean that. Wow. Tim's too young for that reference --"

Bruce laughs softly. "Dick... perhaps you should kiss him before you restrain him."

"Leaves open too many vulnerabilities, Bruce. I mean, we have to be *practical*, here."

Bruce blinks several times. "Practical."

"*Yes*, he -- he's tricksy. Tricksome. Tricky."

Bruce nods slowly.

"We can't let him get *away*! And he -- God only knows what kind of terrifying things he has in his belt these days --"

"*I* know, Dick --"

"*You* knew when he replaced his damned *fingernail*, but you still let him *do* it."

Bruce smiles. "I plan to do my best to stop him when he starts trying out his ideas for becoming partially cybernetic."

"You -- he -- *what*?"

"I would like to point out that I'm not the one who keeps purchasing science-fiction novels for him, Dick."

"He *likes* those -- okay, apparently too *much* -- *augh*. No robot parts! I'm putting my foot down."

"Does it still want to hug me?"

"*Yes*. And kick you. And -- other things."

"Hm."

Dick sighs again and puts himself into a quick meditation -- one not all that different from the ones he uses when he's about to go out on patrol. Just -- limited time, extensive *need* --

He'll get Tim to walk on the plane *ahead* of him, and -- hm. Stunning blow to the head?

A sweep?

That would end in *wrestling*, and Tim has to be at least a little sore after his unbelievable slutty *adventures* --

Dick *likes* wrestling --

He can wrestle his little brother right *down*, haul him further in, let Bruce close the hatch automatically --

"I have to kill Roy."

"No, Dick."

"But --"

"His heart was in the right place."

"It's not his *heart* I'm *pissy* about --"

"Dick."

Dick sighs. "I take back everything I've told you about how you need to be more sympathetic to people, Bruce. Just -- everything."

"Hm."

"Also -- hm. Connor was perving on your hands."

"Yes."

"We should maybe spend more time with the Arrows."

"Hm."

"Since you're so *sympathetic*, I mean," Dick says, and smiles as obnoxiously as he can.

Bruce smiles, too. Just --

Uh-oh. "Bruce --"

"Roy... has always been a wonderful friend to the family."

Images --

So many --

The way Roy would look over the pommel horse --

The *sounds* he would make --

And maybe Tim could just --

Roy's *mouth*, and --

Well, Tim would have to get on his toes --

Dick could find him something to *stand* on -- "Oh, God."

"Hm."

"Oh... God. Uh."

"Hm."

"How *do* you feel about piercings?"

Bruce laughs softly. "Curious. Often intensely so."

Dick licks the edges of his teeth. "Um."

"Dick."

"Boss --"

"We're here," Bruce says, and opens his restraints --

And opens *Dick's* -- "I keep forgetting how *smooth* you make these rides -- uh."

"I'll simply *have* to do my best to make you *remember*, sport, ha, ha, ha."

Dick punches Bruce in the chest.

Bruce shows his teeth.

Right. Operation: Retrieve Wayward Boy commencing in T-minus three...

Two...

Dick leaps out of the plane as soon as the hatch is open --

And Tim is kissing Bart right *there* --

And holding up a finger to make Dick *wait* --

And --

Bart's gotten impressively tall, but he's obviously more than willing to help Tim compensate. He's *crouching* -- *lower* than Tim's height --

Tim has his other hand on Bart's *hip* --

And Tim pushes the hand he was holding up into Bart's hair, gripping *hard* --

Dick can *see* Bart's hair pulling on the gauntlet's texturing --

And this is where Dick says... something. Some --

Any one *thing*. This is where the older brother teases, or -- does anything other than stare at the way Tim's mouth is moving --

The older brother definitely doesn't *gape* when Bart moans and begins running in place --

And, above all, the older brother doesn't moan when Tim pulls back just enough to bite Bart's lip --

"Oh, *Tim* --"

When Tim *slowly* pulls back even further -- and *darts* in to bite Bart's throat --

"Oh God oh God oh God okay lemme *go* before I have to --"

Tim stops biting and *grips* Bart's throat -- "I love you."

"And you did that -- said that -- in front of *Nightwing* -- um. Um. Hi Nightwing bye Nightwing see you Wednesday Tim I love you --"

And Bart's gone, taking Dick's sanity *with* him --

Tim hand is still cupped where Bart's throat used to *be* --

Dick shakes himself and tries to remember --

He'd had a *plan* --

"Dick...?"

Dick squeezes his eyes shut, taking a moment to be glad he's wearing his mask --

And *dealing* with the next moment, when he realizes that it's Tim, who knows exactly what he's doing. Hell, *Bruce* knows, and he's in the damned *plane* --

"Little brother --" Fuck, that was too *rough* --

Tim narrows his eyes behind the mask -- and blushes.

Better --

Worse --

Both?

Dick steps closer --

And Roy and Connor walk out of the roof access door, grinning --

Well, Connor has more of a polite smile and *Roy* looks like he knows exactly how dead he should *be* -- no, he can be calm. He can definitely --

Tim smiles at both of them --

And Roy claps Tim on the shoulder in a way that *would* be innocent and brotherly if it wasn't fucking *Roy* -- "Headed out, little 'mano?"

"Little --" Dick grits his teeth.

Roy winces --

Tim gestures Dick to stand *down* -- "Yes. With more company than Batman and grim, stony silence this time, as well."

Connor grins -- definitely that -- at Tim. "Tim. You told me you were going to do something about that," he says, and he's teasing --

He'd *fucked* Tim and now he's *teasing* --

That's Dick's *job* --

Roy backs off and squeezes Connor's shoulder hard. "I think there's a disturbance in the Bat side of the force, bro. We should -- uh."

*Good* start, Roy, *really*, but --

And that -- would be Bruce's hand on his shoulder. Squeezing. Hard.

Tim narrows his eyes at both of them --

*Searches* them --

And blinks, stepping *back* --

And this is why Dick wanted to get him tied-up *first* --

"Arsenal. Green Arrow. It's good to see you both again," Bruce says.

Roy and Connor look *stunned* --

Connor coughs. "Ah... yes. Batman. It's wonderful to see you --"

"Please don't kill us," Roy says, and doesn't *quite* take a step back of his own --

Bruce hums. "I'll consider it. Deeply," he says, in his driest *possible* voice --

Tim is *clearly* trying to triangulate a good defensive position, now, and -- Dick can't.

He twists free and *moves* --

And considers it a victory when Tim *only* holds up a hand, as opposed to pulling one of his -- arsenal -- of weapons.

Dick takes Tim's hand in his own. "Little brother, can we -- I'd like for us to talk now."

"Ah. We can... talk --"

Roy clears his *throat* --

Dick and Tim narrow their eyes *together* --

"Okay, *okay*, I'm just -- uh. Yeah. We're going, Connor --"

"But -- oh, goodness, yes. Hm. Ah. Farewell. To all of you. Tim, I... I'll send you an e-mail when I know more about my plans."

Tim steps *around* Dick to smile at Connor. "I look forward to it, Connor. Until then."

"Yes, goodbye, no one's going to die *today* --"

"Nightwing," Bruce says, and he's --

"You're trying to *quell* me again, boss, and it's just not going to *work*," Dick says, and starts pulling Tim toward the plane --

"I *am* capable of walking, *Dick* --"

"You're capable of --" Dick shakes his head, moves around *Tim*, and starts walking him backwards. "We'll *talk* --"

"I'm not sure I should let you *move* me," Tim says, and he's got that *mean* look --

Christ, the *Arrows* didn't get the mean look -- "I *promise* I'll apologize while I'm kissing -- ah -- let's keep walking."

"Dick --"

"*Please*," Dick says, and gives Tim a *gentle* push --

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "Dick. You really -- " Another sigh. "All right. *On* the plane," and Tim twists free and walks in of his own free will.

Verdict: Mixed. Try again and do *better* the next time. The next --

God, who *else* is his little brother going to fuck?

Who else does he *want* --

Dick growls and leaps up into the hatch --

Bruce closes it behind them --

And Tim is strapping into the jump chair, as fits *protocol*, but --

No, he can't really make Tim sit on his lap. Yet. Dick straps into the co-pilot seat.

Bruce takes them up --

And *Superboy* flies past the windshield to give them a thumbs-up.

Bruce grunts in what sounds like *shock* --

"Boss. Please tell me I can take the restraints off now."

"Dick, it will be at least another three minutes --"

"I need. To bang my head. On the console. Right now."

"Hm."

"You're laughing at me again."

"It seemed the better choice."

"Better -- than *what*?"

"Dick," Bruce says, and that quelling voice is *heavy* -- "You can't treat Tim like your personal property."

"He treats *Kid Flash* like his personal property --"

"Because he *is*," Tim says, and that's the mean *voice* -- "And I'm not yours, Dick."

Dick winces. That -- "That's the problem, little brother."

"Dick... Roy told me that you want -- you think you want --"

"I want *you*. I -- hell," Dick says, bending and folding himself out of the restraints --

"*Dick* --"

"I didn't *unhook* them, so it doesn't *count*, Bruce," and Dick moves back to the jump chair, steadying himself against the plane's steep incline --

He drops into a crouch --

Tim looks at him like he isn't sure whether he wants to stab him, run away, or stab him and *then* run away --

"Hell. I'm sorry."

Eyebrow.

Dick squeezes his eyes shut. "I'm *sorry*. I -- I've been driving myself *crazy* over you --"

"You have *other* choices. Including the one *flying the plane*."

Because, yes, he *did* catch that -- "I want you. We *both* want you --"

"*What* -- Bruce --"

"It's true," Bruce says, without turning around. "Please convince Dick to sit back down, or, at the very least, strap himself to the floor."

Tim makes a soft and *affronted* noise -- "I'm frankly unsure how I can convince Dick of *anything*, Bruce --"

"I have suggestions if you'd care to listen."

Tim looks *horrified* --

Curious --

*Very* curious, yes, *please* --

Tim shakes himself all over. "Dick. We have a *good* relationship as it stands, and I -- I don't want to lose that --"

"I want more."

"Dick --"

"I want to kiss you, and touch you, and tickle you -- that was an *excellent* move with Connor, by the way --"

"You *watched*?"

"I watched. And listened. And jerked off right *there*," and Dick points --

Tim turns to look at the seat --

Tim shakes himself *again* -- "Dick, I love you. And I want you. And -- God, there have been some nights when I've needed you so badly I've -- gotten extremely emotional --"

"Me, *too*. I -- I have nightmares about you *rejecting* me, little brother --"

Tim winces -- "That -- in some ways that was an extremely manipulative thing to say, Dick."

"What? I -- oh, God, *no* -- I -- if you don't want me -- but you *do* want me --"

"Since *puberty*, Dick, but -- I have lovers now."

"*Several*, yes, and -- all right, I'm not as okay with that as I could be, but I *swear* it's just jealousy. Just -- the idea of them having what I can't, what I *haven't* --"

"Dick. How long -- how long have you wanted me?"

Dick swallows and -- he knows his smile looks terrible, but -- "You -- you were so cold, Tim, and I. I tried to warm you with my body on that -- godawful cement *floor* --"

"I -- oh."

"You were..." Dick tries to *pull* his smile into something a little bit better. "You were so brave, and so *sure*, even with Gotham in *pieces* all around us. I told you I loved you, and you told me you loved *me*, and you did this little thing --"

"I -- pushed closer --"

"And I hadn't even realized you *could* be closer, and I thought -- that was the first time I thought about stripping you naked and fucking you *blind*, but it really, really, *really* wasn't the last."

Tim swallows. "I. I see. Ah --"

"To be fair, it was on a night very similar to that when my mind took a similar turn," Bruce says.

Tim's face --

Dick *knows* his little brother, and he knows that expression means that his eyes are crossing. Which -- well --

"Ah... Bruce."

"Yes."

"Was that the first... er. Time?"

"No," and Bruce's voice is *flat* -- but anything but forbidding.

"Oh... dear... God. Ah. Hm." And Tim laughs, cracked and maybe a *little* hysterical --

Dick can *work* with hysterical -- "Little brother --"

"Jesus, Dick, why didn't you *say* something?"

"Why didn't *you* -- or. All right, I know why you didn't -- I *used* to know why you didn't --"

"Dick, *all* of the people I've made love with have *made the first move*."

"I'm making mine now. I -- *late*, I *know*, and God, Roy told me a *million* times to stop *denying* myself, but I was so afraid -- I *am* so afraid --"

"You don't -- of *me*?"

"Of *us*, of -- of not being a good *big brother* --"

"You've *always* been --"

"Please, Timmy --"

"Don't *call* me that --"

"All right, now I'm wondering if you let any of your lovers call you that, but mostly I'm wondering if I'd taste your *boy* if I kissed you now --"

Tim narrows his eyes -- and parts his lips.

Dick smiles and *knows* it's insane -- "That's the kind of mixed message I can get *behind*, little brother --"

"Dick, you're not *well* --"

"I'm in love. Please. Let me kiss you. Let me *show* you --"

"You --" Tim makes a *strangled* sound -- and then stops, leans back, and takes a deep breath --

"God, no, don't calm *down* --"

Tim *snorts* -- and unhooks his restraints --

Bruce makes a forbidding noise *now* --

"Shut *up*, Bruce," and Tim drops to his knees and cups Dick's face --

"Oh, God, *yes* --"

"Dick -- if we do this..."

"I'm *listening*, little brother --"

"I --" Tim frowns and shakes his head. "I have no idea what to say. Which makes this a bad idea," he says, and kisses Dick --

He kisses Dick *hesitantly*, and all Dick can think is that the new Tim doesn't hesitate, the beautiful and sexy and *perverted* Tim he *wishes* he'd known doesn't hesitate --

Dick shoves his hand into Tim's hair --

Shoves his thigh between Tim's own --

Tim gasps into his mouth, and Dick makes it a better kiss, a deeper kiss, a *harder* kiss, because swollen mouths need to be taken *advantage* of --

Oh, so *wet* --

And Dick can't tell if Bart is the reason why Tim's mouth tastes *sweet* --

God, you should never give speedsters *sugar* -- wait.

Dick pulls back and licks Tim's mouth --

"Dick --"

"Do you let him eat sugar?"

"What -- I -- when I want him to vibrate enough to make my gums ache in interesting ways, yes --"

"Oh, God, that's --" Dick doesn't know *what* that is, and so it's better to kiss Tim again, lick his way into that mouth --

That mouth that *isn't* tight --

*Roy* --

Dick pulls back -- "Tim --"

"Dick, *what* --"

"Was Roy wearing his rings when you went down on him?"

Tim looks at Dick like he's *crazy* -- but then gets that look. That kind of *hard* look that's all about calculation --

And maybe also about Tim preparing to say something *filthy* --

"Dick..."

"Wait, let me *brace* myself," Dick says, and grabs Tim's hip and squeezes hard, *right* where he'd seen those bruises --

Tim *grunts* -- "That's bracing?"

"*Yes*."

"Hn. Fine. He was wearing his frenum ladder. At the time, it made me think of fellating Cyborg."

"*Unh* -- Jesus, little brother, you just punched me in the dick and made me *like* it --"

Tim shows his teeth. "Kiss me again."

Dick does him one better --

Dick *hopes* it's better --

It *has* to be better to tackle Tim, roll them both around --

"Robin. *Nightwing* --"

"Focus on the *plane*, boss!"

Bruce growls *interestingly*, and Dick is definitely going to examine that at another time *soon*, but for now --

Tim isn't using *every* mean trick in the book -- it had been a gamble to use moves that left his groin vulnerable, but Dick *likes* to gamble sometimes --- but he's definitely using *several*. That combined with the way the plane is still climbing --

Okay, they're rolling toward the back and are coming *damned* close to fetching up against the medical equipment --

Tim *kicks* Dick off and -- ow, yes, gurney --

Bruce growls *again* --

"It's for a *good* cause, *Bruce*," Tim says, throwing himself at Dick --

Oh, yes, oh, *yes* --

And this time, the kiss *feels* like Roy, like --

God, there was a time when the only person Dick knew who kissed like Roy was *Jay*, like the kiss wasn't just foreplay but something to do and do *right* until you came --

Like each slide of the tongue was the slide of their entire *bodies* --

And Dick can *do* that. He rolls Tim again and *works* his body against Tim's own, grinding and *undulating* until Tim is maybe-hopefully-*please* thinking about what it would feel like if Dick were fucking him --

Dick fucks Tim's *mouth* with his tongue --

Tim shoves his hands into Dick's hair and yanks and *moves* Dick until they're lined up just right -- wait.

Dick pulls back -- losing a few hairs --

"Stop asking *questions*, Dick --"

"He can't, actually, do that," Bruce says, sounding both amused and *annoyed* --

"Don't be *pissy*, boss -- you knew he was this hot and you kept letting him go back to the *Tower*."

"I let *you* go, as well."

"That -- that's just -- uh."

"Poor planning, Dick...?" And Bruce's voice --

"Stop -- stop making *traps* for me --"

"Never," Bruce says, and jinks the plane hard to the right --

Dick *and* Tim wind up rolling and hitting the wall --

"Strap. *Down*."

Daddy, Daddy, *Daddy* -- Dick blows out a breath.

Tim glares at the back of Bruce's head -- and Dick notices that Bruce had pulled the cowl back again.

Ooh.

Dick stands up and hauls Tim up with him. "Okay. We sit down for another minute --"

"Two."

"Boss --"

"*Two*."

"And then we put on the autopilot and make Bruce suffer in several ultimately satisfying ways."

Tim hums *intriguingly* -- and moves to the jump seat.

Dick does two -- *just* two -- flips and then wriggles his way back into the restraints.

Bruce sighs just as if he had actually been *worried*, and --

"Bruce, you really need to learn how to relax."

Bruce turns -- slowly -- and stares at him.

Dick beams. "More, Bruce. *Always* more."

Bruce closes his eyes for a moment and shakes his head, turning back to the console -- "I am never more afraid of losing both of you than when you are near to me."

That -- hunh.

Tim hums. "That... does and does *not* make sense, Bruce. Is it that you worry about a failure in your own training?"

Bruce sighs. "That... and the fact that I am only a man. If I cannot *see* the dangers facing you both at every turn, then I am -- relatively -- capable of putting them out of my mind in the interest of other things."

"Well... all right, Bruce, that's very... ah... caring. But we *could* always call Clark," Tim says, and actually sounds like he *doesn't* mean to make --

Bruce growls again. "I have no intention of letting Clark anywhere near the two of you... yet."

The radio crackles --

"*No*, Clark."

"Bruce, that's really -- it's very *selfish* --"

"Yes, Clark. Yes, it is."

"If you think about it --"

"I said *no*, Clark --"

"It's *beneath* you, Bruce. Terribly so," Clark says, and there's a *blur* --

And Clark is flying backwards just in front of the plane. He waves with the hand not pressed to his comm.

Dick waves back and makes the I'll-call-you gesture.

Clark beams, and turns to *Tim* --

Tim coughs --

Clark's beam becomes distinctly *hopeful* --

"Clark." And there's a *warning* in Bruce's voice -- heh.

Dick reaches over and shakes Bruce's shoulder back and forth --

"Dick --"

"You were doing so *well* at being *sympathetic*, boss."

The throttle creaks *moderately* alarmingly --

And Bruce's sigh is as much a laugh as anything else. "All right. I won't... be... selfish."

"I'm very happy to hear you say that --"

"Clark. Go away."

"Yes, but Tim hasn't --"

"I'll call you," Tim says, and there's a smile in his voice Dick would *really* like have wrapped around his dick -- "when I have a spare moment."

Bruce hums.

Clark looks *disappointed* --

"Go *away*, Clark --"

"Yes, of course, ah -- do give my regards to Kid Flash, Tim."

Tim *growls* --

"Oh, *my* -- well. Yes. Have a wonderful day!"

And Clark is gone.

"Hn. Bruce."

Bruce tightens his grip on the throttle -- relaxes. "Yes, Tim."

"'Letting' Clark anywhere near the two of us? Until *when*, exactly?"

Bruce is silent.

"Oh, I... I really do think I need an answer to that one, Bruce --"

"When I first realized that what I wanted -- what the *ache* I felt when you were not near signified... hn. You were using the computers, studying the tracks left by Anarky --"

"Oh -- God. I --"

"You were so focused, Tim," and Bruce's smile is a *tightness* at the corner of his mouth, tension Dick wants to *touch* --

"I -- of course I wanted -- it was something I could *do* --"

"When you felt there was little enough of that. It was so *early* in your training, and yet your mind, your *heart*, needed nothing of me. When you looked up at me at those times when I couldn't stop myself from interrupting you --"

"You were -- you were getting regular *reports* --"

"I was taking every moment of your time I could," Bruce says, and his smile becomes wider. "You were beautiful. Lithe and more graceful by the *hour*. And when you looked up at me... your eyes shone with innocent *faith*."

*Tim* is silent --

Dick has to -- has to lick his *lips* -- "I didn't. I didn't *see* that enough --"

"You had your team," Bruce says, quiet and so *gentle* --

"I had my -- my giant *issues*, and God, Tim, I *miss* that look --"

"I haven't been especially innocent in a very long time. I --" Tim's laugh isn't the best. "I never thought I'd want to *apologize* for that --"

"No, Tim," and Bruce's expression is almost *stern* -- "It was a sacrifice which needed to be made. Too many operatives -- including many of the best -- have held on to such things to their -- eventual -- detriment."

Tim sighs -- stops himself. "Bart isn't -- I worry, sometimes, because his faith in me seems absolute --"

"His faith is that you will remain yourself. And he shows every sign of knowing who that person is at least as well as anyone else in your life, Tim."

*That* makes Tim hum -- "Does that mean that you *don't* think you know me?"

Bruce's smile shows teeth -- and he starts the series of commands which will turn on the autopilot. "I believe it would be staggeringly foolhardy to assume anything whatsoever about you, Tim -- save, of course, that you will always do that which you feel is best."

Tim *snorts* -- "That metric *shifts*, Bruce --"

"As do you," and Bruce unhooks his restraints --

Dick unhooks his *own* --

And *doesn't* hear the sound of Tim working on his. That... Dick spins his chair around --

And Tim is sitting in the jump-chair with his legs crossed at the knee and his fingers steepled and --

"God, little brother, what the hell does Bart *do* when you look at him like that?"

"Everything I want -- and then some."

Bruce moves to stand over Tim --

Tim doesn't *look* at him --

Tim's blank-lensed gaze should be burning *holes* in Dick right now --

"Tim..." And Bruce presses his fingertips to Tim's jaw and cheek.

Tim smiles *quietly* -- and reaches up to peel off his mask. He'd taken the time to work in the solvent --

And Dick is moving because he has to, because --

"Bruce... I didn't forget my question."

"I would be disappointed if you had... though also somewhat relieved."

"Hn -- Dick --"

"You really need to be naked, little brother. I haven't *seen* you --"

"Save on video --"

"Yes, and your *body* -- you're filling out so *beautifully* --" Dick shakes his head and works off Tim's boots, Tim's socks --

Reaches to *lift* Tim so he can get those tights and shorts off --

"You wear too *many* clothes --"

"Bart," Tim says, and smiles down at him, "has decided to consider it an ongoing sexual tease --"

"It is," Bruce says, and strokes down to remove Tim's cape --

Tim shifts forward to *let* him --

"Tim... what do you want?"

"I haven't decided."

Bruce narrows his eyes. "That's... rather out of character."

Tim laughs. "For *this*? I think *not*, Bruce. I... hmm. It seems anticlimactic, but... I love you."

Bruce grunts *exactly* the right way to make Dick's mind *skip* --

No, the boxer briefs and the *jock* --

"Tim... Clark was a friend to Dick when I was weak and incapable. Jay found him to be... impressive. And you have often turned to his -- Kon-El --"

"And you're very, very jealous, yes, I see," Tim says, deactivating the *rest* of the traps on his uniform --

"God, little brother, you look so *good* --"

Tim *flashes* a smile at him --

Dick feels himself *trip* a little --

Dick moans and leans in for a kiss, another, *another* --

Bruce pushes his hand into Dick's hair and *grips*, and that --

He knows what to *do* for that feeling, for that moment -- this one. Dick strokes up Tim's thighs and grips, yanking Tim forward --

The restraints *stop* him, and Dick has a moment to *hate* them before he remembers what he'd wanted --

*Does* he still want that? Tim's not *fighting* --

Dick growls to himself --

And Tim moans for him, moans long and low and *sweet*, and Dick has to reward him for that, touch him, hold him, *know* him --

There, restraints out of the *way* --

And Bruce yanks Dick *back* --

"*Jesus*, boss --"

"I believe Tim had something else to say," Bruce says, and *pets* Dick --

"I -- ah --"

"Wait, Tim," and Dick turns up to face Bruce. "Is the petting an apology?"

"Is it as effective as one?"

Dick licks his lips and thinks about it --

Then he stops thinking and works on stripping Bruce --

Who hums *obnoxiously*, but -- naked. And maybe he can start --

Yes, *biting* every bit of skin he exposes --

Bruce's breathing *hitches* -- heh.

"I... can't believe I'm watching this," Tim says, laughing breathlessly -- "Oh, Bruce --"

"Your mouth, Tim. You..."

And Dick knows *that* wet sound is Bruce licking his lips -- but there's another wet sound. There -- Dick looks up from where he'd been biting Bruce's calf --

And Tim is moving Bruce's hand in his own, picking places to lick, to *bite* --

"Oh, I -- really have to do that sometime," Dick says, giving himself a squeeze --

Wincing because *he's* still got his stupid jock on -- right.

Dick stands up and strips himself at speed, not feeling *right* until he can feel the cool brush of cycled and filtered air all over his body --

There are so many things he wants to *feel* --

Tim sucks three of Bruce's fingers into his mouth --

Bruce grunts and *winces* --

And Dick pushes Bruce back and *back* until he can get him clear, have him *there* --

Bruce looks at them both with so *much* in his eyes --

Tim stands up and strips out of his tunic and shirt --

"Dick."

Dick turns back to Bruce -- and sees him finishing the job of getting out of *his* clothes, and --

He really hopes Clark's still watching the plane. Just -- just in *case*, because this --

Bruce turns to Tim and offers his hand --

Tim looks at it with what may very well be *exactly* half a smile before taking it. "What did you want me to say, Bruce?"

"Everything. You -- your thoughts --"

Tim closes his eyes briefly and takes a *quick* breath -- "You can't let your possessiveness hurt us, Bruce. Not either of us. Any of us."

Bruce raises an eyebrow. "And if I only wish to share every part of myself?"

*That* -- Dick laughs and leans in to lick Bruce's shoulder. "You can -- and *should* -- share *everything*, Bruce. And we'll do the same. And -- we'll deal with the jealousy together."

Bruce's eyes -- flare. "I've vastly enjoyed dealing with my Tim-related jealousies with you, Dick."

Dick *clenches*, and just -- "Fuck, I -- Dad --"

Tim makes a *choked* sound --

And Bruce reels them *both* in, wrapping those ridiculously, wonderfully huge arms around them --

Tim hums. "You could tell that I was about to break for the parachutes. Couldn't you."

Bruce laughs --

"*Tim* -- I -- no, this -- you can't *run* --"

"Not at the *moment*, no. Unless, of course, the Speed Force is sexually transmitted."

Dick snorts, but --

"I used to have nightmares about the original Titans *infecting* Dick," Bruce *offers*, but --

"Tim, you can't *run* from this, you have to see --"

Tim wraps his small, hard hand around Dick's wrist. "I'm here. I see. I'm still... inclined towards caution."

Dick growls and pushes away from Bruce enough that he can grab Tim by the hair --

"*Dick* --"

"You don't *need* your caution, little brother --"

"He always will, Dick," Bruce says, and grips Dick's wrist, which --

Dick's hand *spasms* --

And Tim twists free --

"God, *Tim* --"

"I'm *here*, Dick, and I --" Tim shakes his head. "I'm as here as I can be -- and this is what I was afraid of. *One* of the things --"

"Stop *thinking*," Dick says, twisting free of Bruce and cupping Tim's face, kissing Tim's cheeks, his forehead --

"It's not going to *happen* --"

"But this is," Bruce says, moving behind Tim and cupping his shoulders, *bracing* him --

"Oh, God --"

And Dick knows his cues about as well as anyone could. He kisses Tim hard, forcing him back until he's pressed against Bruce --

Until he tenses --

Until he shivers and starts kissing Dick back, opening his mouth for it --

God, please, let him open *himself* --

And this is the kiss Roy gives him when he's been thinking about his past for long enough that he needs to *fight* his way out, when he's *this* close to calling Clark --

Calling *Kal* --

Tim shivers again -- and Dick has to feel.

He strokes down Tim's chest and abdomen until he can cup, *grip* --

Tim pushes up on his toes and whimpers --

And Dick groans and starts to pump, working in a corkscrewing twist, and -- "This is how I want to *touch* you."

"I -- *hnh* -- all the time?"

"*Yes* -- no, I -- tell me if I'm being too *rough* --"

Tim shakes his head, closing his eyes and reaching back -- he's bracing his hands on Bruce's thighs. He's *leaning* --

Bruce grunts and cups Tim's throat with one hand and starts massaging Tim's pecs with the other --

Tim moans and shakes his head again, bites his lip --

"What must I say to soothe you, Tim?"

Tim swallows --

*Gasps* --

"God, Bruce, there -- there *isn't* anything, I -- Dick is going to -- I --"

"I'm going to make you *come*, little brother, and then -- then you'll *relax* --"

Tim laughs and gasps again -- again -- "I *never* relax --"

"Then I'll have to *keep* making you come --"

"*Dick* --"

"Open your *eyes*, Tim, *please* --"

Tim does, and he looks young, open, vulnerable -- and frightened enough that Dick slows down without thinking --

"Dick, *please* --"

"No, don't -- God, I want you to beg, but --" Dick shakes his own head and leans in, trying for a softer kiss and getting bitten, getting his lower lip sucked hard and his fist *fucked* --

Robin always fights *through* his fears, and that --

Tim cries out into Dick's mouth once -- again --

That's not for him. That --

Dick pulls back -- and Bruce is twisting and working Tim's nipples, back and forth and back again --

Bruce is looking at *Dick*, though, and that means --

He has to do better. He has to -- "I'll never let you fall, Tim --"

"*Dick* --"

"I'll never let you *down* --"

"You can't -- Dick, you can't --"

"I promise to always be this crazy for you, Tim. I promise to lose my mind every time I think I'm losing you, and I promise to -- God, Tim, I'll always be myself, for better or worse, and -- and if I'm not, you can beat the hell out of me. The same way Roy's been doing for years. You're my *brother* --"

Tim groans and fucks Dick's fist faster, pants and tilts his head back --

And Bruce sighs. "I promise to always want more of you than I can have. I promise to always strive for it just the same. I promise to pleasure you whenever you give me the chance. I promise to be frightening, cold, possessive, and perverse. I promise you myself."

"Hnh -- *hnh* -- and they wonder why I'm *creepy* --"

Dick gasps a laugh --

Bruce hums --

And Tim *tosses* his head. "God, fuck, *please* --"

"Dick. Let go," Bruce says, and the trust is right there where Dick *needs* it --

The trust he lacked for so *long* --

Dick lets go --

And Bruce spins Tim to face him, lifting him by his hips --

Tim gasps again and wraps his legs around Bruce's hips --

Bruce drops them gently, kneeling on the floor of the plane and kissing Tim -- not hard. *Deeply* enough that Tim's sounds are muffled, half-strangled --

Dick presses *close* -- and Tim's body is *hot* after the cool air of the plane, slick with new sweat -- "God, little brother, I can *smell* you..."

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and *pumps* against Bruce, whimpering softly and holding on so *tightly* --

"Want -- want you to hold *me* like that --"

Tim nods frantically -- until Bruce holds his head still and bends him back just enough that Tim's head is resting on Dick's shoulder.

Dick needs --

Dick *can*, and slipping his dick between Tim's cheeks makes Tim cry *out* into Bruce's mouth --

Into the *air* when Bruce pulls back enough to start kissing Tim's throat, licking and *sucking* Tim's throat, making love to every single one of *Connor's* bruises --

They should be *his* --

Theirs --

Dick grips Tim's hips and *works* his dick in Tim's cleft, trying hard to get that *perfect* slide, that rough and goading *slide* --

The one that *would've* made Dick let Roy fuck him the first time -- if Roy hadn't come so soon.

It had only taken him *hours* to call to Clark and beg for that --

And they had been some of the longest hours of his *life*. Just --

"Dick -- Dick, do you want --"

Dick squeezes *hard* --

Bruce *bites* hard and growls --

"Oh, *fuck* -- I -- please --"

"Yes, *please*, Tim, I -- when I fantasize about fucking you --"

"*Dick* --"

"When I fantasize about fucking you, I jerk off as slowly as I can, little brother. I *torture* myself with it, squeezing until it *hurts* --"

"Hnh -- Dick, I -- you can --"

"Do you *want* it."

Tim cries out again and clutches at Bruce's shoulders --

Bruce is still *biting* --

And then Bruce uses *all* of his speed to pull back and *yank* Tim's arms over his head --

Dick grunts and *thrusts* --

*Tim* grunts and pants. "I. I. I suppose I'm -- ah. Due?"

Bruce licks his lips. "Do you *want* this, Tim --"

Tim growls -- and laughs. "Bruce. You know *exactly* how many times I've fucked myself wanting you --"

"That *wasn't* this --"

"*Only* because it's *difficult* to both jerk off and fuck myself *while* restraining myself --"

"Oh, little brother, I have so *many* things to *teach* you," Dick says, and starts working his hips more purposefully, *grinding* --

"I -- Dick -- *what*?"

"Dick has found great pleasure in restraining his legs in... interesting positions before then masturbating himself."

Tim makes a sound like an affronted *crow* -- "You -- oh, God, I -- yes, I want it. *Both* of you -- *mmph* --"

And it had *hurt* to take his hand off Tim's slim little hip, but having it in his hair --

*Holding* him for Bruce --

Who will hold him for *Dick* --

Dick feels himself flushing and panting and tries to keep his head *enough*. Just -- Tim might be big enough to take Roy's fingers -- and Connor's *dick* --

Dick leans in and bites Tim's ear --

Tim jerks and moans --

Dick *pants* against Tim's ear -- "I would've been your first for *everything*, little brother --"

A cry -- and Tim starts *shoving* back against him, thrusting forward against Bruce --

"I would've -- *everything*, Tim, every -- and that's what I want. And that's what you'll *give* me --"

Muffled *yell* --

"Bruce, what --"

Bruce pulls back and licks his lips -- "If you would thrust... further..."

Tim hangs his head and *pants* --

Dick *thrusts* -- and feels Bruce's fingers working just behind Tim's sac. Just -- "Oh, that's *dirty*, boss."

"Do you have objections?"

"Let me think -- *no*," Dick says, bending and twisting himself enough to reach one of his boots. He doesn't keep *much* medical-grade lubricant on his person on a day-to-day basis, but there's *enough*.

Dick slicks his fingers as quickly and thoroughly as he can --

*Forces* himself to slip out of Tim's cleft --

"Dick, *please* --"

"*Here*, Tim, and I'll always -- you never have to *wait*," and pushing in with two --

God, there's *swelling*, and Dick hadn't realized it was *possible* to want to injure Connor this much without being a soulless criminal. But -- he can be gentle, and easy --

And he can be nothing of the *kind* when Tim reacts to Bruce squeezing his throat by bucking wild and *fast*. "Tim, *easy* --"

"No -- God, *no* --" And Tim's voice is exactly as strangled as it *should* be --

"I don't want --" Dick shakes his head and growls at the entire *situation*. "I want the hurt to be *good* --"

"It's *you*, Dick --"

Dick groans and crooks his fingers --

Tim *fights* Bruce's grip, tensing hard enough to make Dick grit his teeth --

To make Bruce *pant* --

And then Tim cries out again, throwing his head back and starting to work his hips again -- more awkwardly this time. More --

God, yes -- "You're feeling it."

"Dick..."

"You're feeling *me*, little brother," and Dick can't quite keep the *purr* out of his voice --

"It's -- a little. Ah -- unavoidable. Under the circumstances --"

Bruce hums. "I have the strangest sense that Tim could be less... coherent than he is now."

"Oh -- God --"

"You know, I think you're *right*, boss. I think..."

And the first time Roy had wiggled and *worked* his fingers inside Dick like this, he'd been joking *around*. But that hadn't lasted very long, at all.

"Oh -- *ohn* --"

Bruce licks Tim's cheek. "Tim. While I believe that Dick has been waiting a rather painful length of time to hear you beg him to take you, I also believe that he's willing to wait somewhat longer than that. By which I mean: hold on for as long as you can."

Tim growls and yelps at *once* --

Fights Bruce's grip again and *shudders* --

And begins working his hips faster *while* he's fighting --

"Little brother, you couldn't be more inspiring in high heels and *garters*."

Bruce hums. "I believe Kon-El would disagree with that statement."

Dick blinks and -- doesn't even come close to stopping. "What? He was in *drag* for that threesome?"

"Sadly no," Bruce says, and moves his free hand from behind Tim's sac to drag the fingertips over and over Tim's mouth before pushing in *deep*. "He merely teased. Viciously."

"Tim, you *bitch* --"

"Dick."

"He *is*, boss --"

"*Dick* --"

"You don't *tease* your fellow Titans with drag *and then not put out*. It's in the *rules*!"

Bruce grunts --

"Oh, what --"

"Tim is expressing his displeasure with that statement via the use of several of his sharpest teeth."

"Ooh, little brother, do you have any *idea* what happens to mean little boys around here?"

Bruce -- drags -- his reddened fingers out of Tim's mouth --

"I -- strongly suspect... that it involves -- *ahn* -- more sexualized torture -- oh, *fuck* -- *hnh* --"

And *maybe* pinching the head of Tim's dick like this is a little too --

Except that thought *dies*, because Tim is going *wild*, struggling to get Dick to fuck him harder --

Dick moans *helplessly* -- "Oh, Tim... Tim. You -- all kidding aside --"

Tim growls and *lunges* for Bruce, biting his jaw hard enough -- that's gonna *mark* --

"Tim, *listen* --"

Tim throws his head back and shouts once --

Again --

*Again* --

And then he pants and shakes, moaning *softly* for every new pinch --

God, Dick is *still* pinching --

Dick stops and strokes Tim fast and hard in *apology* --

"*Dick* -- don't -- don't make me come until -- *inside* --"

Dick groans and yanks his hand away --

No, he has to pet Tim, stroke him, touch --

Squeeze his pretty *throat* --

Tension and *stillness* --

The slick, shuddery slide of his fingers on Tim's sweaty skin --

The hot *push* of his other fingers --

God, so *deep* now -- but not deep *enough*. Not --

Wait, he going to *say* something, and --

Dick looks to Bruce --

But he's studying both of them *exactly* like he's building memories he has no intention of *losing* --

Until he meets Dick's eyes with that hot look, that *everything* look that just --

"Bruce, I -- *help*."

Bruce nods slowly and licks his lips. "I could be mistaken, Tim, but I believe Dick needs you to tell him... exactly how far he can push."

"God, yes, *that*," and Dick squeezes Tim's throat *hard* --

Tim goes limp everywhere but his dick and *shudders* --

Let go, he has to let *go* --

Dick does and immediately loses himself to a kiss he gives with not *enough* of his body. Just --

The *logistics* --

And Tim is whimpering rhythmically --

God, Dick is thrusting so *hard* now, so --

"Dick. Let Tim answer," Bruce says, and he's using the low and *soothing* voice --

And Dick has to admit he needs it. He nods and pulls out of the kiss --

Tim slumps forward and *shakes* --

Bruce lifts his head by the chin -- "Oh... beautiful boy..."

"I... Bruce, I -- I need..."

"I do, as well," Bruce says, and strokes Tim's cheekbone with his thumb. "My *vicious* love --"

Tim grunts and *jerks* -- slumps again --

Lifts his *own* head *shakily* --

"Even in this, you are ruthless." Bruce narrows his eyes. "Is it safe for Dick to lose his control with you?"

*What* control -- no, he can't speak, yet, can't --

God, he should probably stop *thrusting* --

Tim whimpers again -- "Please -- please, it's so --" Tim shakes his head --

Pants and whimpers *again* --

"It's all right, Tim. It's..." Bruce sucks a breath in through his teeth. "I ache for you."

Tim gasps -- and struggles to lean forward, to *press* himself against Bruce --

Bruce grunts and cups the back of Tim's head --

And the kiss is hard but not rough. It's *careful*, loving, attentive --

Everything Dick wants to be able to *give* --

And God, Tim is shaking again, fighting Bruce's hold wildly for a few seconds before slumping into it --

Fighting again and *whining* --

And Dick realizes that he's *working* Tim's prostate again, that --

He doesn't *want* to come, yet --

"*Bruce* --"

Bruce pulls back with a grunt and lets go of Tim to grip *himself* --

"Holy *hell*, boss --"

"Yes."

"I mean --"

"*Yes*, Dick -- Tim. Tim, you must answer."

Tim shakes his head and pants more, *stares* at Bruce's dick, Bruce's hand *around* his dick --

Dick can't stop himself from working Tim's prostate *hard* --

"I -- I -- *Dick*, fuck me, please *fuck* me --"

Bruce covers Tim's mouth and narrows his eyes --

Tim *must* be licking that hand --

"*How* Tim. *How* should he take you." And Bruce moves his hand --

"*Hard*, I -- fuck, I want to *feel*, make me *feel* --"

Dick groans and squeezes Tim's throat again, *chokes* him for the moments it takes to pull out --

To slick himself --

"Bruce. Bruce, you have to --" Dick groans for the feel of the *warm* slick, the heat from his little brother's *body* -- focus. "Hold his wrists *and* his hip. Hold him *still* --"

"Yes --"

"God, little brother, this *won't* take long --"

Tim nods *frantically*, spreading his legs wide --

"Oh, so -- I love you so *much*," Dick says, shaking his head and pushing in --

Swollen and *hot* --

Not too tight --

Please, *please* not too *tight* --

But that's a *lie*, because he wants to go back and tear every toy out of Tim, bend him in half and *batter* his way in --

He's thrusting and he's not even all the way *in* --

"*Hnh* -- *hnh* -- *please*, Dick, *please* --"

Dick has to see and he *can't* --

Dick remembers to open his *idiot* eyes --

And Tim is rigid and panting, trying and *failing* to even out his breathing --

"No *control*, Tim --"

Tim cries out and *shoves* himself back --

Tim *screams* and tenses again, *stills* again --

Bruce's hand is crushed between Tim's ass and Dick's hip --

Dick can feel Bruce *squeezing* and *knows* he's trying to soothe --

"God, *Tim* --"

Tim sobs and pants -- "Dick -- *brother* --"

"Yours, Tim, *yours*, I --" Dick shakes his head and grips Tim's other hip, grips his *throat* --

"*Hnh* -- *please* --"

"Have to -- I have to --" Dick shakes his head and tries to ease, tries to find a way to at least *tell* himself this won't be brutal --

He aches so *much* --

Tim's so *hot* inside --

And Tim is whimpering again, *trying* to work his hips -- to get away?

"Tim --"

"*Do* it, Dick, *fuck* me, please don't -- God, please don't make me wait any *longer* --"

Dick feels himself spasm and *coughs* out a grunt --

"Dick. *Now* --"

And Dick's hands *tighten* without his permission --

Dick's body --

Dick *moves*, yanking Tim back over his thighs --

Tim *screams* again --

And there's no way to pause, no room to *breathe* --

So tight and so *hot* --

And he and Bruce are lifting Tim off Dick's dick for every back thrust, hauling him back down --

Oh -- so *fast* --

"Tim, *talk* --"

"I can't -- oh, God, I *can't* -- Dick -- so *hard* --"

"For *you*, little brother, for -- you don't know how much I *need* you --"

"*Feel* you -- fuck, *in* me --"

Dick growls and *chokes* Tim, squeezes too hard, too *hard* --

But that's this *fuck*, this --

God, he'd fucked *Kory* this way --

"*Dick*. Let him *speak*," and Bruce -- that was more of a *plea* than a command --

They're not doing anything for *him* --

"Fuck, Dad, I'm *sorry* --"

"*No*, Dick, you must only --"

"Pull -- pull my *hand* away --"

Bruce lets go of Tim's hip and does it, squeezing Dick's wrist hard --

Dick cries out and fucks Tim *harder*, *moving* him, and now there's a cry for every thrust, choppy and harsh --

So *beautiful* --

Dick twists free of Bruce and wraps his arms around Tim, holds him, just *holds* him -- "Need you, little brother, *need* you --"

"*Need* -- Bruce. Bruce, *too* --"

And the cries come back, the -- God, they're almost *wails* --

"*Tell* me, Tim --"

"Give -- *give* me --"

"*Anything*, Tim..."

And Dick can't -- but he can. He -- he knows what *he* would want --

Dick opens his mouth to say it -- and *shouts* for Tim clenching, convulsive and *random* --

He can't keep his *rhythm*, but -- "Tim -- Tim, *tell* him --"

Tim sobs again --

Gasps --

"My *mouth* -- *Bruce* --"

Bruce grunts and stands immediately, taking himself in hand -- "Tim..."

"*Please* --"

"Beautiful *boy*, I --"

Dick needs -- "Dad, *do* it --"

Bruce grunts again, cups the back of Tim's head --

Dick still has Tim wrapped up *tight* and he can't --

God, no rhythm and no *control* --

But Bruce still has *his* control, enough to push in slowly, so *slowly* --

Tim's cries are muffled and so --

"Your beautiful mouth, your dangerous and beautiful *mouth* --"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and there are *tears* --

Tim's cries are *constant* and Bruce is just --

Inch by *inch*, and Tim can take him, Tim can take anything --

"Oh, little brother, suck him, suck our *father* --"

And Dick can see Tim's eyes go wide --

Tim is shuddering and gasping through his *nose* --

Bruce groans and shakes his head -- "I never would've -- this *touch* --"

"For *you*, Dad, for *us* --"

Bruce *clutches* Tim's hair -- "My beautiful loves. My perfect -- perfect *sons* --*hnh* --"

Tim had gulped Bruce *in* --

The clenches -- the clenches haven't *stopped*, and this would be easier if Dick were to hold Tim's hips, but he can't imagine letting go --

Not now, *please* --

Bruce is stroking Tim's hair *restlessly* --

Tim's efforts to thrust *back* have become as ragged as every other part of this, as fragile and brutal as any flesh-weapon could be --

As *maddening* --

Dick groans and tries to make his thrusts at least controlled enough to allow Tim to blow Bruce *well* --

He fails, and Tim's rhythm as he works his mouth on Bruce's dick must be *killing* Bruce, must --

"*Dad* --"

"Dick. Give him -- give him *pleasure* --"

Yes --

God, *yes* --

And Bruce can't help him this time, can't --

It has to be *him* that lets go, that trusts --

He's always needed to *trust* --

And it feels like cheating to clutch Tim tighter with one arm while he moves the other one, but everyone needs an edge at times like these, wonderful crazy perfect *times* --

Dick wraps his hand around Tim's dick --

Tim groans deep in his *chest* --

Bruce grunts and pulls out --

Tim gasps -- "No -- *Bruce* --"

"I need your *sounds*, Tim, I -- this -- just this," Bruce says, and begins to stroke himself right there, right where they can both *watch* --

And Dick's not surprised by the fact that he's using Bruce's rhythm on Tim's dick, but --

God, it's too *slow*, it doesn't *match* what he's doing with his hips, what Tim is trying to give back --

Tim is *whimpering* again --

"Dad, *faster* --"

"Yes -- yes, Dick -- my *sons* --"

And faster means that every sound is pornographic, frightening --

No more frightening than the way Tim is shuddering *constantly* --

Than the way Bruce is clutching at the wall of the plane and struggling to stand *upright* --

Than the way Dick's body is all but *disconnected* from his thoughts, his needs --

"I -- I'll be *good* for you one day, little brother, I --"

Tim clenches hard and *screams* again --

Bruce squeezes himself and strokes faster --

Yes, *faster* --

Harder, more --

God, *deeper* if he can manage it, has to erase every touch but his own, *their* own --

Tim's scream cracks to a *terrifying* whistle of air --

The clenches are making Dick struggle and grunt like an animal, like something as desperate as he *is* --

Bruce *groans* -- "Tim, *yes* --"

And Dick realizes that Tim's coming, his little brother, his best little brother and Dick will never let *go*. It takes a moment to pause, to seat Tim *better* on him, slick hips and slicker hands --

Panting breaths and promises Dick can *only* make with his body as he starts to thrust again, starts to *work* --

"Stay *with* me, little brother --"

"Yes -- yes --"

"Don't -- don't close your eyes --"

"I *can't* --"

And when Dick looks up again -- neither can he.

Bruce is staring down at both of them and *working* himself, viciously fast strokes that have to feel --

"God, little brother, do you -- do you *see* --"

"*Yes*, Dick --"

"Tell me you'll *stay* --"

"I --" Tim shakes his head --

Dick growls and holds Tim still again, holds him for every thrust, *every* one -- "I'll *chase* you --"

"*Dick* --"

"I -- I will *help*," Bruce says --

Tim gasps --

Laughs --

God, *laughing* for this --

He's always *wanted* --

Dick's vision *blanks* --

And when it comes back, Bruce has his hand back in Tim's hair --

He's holding Tim's face up --

"Hn. *Do* it, *Dad*."

Bruce groans and -- fuck, comes on Tim's *face* --

Tim gasps again -- "Oh -- oh my God --"

"My *loves* --"

And the next splash hits Dick's cheek -- Bruce --

"Oh -- fuck, *Dad* --"

Bruce drops to his knees and *stares* at Dick -- "*Now*."

Dick -- seizes --

He can't move --

He has to *move* --

"*Now*, Dick --"

The sound that comes out of his mouth is just -- loud and needy and --

He's tensed and *straining* --

And then Tim clenches and *holds* him, and that breaks everything down, drives everything away but the need to bite Tim's ear and thrust his way through the white-out, through the flares of heat and pressure and *perfection* --

More --

*More* --

God, and he'd always *known* it would be better with family --

And Dick shouts his way back into his own body, wordless and lost between raw triumph and shaking *helplessness* --

Bruce will help him make sense of it --

Or maybe come on his *face* again --

Dick laughs and wraps his arms around Tim again, holding on tight and focusing on breathing. Just -- breathing.

The wet sounds are almost certainly Bruce licking Tim's face --

Tim shudders in Dick's arms and that means clutch *tighter* --

"Dick, I need to -- *mmph* --"

Dick sighs. "Good, Bruce. Just -- keep kissing him. He'll surrender eventually."

Bruce hums into the kiss --

The jet continues to not fly into the sides of any mountains --

Dick smiles and begins to rock Tim a little.

*

Tim's still not entirely sure how he'd managed this, but, every other Sunday he gets to eat over at Steph's house, despite the fact that anyone who looked would be able to see that Mrs. Brown would be out all night working a late shift.

Tim *suspects* it has something to do with his father's continuing efforts to make himself into Tim's friend -- coupled with Dana's step-motherly insecurities -- but, in the end, he only looks gift horses in the mouth *sometimes*.

For now, he just enjoys the fact that he *could* take the bike out to the suburbs --

That Bruce likes him enough to have set up a satellite garage not far from the Browns' --

He's not *thinking* about how much Bruce likes him --

Dick --

It had taken Bruce's help to convince Dick not to come *with* Tim --

And he's also not thinking about what the engine of his bike felt like between his legs after his trip cross-country. Just --

Steph now.

*Right* now, because she opens the front door of her house as Tim is moving -- *somewhat* gingerly -- up the walkway --

She's wearing nothing but a *very* sturdy sports bra and sweatpants that hug her curves --

Tim can't forget the *smile* --

And he *won't* forget the kiss that's waiting for him once he jogs up the stairs, deep and strong and scented with watermelon bubble gum, flavored with something even *sweeter* --

Steph pulls Tim into the house by her grip on his hair --

Tim kicks the door closed behind him --

Steph *shoves* Tim against the door --

Tim yelps. Just -- his ass had hit *first* --

Steph pulls back. "Boyfriend? Did you get *hurt* this weekend?"

Tim smiles ruefully -- and curls a part of himself around the *warm* feeling that comes from Steph's *faith* in him -- "I -- ah. Can we cuddle first? It's been an *eventful* weekend."

"Eventful like maybe an explanation for why Nightwing is in my bedroom waiting for you?"

Tim stares.

Steph jabs him in the chest. "He apologized to me for screwing you for ten minutes. He spent the next ten telling me that he'd always thought I was beautiful and had a lot of *potential* --"

"She really does, little brother," Dick says, jogging down the stairs --

In *civilian* clothes --

Tim feels his cheek twitch. Dick had made Tim sit on his *lap* for most of the rest of the flight --

And, all right, that had been entirely pleasant, but --

"Dick."

Dick beams at him.

Tim turns back to Steph --

Who looks somewhat *sheepish* --

Dick cups Steph's *shoulders* and *squeezes* --

Steph bites her -- now that Tim's paying attention -- *swollen* lip --

"Oh. God."

"Yeah, um. We got to talking about what a good kisser you are --"

"She mentioned how much you'd had to *learn*, little brother --"

"And... uh. Yeah."

Tim's cheek twitches again. And again. He --

And then Dick simply *is* blocking the door. Just --

Steph pulls him into a hug. "It'll be okay, boyfriend. We'll get some pizzas, you'll explain to me how you became such a manwhore, Dick will explain why he actually *chooses* to go by Dick --"

"Because it's *funny* --"

"It totally isn't," Steph says, and kisses Tim's cheek. "I know it's hard, honey. It *always* sucks getting peas in your mashed potatoes --"

"Mushy -- green... *peas* --"

Steph rocks him and pets his hair. "We'll work it out."

"We *really* will, little brother, and -- all right, I know you wanted some time alone with Steph, and I'll *give* you that time just as soon as you let me explain --"

"Explain *what*? That you're *stalking* me now?" Tim detaches from Steph and glares at Dick --

Dick licks his lips. "I -- yes. It's just that you didn't say you'd *stay* with me -- us --"

"Oh, you gotta give him his space, Richard --"

"Really *not*, Steph --"

"I totally had to try," Steph says, and scratches at the back of Tim's neck in that way that always --

Tim sighs and relaxes --

"There ya go. Anyway, Dick -- God, that's awful -- anyway. He's very *independent*. He always comes back -- but he totally always leaves."

Yes. Yes, that's --

Dick bites his lip.

Tim tenses --

Steph *grips* the back of Tim's neck --

Tim relaxes --

"Little brother... would that work if I --"

"No. Dick, you can't stalk me."

"I --"

"You can't. Stalk. Me."

"Not even a *little*? I mean, you know I'm going to be around more now --"

"And apparently I'm gonna be working out in the *Cave* --"

Dick leers at Steph. And *waggles his eyebrows* --

Steph snorts and flips him off --

That's *his* snort -- wait, no --

Dick peels himself off the door and cups Tim's shoulders --

Massages Tim's shoulders --

Gazes down into Tim's eyes *soulfully* --

Tim narrows his eyes. "You had Superman bring you here."

Dick bites his lip. "Pretty much as soon as you peeled out of the Cave, little brother."

"Where -- where is he now?"

Dick's expression grows distant as he taps his comm -- "He says he's helping to fight a fire out in Osaka, but should be done --"

The doorbell rings.

The doorbell. Rings --

"Oh, hey, Steph, do you mind if I get that?"

"Uh. I guess not?"

Tim pinches the bridge of his nose --

"What's wrong, boyfriend?"

"You'll. See."

"Hunh -- oh. Uh. Uh. What."

"Hello, Miss Brown. My name is Clark Kent, and it's wonderful to finally meet you," Clark says, and --

Yes, he's attempting to hand Steph a bouquet of wildflowers. He's wearing plaid, denim, and aging workboots, and he couldn't look more like Superman if he tried.

"Ho. Ly. Shit."

Clark sort of... urges the flowers toward Steph.

Steph takes them and gapes -- then shakes herself like a dog. "Okay, boyfriend, snap out of it, because it's *my* turn to freak the hell out."

"Oh, please don't --"

Steph gives Clark the hand. "*Boyfriend* --"

Tim stands straight and breathes. "Yes, Steph," Tim says, and pulls her into a hug, making sure to twist just enough that she can bang her head on his shoulder in just the way she prefers. He strokes her hair.

He glares at Dick.

Clark waves at him and smiles cheerfully.

Dick *beams* again --

Right. "Dick, the menus are in the credenza drawer. Order from Tucci's --"

"Got it, little brother --"

"Clark. You. Go sit down. Please."

"Oh, yes, Tim, of course --"

"And Dick..." Tim thinks about it for a moment -- yes. "Tell Bruce to come down from the roof."

Dick winces. "He really just wanted to make sure you were *okay*, Tim. I mean, you barely stayed long enough to dry *off* --"

"*Now*."

Dick switches the channel on his comm and follows orders --

And Tim makes a command decision to put all of his focus into petting Steph's hair and holding her while she giggles and pants and generally loses herself to what she calls a Power Freak.

("All the wigging, none of the mess, boyfriend.")

Tim holds her more tightly, ignoring the shift in shadows that means that Bruce is lurking somewhere exceedingly nearby --

Steph shivers --

"Steph?"

"Uh. When you said... Bruce."

"Ah. Yes. Batman is here. He's currently *being* Batman, but I expect that to change imminently."

"Sooner, if you'd like," Bruce says from *behind* Tim --

Steph looks up and glares. "He just told you to get off the roof. He did *not* say come inside."

"I -- Stephanie --"

Steph pushes Tim aside and jabs at the bat on Bruce's chest. "*Boundaries*, Spooky!"

"Hm."

Steph narrows her eyes and clenches her hand into a fist around the wildflowers --

"Do you not like them, Stephanie?"

Steph blinks, looks at the flowers --

Blushes --

Narrows her eyes *again* --

And smacks Bruce with them.

Bruce turns his head and sneezes. Twice.

Tim checks -- yes, there's goldenrod included in the bouquet. Almost certainly on purpose --

"Say you're sorry, Spooky!"

"For -- I had very good reasons for giving you that gauntlet --"

"Not for *that*! For stalking my poor boyfriend!"

"I --"

Steph smacks Bruce again --

Bruce *sneezes* again -- "You wouldn't happen to have any tissues --"

"I do and you can't *have* them!"

Bruce -- pushes the cowl back over his hair. The light in his eyes is both cheerful and dangerously *warm* --

Tim cups Steph's shoulder and squeezes in warning --

"Stephanie... there was a night when you stayed with me on patrol. I was lost, lonely and full of doubt --"

"You -- you needed a *shave* --"

Bruce smiles wryly. "Among other things. You were warm, open and giving when I had given you no reason to be anything of the kind..." Bruce cups Steph's fist in his hand. "I have wished for us to be... closer."

Oh... God --

Steph's jaw drops -- "Oh my God, you're a *perv*!"

"Yes."

"You -- you're hitting on me *in front of Tim*!"

"Yes --"

Steph's roundhouses have always been spectacular --

Bruce catches Steph's fist and smiles. "I look forward to teaching you how to -- nearly -- always hit with that one, Stephanie."

"You --"

Bruce sneezes again -- and raises an eyebrow.

Steph twists her hand free. "Apologize to Tim."

"For my lack of boundaries?"

"For the past three *years*."

Bruce nods and turns to Tim --

And Tim represses every twitch, shudder, and *clench* his body wants to throw itself into. He knows Bruce sees them all, anyway --

And the light in Bruce's eyes softens to something that speaks of... a large amount of everything. "I'm sorry, Tim."

"That would work a lot better with a promise *not to do it all again*," Tim says, and decides to congratulate himself for sounding normal enough that Steph doesn't move to *physically* brace him -- as opposed to merely looking at him with love, support, hope --

Tim reaches out and twines his fingers with her own --

And *then* focuses on Bruce again. "Bruce... boundaries are necessary. I need my time with Steph. I need my time with Bart. I need my time with every other lover and friend I have, and I will *get* it."

Bruce closes his eyes -- but only for a moment. "Or I'll lose you entirely."

It's not a question -- and it *shouldn't* be -- but. Tim laughs quietly. "You should feel free to build your own relationships. I can't -- and wouldn't -- stop you from that. But I left today for a *reason*."

Bruce nods once, sharply -- and then smiles ruefully, reaching out to touch Tim's cheek with his fingertips --

*Right* where he had come on Tim --

"It was easy to allow myself to be... convinced of the rightness of this action."

Just -- *there* --

"It would be easier still, in some ways, to take this as proof that you don't truly desire me --"

Steph smacks Bruce with the wildflowers again --

Bruce sneezes *three* times -- and when he blinks, his eyes are becoming bloodshot and somewhat wet. And the amusement in those eyes --

People who look that amused should be laughing *aloud* --

"Stephanie. I take it that you found that statement wanting?"

"*Manipulative*. And not in the fun, Tim ways."

Tim hums and squeezes her hand. "I'm reasonably sure he's helpless to prevent that sort of thing from coming out of his mouth."

"I'll give him helpless --"

"Will you."

Steph flushes and tenses in *that* way --

Tim squeezes her hand again. "The jock is armored, Steph --"

"I *know* that --"

"It's *plate*, Steph. You'll dislocate your knee -- or worse."

Steph growls -- and then starts backing Bruce against the door with the bouquet. "The *next* time you show up in my house with armor on, it'd better be for the Mission --"

"Or else, Stephanie?"

"Stop being turned on!"

"Who's turned on?" And Dick hangs up the phone --

"Bruce is," Clark offers. "And so are Tim and Miss Brown -- may I call you Stephanie?"

Steph makes a small, choked noise -- "Oh my God, I forgot you were *here* --"

"Well," Clark says, and presses a fresh bouquet of flowers -- *all* goldenrod this time -- into her hand. "I can be very unobtrusive."

Steph hands Clark the abused bouquet without a word.

Clark smiles at her --

And Bruce sneezes *eight* times.

Steph shakes herself like a dog and holds the goldenrod under Bruce's -- twitching -- nose --

"Oh... wow. That's kind of adorable, boss."

"I am -- *hachoo* --"

"Boss, you *hooted* --"

"I -- *sneezed*," and Bruce is coughing, eyes watering freely --

"Your sneeze *included* a hoot, and -- wait," Dick says, and moves to rest his hands on Steph's shoulders again. "I didn't get a chance to say it before, Steph, but your shoulders are *amazing*."

Steph blushes -- "Um. Tim always says that."

Dick sighs. "My little brother has *excellent* taste, and -- can I help with all the being turned on --"

"Perhaps I could -- *achun* --" Bruce shakes himself, reaches for the pocket with the rebreather --

Steph shakes pollen all over Bruce's hands --

"That's *really* mean, little sister, but he probably deserves it --"

That -- "Dick, were you or were you not the one who convinced Bruce that following me today was a good idea?"

"He should know better than to *listen* to me, little brother," Dick says, winking at him *and* tugging Steph back against him -- "Tell me *more* about your gymnastics training."

"I --"

Bruce moves quickly enough that Tim slips into a ready position without thinking about it --

But Bruce is only retrieving Steph's Sneezex. By the sounds, he's using a great deal of it --

"You are *so* reimbursing me for those tissues, Spooky."

"Of -- *shunx* -- course --"

"Bruce *always* pays his debts, little sister. It's one of his many, many, *many* charms --"

"Are you seriously pimping for him while molesting me? Is that what you're doing?"

"Ah... hm." Dick stops running his hands up and down Steph's arms and grips her biceps instead --

Dick narrows his eyes and *tests* her biceps --

"*Dick* --"

"Ah -- yes. I am molesting *and* pimping, but it's for a fantastic cause, Steph. I mean, you don't even know."

"*Tim* knows and he still looks like he wants to stab both of you."

"And me," Clark says, and smiles at Tim again. "He definitely looks as though he wishes to stab me."

Tim narrows his eyes. "You were supposed to be sitting down."

"Technically, I'm 'sitting' on a small cushion of air, since I'm not allowing my feet to touch the floor," and Clark turns to Steph. "I assure you, Miss Brown, that my boots are clean, but I couldn't help noticing that you keep your shoes in the entryway --"

"Okay, first, call me Stephanie, 'cause -- um. Yes. Second, those are the good-luck shoes."

"The good-luck shoes?"

Tim smiles helplessly --

"As in: 'good luck remembering to take your shoes off, punk,'" Steph says, and swats at Dick's hands when he starts prodding gently at her abdomen --

"I'm just *checking* --"

"Only Tim is allowed to feel me up for the Mission."

Bruce hums and turns around, pulling the bottle of antihistamines from his belt and dry-swallowing one. "There are times when it's necessary to do such checks, Stephanie --"

"Clark, what else is he allergic to?"

"Ah, one moment --"

And then the door is closing and Clark is handing Steph a clutch of unfamiliar reddish vines.

"Clark. I've never seen that plant in my life."

"Well, it's native to Australia, and -- your DNA suggests that it will make you break out abominably, Bruce," Clark says, and moves to open a path between Steph and Bruce.

"Stephanie, I was only suggesting that you shouldn't place unnecessary and dangerous limits on --"

Steph begins swinging the vines like a bolo --

"Hm. At the same time, however, it's important to have clear and easily comprehensible boundaries."

And *that* -- "Hn. I'm *ever* so glad to hear you say that, Bruce."

"Boundaries are -- boundaries are bad," Dick says, dropping into a crouch and kind of shaping the air around Steph's calves -- "Could you take these off?"

Steph reaches for her waistband -- stops. "*Dick* --"

"It's *important*, Steph! I promise I won't touch. Even though you seemed to like the touching earlier. And I liked the touching. And we were liking the touching together."

Clark hums happily --

Steph glares at Dick -- "*That* wasn't for the Mission."

"Well, true, but when you think about it, little sister, there's no reason not to make the Mission *fun*. Even Bruce knows that. Sometimes."

Bruce dabs at his eyes with another Sneezex. The redness makes him look demonic, but then --

Tim has to admit that his *mood* is making that happen at least as much as the pollen floating around. So --

"Boyfriend?"

So. On the surface, that was Steph checking on him because his expression had gone distant.

*Beneath* the surface... is everything Steph didn't quite deal with during her Power Freak, including the question of which way she -- *they* -- should jump. The answer to that is always the same: Start as you mean to go on.

Tim moves close to Steph and nudges Dick slightly further away with one foot --

"Little brother, if you're going to do that to *me*, you *have* to wear heels."

Steph frowns in confusion --

"I'll tell you when we're alone," Tim says, and takes Steph's hands in his own.

"Should we be alone right now, boyfriend?" And she raises her eyebrows in a challenge which doesn't make it all the way behind her eyes.

"Well..." Tim kisses her, cupping her face and trying to tell her all of the important details, everything *necessary*. She'd chosen him for reasons Tim will never entirely be sure of, and she has to know that he's grateful, and that parts of him will belong to her as long as she wants them -- no.

He'll belong to her forever, just as he'll belong to Bart, to Connor --

To his *family* --

("You feel *so* good to me, pretty baby...")

Well. Belonging is relative -- as are so very many other things. *This*, however --

This moment when he can push his hands into Steph's hair and press close --

When she can bracket Tim's arms with her own so that she can hold *him* by the hair --

Nothing else.

No *one* else, and this is what he promises her. There will always be a space for them, even if Tim has to drag one out of the universe -- or her living room -- by main force.

After a time she pulls back and licks her lips. "So what you're saying is that it's up to *me*?"

Right up until you need it not to be. Tim nods.

She searches him -- *reads* him -- and nods herself. "Mom won't be home for hours and --" She turns to Dick. "How many pizzas did you order?"

"Two --"

"All right, that's one and a half for all of you. Fine by me." She turns to Clark. "Can you go get some *real* clothes for Spooky? Hopefully something that makes him look as ridiculous as he is?"

Clark beams. "He looks very sickly in plaid. He's much too pale for the fabric, really --"

"Perfect," she says, and turns to Bruce. "You gonna put a leash on yourself and Molesto-wing?"

"Would you hold it...?"

Steph narrows her eyes --

Dick stands up and peers at her -- "Can you see past your eyelashes when you do that?"

"Uh. *Yeah*?"

"*Damn* it -- wait, leashes? Boss, we talked about that --"

"Happy families are built on compromise, Dick," Bruce says, and smiles at Steph.

Steph shakes herself again. "Clark, can you hit him without breaking any furniture?"

Abruptly, Bruce's head jerks forward --

Bruce grunts --

And Clark hands him a small pile of clothes.

Bruce raises an eyebrow at Clark that promises any number of painful things, but really --

"Hn."

Dick snickers and rocks on his heels --

The doorbell rings --

And Steph looks *panicked* for a moment, but --

"Hello? Pizza!"

Steph blows out a breath and shoves Dick toward the door. "Go pay. And *you* go upstairs and change, Spooky --"

"We should consider taking this time to grow accustomed to each other's bodies --"

Clark hits Bruce again.

Steph points at the stairs.

Bruce hums and goes --

And Tim has to admit that he's feeling much more charitable towards Clark. 

Dick pays for the pizzas and closes the door behind him. "You know, little sister, it sets a dangerous precedent to get Clark to fight your battles for you --"

"Oh, really, Dick, not *that* old saw again --"

"*Yes*, Clark. Steph has to be an *independent* operative --"

"I'm *independently* getting him to do things I can't do. Yet," Steph says, and takes the pizzas to the coffee table, opening them -- "Gah! Where's my ham and pepperoni and bacon? I *knew* these smelled wrong!"

Tim sits -- carefully -- next to Steph on the couch. "Clark is a vegetarian."

Steph's expression is not unlike what it would -- probably -- be if Tim were to tell her that Clark regularly ate orphans.

Tim pats her shoulder --

"Ah -- if I may, Stephanie, I truly do have good reasons --"

"La la la la la! I don't wanna hear 'em. Meat comes from the grocery store fairies who love us all very, very *much*," and she pokes at the fresh basil. "What *is* that?"

"Covered in melted cheese and, thus, entirely edible," Tim says, and drags more cheese on top of the offending leaf.

Steph looks dubious and still somewhat stricken.

"Bacon double cheeseburgers at Roxy's for lunch tomorrow."

Steph bites her lip. "With extra bacon between the patties?"

"Of course."

"And cheese fries?"

"Yes --"

Dick coughs. "You're gonna have to be careful eating like that, little sister -- and you're glaring at me. Okay, okay, it's not like Jay didn't eat like that all the time -- can I go back to feeling you up now?"

Steph glares *and* blushes --

Dick beams and sits on Steph's other side.

*Close* to her other side --

He rests a hand on her thigh. "I never did finish telling you about everything we all did on the jet," he says, leaning in to whisper in her ear.

Steph's expression grows that unique sort of distant that tends to mean... things.

Well.

Tim pulls out a slice for Clark and one for himself --

"Oh, thank you," Clark says, and suddenly the coffee table simply *is* far enough away that Clark can wedge himself between it and Tim's legs.

Tim raises an eyebrow.

Clark smiles at him, folds his slice of pizza into a bite-sized piece, and appears to swallow it whole.

The last time Tim had seen someone do that -- Bart. Tim narrows his eyes at Clark.

Clark gives him an *innocent* look --

"Hn. I see."

"Oh... do you, Tim?"

"I --"

Steph moans and *grips* Tim's hand --

"Steph?"

"Uh. I'm fine, boyfriend. You just -- do your thing. Right there."

Tim squeezes her hand and looks over to Dick --

Who has one hand stroking the waistband of Steph's sweats and the other in her *hair* --

And is looking at him with a question in his eyes.

Well --

Clark rests an incredibly warm hand on Tim's knee --

Bruce sweeps in -- the fact that he can do that in *Clark's* clothes is impressive -- and sits down in the chair opposite the couch, crossing his legs.

And steepling his fingers.

Touché, Mr. Bond.

Tim squeezes Steph's hand again. "Steph... I need to know if you're sure --"

"We bought those sex toys *together*, boyfriend," she says, and her eyes glitter with hectic light. "We *named* those toys together."

Very --

Very --

True --

And Steph twists her hand free and strokes a firm line up the back of Tim's hand. "Are *you* okay?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "I think I'm *really* going to need the cuddle after this."

Steph's smile is wry and warm and bright and --

"You're so beautiful."

"Just wait, boyfriend," she says, and turns to kiss Dick, shoving him back against the arm of the couch and climbing on top of him --

Dick shoves his hand down the side of Steph's sweats, cupping her hip --

Steph hums into Dick's mouth --

And Clark slides his hand up Tim's thigh, stroking and pressing with his thumb. That --

Tim licks his lips and turns to him --

"You don't use your red toy very often, at all," Clark says, searching Tim *just* slowly enough to be noticeable.

Tim raises an eyebrow and spreads his legs --

And Clark *licks* up Tim's thigh from the inside of Tim's knee to his crotch. The fact that Tim can feel that even through his jeans --

Tim shivers --

And Clark stares up at him with his lips parted. "You always warm it before you do."

"Yes."

"Does the heat remain?"

Steph makes a *sharp* noise and shifts beside him --

And, for a moment, that's enough to distract him from the way --

From the way *this* heat is remaining. Just --

Tim shifts enough to really *feel* the twinges and aches inside him, to --

Clark *grips* Tim's thigh -- for a moment. "Tim."

"I -- the heat never -- it's never enough."

"I could have the Fortress craft something for you --"

"Is that what you want to do?"

Clark shakes his head, eyes steady and *calm* --

Until Tim recognizes the blur at the edges of Clark's features and realizes that Clark is looking him over and over --

That Clark is learning every motion of Tim's *body* --

Just as Bruce is watching and learning his own lessons.

Dick gasps and moans -- "Oh, little *sister*. And -- maybe I've spent a *leetle* time thinking about your hands --"

"God, when did you even *see* them?"

Dick laughs breathlessly -- "*Heard* them. Nothing -- everybody's hands sound different when they drag on Tim's tunic - *nnh*, yeah, *hard* --"

That -- Tim pants and *tries* to fight the images --

And then he remembers that he doesn't have to, that this --

This is all his.

Theirs.

So.

Tim shows his teeth and works open his jeans with one hand --

Clark smiles *cheerfully* --

Tim shakes his head. "You were too subtle with me, Clark."

"And if I wished to have you call to me?"

"I don't have the personality for it," Tim says, pushing the waistband of his boxer-briefs down --

Steph's moan is muffled -- and then it isn't. Then --

"Oh, *Steph*. I haven't seen breasts like yours since *Donna* filled out --"

"That would be the late Troia, formerly Wonder Girl, Stephanie," Bruce says, calm and very much *present* --

Steph *grunts* -- "Uh. *Thank* you, Spooky --"

"You're very, very welcome."

Tim looks --

And Bruce hasn't moved a muscle. Hasn't -- that won't do.

"Bruce."

"Yes, Tim?"

Tim wraps his hand around himself and begins to stroke. "Take your penis out and stroke it just. Like. This."

"But, *tiger*, there's a *lady* present --"

"Spooky, I swear to God, if you don't listen to *everything* my boyfriend says, I'll make him take *all* the cameras out of his bedroom."

"Oh -- God, little sister, what about *me*?"

"Suck. It. *Up*," she says, shifting again --

Dick moans -- "God, I *forget* what human women *feel* like --" And the rest of that is *distinctly* muffled --

And Bruce is following orders --

And Clark, when Tim looks, is staring *hungrily* at Tim's working hand. Which --

Tim works his thumb over and over the head --

Clark leans in and breathes *hot* on Tim's penis -- and leans back. "Please, Tim. More."

Tim smiles a little more widely. "You have to come to *me*, Clark."

"Oh... yes?"

"You have to -- mm. Be prepared to be rejected -- from time to time."

"You would have me in your power?"

Tim reaches out with his free hand and wraps Clark's forelock around his index finger before tugging once --

Twice --

"Others have found that to be a very comfortable place to be."

Clark sighs --

So *hot* --

"What of... boundaries, Tim?"

Excellent question, but -- "I trust you to know when it would be appropriate to call on me, Clark," Tim says, and -- gives in.

Just a touch to the back of Steph's calf, strong and flexing as she -- drags herself along Dick's body, moving -- God, like a dancer --

Dick's expression is taut and *fixed* in concentration --

Bruce is looking back and forth among all of them and stroking himself in the same rhythm Tim had set --

"Faster, Bruce --"

Bruce *grunts* --

And Clark squeezes his thigh again. Yes, he was saying something *important* --

"In this, I trust you more than I trust my family."

Clark's eyes flare red, *hot* --

And Tim lets himself moan --

And Dick growls and makes Steph move *faster* --

*Steph* moans -- "You are *so* fingering me after this --"

"*Deal*," Dick says --

"Tim," Clark says, and the red hasn't left his eyes, at all.

"Did you like watching me suck Roy, Clark...?"

"Very much."

"Do you want my mouth?"

"Very -- very much --"

"Give me yours," Tim says, and moves to the edge of the couch --

And suddenly his hand is curled gently around the cushion --

And Clark --

"*Clark* --"

Clark looks up at him and sucks -- God, sucks so *hard* --

Swallows him and *holds* him, narrows his eyes as they get hotter --

*Brighter* --

"Oh. Oh, Clark... you'll let me watch *you* with Roy --"

Clark nods and pulls back --

Tim grunts --

Clark *hums* and Tim feels his eyes roll back in his head, feels himself losing, *aching* for that *suck* --

He has to -- somehow hold on enough to make this right, make it perfect --

Tim *clutches* Steph's calf --

"Oh -- oh, *Tim* --"

"Love you, Steph, love --"

"I *know*, and -- God, fuck, Dick's so hard against me --"

"Is he --"

"Between. Uh. Between my lips now -- fuck. I want -- I want him to come --"

"He *will*," Tim says, *stroking* her calf --

"He -- Clark's sucking you?"

"Hard, Steph. Hard -- harder than *Bart*."

Steph groans and *jerks* --

Dick moans -- "Oh -- oh, I *feel* you, little sister --"

"Damn -- damn *right* --"

"So wet for me --"

"For -- for Tim, *too* --"

Tim grunts and spasms --

Bruce *pants* --

And Clark curls his hands around Tim's hips so slowly, so *carefully* -- he's waiting for instruction. For --

Tim narrows his eyes and shoves a hand into Clark's hair, wondering what happens if one of the thick strands knots itself around his finger --

All right, no, *not* thinking of that --- Tim laughs somewhat desperately --

"Ooh, boyfriend, that -- that's your I'm-going-crazy laugh --"

"I *am*, Steph, I -- I have Clark by the *hair* --"

"Make him *work* for it --"

"*Yes*," Tim says, standing up and nudging Clark back with his knees, tugging on his hair until he pulls back --

His penis feels *bereft* --

Tim licks his lips. "Hold. Your head. Still."

"Are you quite sure --"

"*Do* it," Tim says, and braces himself on his feet as much as he can --

As much as he can while listening to Steph cry out again and *again* --

God, the way Dick must be --

Tim looks --

And Steph is naked save for the sweats bunched around her knees --

She always 'goes commando' in the hours before she puts on the extra *sturdy* panties she wears under the Spoiler uniform, and her skin --

Her body --

So lush and strong, so --

Dick is holding her in a *straddle*, *bracing* her as he guides his penis --

Tim can't see, but *God*, he can almost *feel* --

"Tim," Bruce says, breathless and *hungry* --

"Hn. What -- what can I *do* for you, *Dad* --"

Steph snorts and *starts* to fall over --

"Nah-ah-ah, little sister, stay *put* --"

"Oh -- *fuck*, yes, *Dick* --"

And Bruce is narrowing his eyes -- "Take him, Tim. Show me... please."

Tim shudders -- stops. "Is that -- nnh. Is that all you want to see?"

"Never," Bruce says, shifting until he can expose his scrotum --

His big, hairy --

Tim licks his lips --

Bruce *groans* -- "Please, Tim. I promise to be very, very grateful."

"Ohh -- *believe* him, little brother, because --"

"Shut up and *kiss* me again, Dick --"

"Yes'm -- *mmm* --"

Tim *grunts* -- because Clark is stroking and pressing *lightly* on the bruises on Tim's hips --

Connor's bruises --

*Dick's* bruises --

"Are you feeling impatient, Clark?"

Clark nods slowly, never taking his eyes off Tim's --

"Suck me. *Briefly* -- *hnh* -- oh, that was. Mm. *Again* --"

Clark does and *colors* explode behind Tim's eyes --

"*Again* --"

The colors shift and just -- Tim can feel his *sac* tightening --

"You should know, Clark... I've thought about sharing you with Kon."

Clark's eyes widen --

The brightness makes Tim *wince* -- but he can focus. "Just a little... mm. Helping him to get his *own* back -- *nnh* -- don't. Don't use your tongue that way."

Clark moans and *grips* Tim's hips --

"You want me to lose control...?"

*Sharp* nod --

"I will. When I choose to," Tim says, and cards through Clark's hair, mussing it as much as *possible* -- "I would, of course, *guide* Kon. I would tell him... oh, *exactly* what to do to you."

Clark shudders and *hums* --

"Hnh -- hnh -- stop that. *Now*."

Clark groans and squeezes his eyes shut --

"No. Let me *see* you. Though, of course, you should continue failing to burn me to ash..."

And Clark's eyes are *narrowly* hot -- because Clark is getting... mm. Yes. Impatient.

Hungry.

Dangerous?

Tim gets a *good* grip on Clark's hair and slides in slowly, carefully --

Until he's halfway in --

He *slams* in the rest of the way --

Clark's grunt is cut *off* --

Tim moans. "You are... one of the most beautiful men I've ever seen. You..." Tim licks his lips. "I've thought about you and Kon sharing *me*, of course --"

"God, little brother, that's *filthy* --"

"You haven't ever felt Kon's *power*, Dick. You... hn. He fucked me with it," Tim says, smiling down at Clark...

No look of surprise. He had, at least *heard* it.

"Nothing has ever... ever felt that way. Nothing -- suck *hard*, Clark --"

And the sound he makes shocks him -- it's so low and *throaty* --

And then he realizes that it's Steph, that she's *coming* --

Tim hears himself shout acknowledgment, pleasure, *need* --

"Oh -- *ride* it, little sister --"

"Fuck -- fuck, *Nightwing* --"

"Nightwing only -- heh. Nightwing is a *terrible* fuck, Steph --"

Steph grunts --

Tim can *see* her collapse on Dick out of the corner of his eye --

And Clark is holding Tim in his throat. He --

There's no way he would've been able to *take* this if he hadn't grown accustomed to *Bart's* heat --

"I don't think I'll tell Kon about those fantasies. You've been... hn. Far too *stressful* for him, Clark..."

Clark closes his eyes for a *slow* moment --

"Yes. Yes, you *know*. I -- mm. Do *better* -- or I never let you fuck me," Tim says, and starts to thrust --

Starts --

God, just --

He'd had a *lot* of sex today and he's still --

Let's hear it for the sexual *peak* --

"You feel -- hot. Wet. Some variety of perfect... but of course you would." Tim forces himself to stop studying Clark's beautiful face --

Concentration so *much* like Kon's --

And Bruce's penis is *shining* in the lamplight, slick and *thick* --

"Oh, Bruce, you --"

Steph cries out -- "Dick -- you -- you *first* --"

"Shh, little sister, just -- oh, yeah, yeah, stroke me in the same rhythm I'm using --" Dick moans. "Oh. Faster?"

"Your -- your *fingers* --"

"Tim," and Bruce's voice is low and so -- "Tell me. Tell me what you were going to *say* --"

Oh, yeah. That. Just -- "Just a *moment*, Bruce, I --" Tim shakes his head and fucks Clark's throat faster, *harder* --

Clark nods and cups Tim's buttocks, squeezes and spreads so *carefully* --

The twinges make Tim grunt and *shout* --

Blur --

And when Tim looks down, Clark's penis is exposed. Long and thick and leaking *steadily* --

Bruce --

"*Bruce*," Tim says -- *grits* --

"Here. I'm *here*, Tim --"

"I want -- you didn't let me *suck* you enough --"

Bruce moans -- "Could there be -- I would have there be no such *thing* --"

"God --" Tim shakes his head and pushes *both* hands into Clark's hair, pushes --

Not a push, but a shove --

Another and another -- "You won't do that to me, Clark --"

Clark shakes his head *sharply* --"

"You -- you'll give me what I *need* -- *ohn* --"

Just a *brush* over his hole, smooth, hot fingertips --

Barely even a *press* -- "Dirty *pool*, Clark --"

Clark *smiles* around him --

Tim shows his teeth. "All right. *Make* me come," Tim says, and gives Clark *all* of his speed --

Everything he gives to Bart when he can't stop himself --

When they both need him to be too much, always too *much* --

But that could never happen with Clark. That --

It's almost a *tragedy* --

And Tim knows that *everyone* in this room would like to know why he's laughing --- and if *Steph* asks, he'll tell her --

God, Steph is grunting now, taking Dick's fingers and, perhaps, wanting more than that --

He knows she's imagining his *own* fingers at least some of the time, knows that Dick understands well enough to *give* Steph his fingers the way Tim would --

The way he thinks --

Tim frowns and shakes his head --

Clark clutches his hips -- oh -- oh, yes --

Tim looks down and lets the smile take his face, knowing it's the one which has been known to make Bart come with little other stimulation --

Clark's penis twitches *powerfully*, spattering Steph's carpet with alien pre-come --

"I -- I should make you. Lick. That up --"

Clark's moan *is* a hum --

That speed --

Oh -- *Bart* --

Clark is staring *into* him --

Bruce is *panting* --

Steph is *riding* Dick's fingers, breasts bouncing and hair tangled and stuck to her face --

Tim wants to be able to smell her sweat over all of the other odors, wants so much that it's an ache in his *tongue* --

"Clark -- *Clark* --"

Clark *nods* --

"*Tongue* --"

The world *moves* --

He's -- braced over the *couch*? Oh -- oh -- "*Fuck* --"

Clark is *rimming* him, and really --

Tim guesses he *should've* specified --

"B-Boyfriend --"

"*Tongue*, Steph --"

"Fuck, that shouldn't be *hot* --"

Tim laughs and gasps, laughs more and *claws* at the couch --

And the laugh becomes a cry when Clark starts stroking him, when he uses the same rhythm --

The cry becomes a *yell* when the rhythm changes, fast for his hole and *careful* for his penis --

Tim claws at the cushions and *works* his hips -- "Clark, you'll *pay* --"

"*Gladly*," Clark slurs and continues to -- oh, fast and so --

Oh, God --

Tim bites the cushion and *shouts*, shaking his way through his orgasm --

Shaking and thrusting-needing-*taking* --

Tim groans and catches himself trying to *tear* at the cushion with his teeth and fingernails --

Clark's tongue is still *inside* him --

Tim pants and shudders, kneeling up --

Clark *moves* his tongue --

In a way that seems distinctly *hopeful* --

And rather more than that when Steph cries out and begins beating at the couch with her fist --

The fist that *isn't* wrapped around Dick's penis and squeezing *viciously* --

Dick leans in and sucks Steph's nipple, moaning and working his hand faster --

And Tim is just fast enough in his turn to catch Bruce shuddering all over as he stares at all of them and continues to *stroke*. Just --

Yes. "Bruce. *Stop*."

"Tim --"

"Wait. For. Me."

"*Hnh* -- yes," Bruce says, and moves his hand to his knee, cupping and *gripping* --

Clark thrusts three times *fast* --

The noise Tim makes is *strangled* -- focus -- "Clark, pull out and stand *up*."

"Of course," Clark says, mild and -- unassailable is a good word for it. *Despite* the fact that his erection is dark enough to look painful in its solidity and *heft*.

Tim sits back down on the couch, letting himself have a moment to enjoy the ache and the lingering slickness -- there. "Be *quick*, Clark," Tim says, wrapping his hand around the base --

"Tim, wait, please --"

Tim pauses with his lips just barely brushing the head of Clark's penis --

Clark shivers and clenches his fists --

Tim looks up. "Tell me."

"You shouldn't -- it's just that you don't seem to want *me* in this moment --"

Tim smiles and drags Clark's penis over his *teeth* --

Clark shivers again -- "Please."

"A moment ago, you were pretending not to be... affected," Tim says, making a point of speaking as breathily as possible --

"You were --" Clark shakes his head. "You seemed to enjoy --"

"I did. I do --"

"I cannot be -- I can't be *unmoved* --"

"You shouldn't be -- if I do this right," Tim says, and drags his tongue in a slow circuit around the slit --

Teases at the slickness rising, beading --

"Clark. You taste like Kon smells... at times."

Clark grunts --

Wind --

And Tim's hair is tucked behind his ears. "Hn. Let's turn enough that Bruce can see -- yes, like that. Clark. I've thought about doing *just* this countless times."

Clark parts his lips and breathes -- "Like this?"

Tim shows his teeth and nibbles sharp lines along either side of the shaft --

Bruce groans --

Steph makes another of those *throaty* cries --

"Oh, I know what that *means*, little sister -- I -- oh, yes, yes, one more --"

"Don't -- don't *stop* yet, Dick --"

"*Never* --"

And Tim knows what *that* means when Dick says it now, knows --

Tim closes his eyes and shakes his head to *clear* it --

"Tim, please," and Clark brushes his fingertips over Tim's eyelids so *lightly* --

Clark wants a measure of *sincerity* --

*Clark* knows how much Tim holds *back* as a matter of course to get things done, to get what he wants and needs --

*Some* of what he wants and needs. Tim looks up and lets everything be in his eyes --

("Oh, you *know* what you have to call *that* one, boyfriend."

"I don't think he's *ridged*, Steph --"

"Have *you* ever seen him hard? And the answer better be no, because why didn't you *tell* me?")

Tim gives him the humor and the *hunger* --

The pleasure of *this* moment, of pulling back just enough that he has to *stretch* his tongue to touch --

"Steph -- *Steph* --"

"*Do* it, Dick --"

No, *this* moment, when the way Dick is groaning for his orgasm makes him need to *kiss* the head of Clark's penis, mouth it and make love to it --

"Oh -- Tim --" And Clark is petting him restlessly, *gently* --

Tim pulls back to nip again -- the underside, this time --

And Clark growls and *grips* Tim by the hair -- "Tim. *Please* --"

"Yes," Tim says, and swallows as much of Clark as he can before *forcing* his head down the rest of the way.

Clark *tugs* Tim's hair --

"Holy *fuck*, boyfriend!"

"He did that to Bruce on the plane, and I'm *pretty* sure he plans to do it again --"

Bruce groans --

Steph snickers. "If he doesn't, will *you*?"

Dick hums and Tim can *just* see him moving -- he's wrapping most of himself around Steph -- "Well, let's see. I've never *had* a fantasy about blowing my adoptive father in the living room of my little brother's girlfriend's house, but I think I could maybe work without a script for that one."

Of course he can --

And Steph is laughing again --

And Clark is *panting* --

And it's one of the greater joys of his existence -- despite the relatively recent provenance of it -- to reach for the hips of the male he's fellating --

To cup and squeeze and *urge* --

Clark groans again -- pants and strokes Tim's cheek -- <<You do so desire, fine one?>>

Oh... yes.

Tim uses ASL to say 'speak more' and scratches *hard* lines on Clark's hips --

<<You used the Language so *freely* with my beautiful one, my adorned one...>>

Tim narrows his eyes in a smile --

"Wait, wait, is that *Kryptonian*?"

Dick laughs --

And Bruce's laugh is a breath. "I... mm. I ordered Tim to learn it one day when Clark had been... especially goading."

"You -- were you using Tim to be a *cocktease*?"

"It seemed... like a good idea at the time," Bruce says --

"Hey, hands on your *knees*, Spooky. Tim didn't say Simon Says."

"Will you always follow his lead, Stephanie?"

"Heh. So long as the bacon and gay porn keep coming? *Yes*," and Steph shifts a little in Dick's grasp -- "Ohh, boyfriend. How long *can* you go without air?"

Tim holds up three fingers -- then waves them.

"You totally learned that *for* cocksucking, didn't you?"

Tim nods slowly and looks up to meet Clark's eyes again --

Clark's eyes are squeezed shut. Hm.

Tim bares his teeth --

<<Fine one, I *am* in your power. What do you wish?>>

Tim gestures 'more,' and works his tongue against the shaft --

<<I would give you all things, every -- I would know how best to *seduce*.>>

Tim raises an eyebrow and pulls back enough to *point* at Clark's penis and its intersection with his mouth --

Bruce hums --

And Steph snorts. "I don't even know what you're talking about, Clark, but if you're making Tim do the point-y thing, you're probably being kind of a doofus."

Clark flushes --

Clark laughs and *thrusts* back in --

Tim narrows his eyes and nods --

"Oh --" <<My adorned one screams for me, Tim Drake. You would sound well doing the same...>>

For you or for *Kal*...? Tim pulls back, pants through his nose, and nibbles his way back down --

<<How you *tempt* -->>

Bruce hums. "Kal."

Kal narrows his eyes --

Clark blinks and smiles ruefully. "I am only a man, Bruce."

"A *gentle* man," Bruce says --

And Steph shifts again. "Hey, why did things just get freaky?"

"*Because*, little sister -- little brother is being *mean*."

"He's *always* mean. It's what he *does*."

"I believe," Bruce says, "that Clark is having a difficult time remembering that Tim does not especially want... a more serious interlude."

"Serious like it's time for another trip to the toy store?"

"Oh -- Steph. I like you *very* much," Dick says, and wraps Steph more tightly again --

Steph giggles --

And Clark licks his lips and begins to rock.

Tim nods again and urges a slow back-thrust --

A hard and fast *thrust* --

"Fine one, you are..." <<I would teach all of your loves how to call for me, fine one.>>

Tim gestures 'my *permission*,' and begins to work his head with the rhythm --

<<Possessiveness rarely suits the young, Tim Drake.>>

Tim laughs and allows it to be choked off --

Laughs *more* --

And moans when Clark *cups* the back of his head with one hand and his cheek with the other. Like this, every brief gasp fills him with Clark's scent, with the sense of the forbidden --

Kon wouldn't *understand*, yet, and so he shouldn't --

But Steph's home has always been a place outside of the rest of his life, Steph's presence a space out of time -- no, not that.

There is no real excuse for this -- not for taking it and not for enjoying it this much --

God, *Clark*, and it's so tempting to just give *in* to the hints and promises, to *let* himself be overwhelmed and thoroughly *taken* --

It will happen. He knows himself *more* than well enough to know *that* --

It will happen, and he'll enjoy every *moment* of it, and then he'll remember his other lovers --

*All* of his other lovers, and everything they need from him, everything they *want* from him --

Tim gestures 'harder,' and looks up to meet Clark's eyes again --

Looks up to *promise* Clark, and hint, and tease --

<<I will come to you with joy in my heart, Tim Drake.>>

And he will accept Clark with all of himself he can manage to give at the given moment --

More at that time, less the next time --

And he will have damned well set a *tone*.

Tim narrows his eyes and *grips* Clark's hips, forcing him to use the rhythm Bart gives him those times when they've gotten Bart off *enough* that his control is the best, his need is the *greatest* --

Clark groans again -- and then grunts for every thrust, fast and sharp and deadly, wonderful, numbing and maddening at once --

"Tim -- oh, Tim Drake --"

"Ohh -- damn. I am seriously about to watch Superman come. I --"

"Nuh-uh, little sister. You're about to watch *Clark* come. When Superman comes? There are no hot little sounds."

"You -- don't ruin my *fantasies* --"

Clark gasps a laugh -- "I will show you *all*, Stephanie --"

"Oh -- hell, *yes*, you will --"

"I could make... a similar offer," Bruce says, and the smile in his voice is sharp and, yes, *promising* --

"Yeah, but if *you* show me everything I'll probably need to run screaming and drag Tim *with* me --"

"Oh, please don't," Dick says. "Really, if you just *roll* with the wildly disturbing things --"

Tim bares his teeth again --

Clark thrusts hard enough to *move* Tim --

Again --

*Again* --

But now Clark is holding him *still* again, thrusting so quickly, so --

Steph moans -- "Oh -- damn, I really just -- uh."

"Stuck your hand in your sticky places? Yes, yes you did. Here, let me find it for you --"

"Dick -- *ooh* -- ooh, *fuck* --"

"*Soon*, Tim --"

"Yes," Bruce says. "*Soon*."

Tim feels himself flushing for it --

*Wanting* it --

And knowing that he *can't* take faster and harder without losing the ability to go down on Bruce tonight is frustrating enough to make him hard --

*Harder*, because *this* act --

This *man* --

Tim growls in his *mind* and slips his fingers into Clark's cleft, finding sweat and a pucker that feels *hard* more than tight --

"Oh, Jesus *fuck*, Tim -- Dick, if you stop, I will *hurt* you. *With* my pussy --"

Dick slurs and moans something that sounds *plaintive* --

Clark gasps --

Tim pushes in with *two* --

"*Tim* --"

"Unh -- unh -- Tim just *finger*-popped him -- oh, fuck, that's so --" Steph groans --

Clark is *panting* --

Clark is staring down at him with lust and something that looks almost like *shock* --

And Tim does his best to *will* Clark to come, because he can't actually *move* his fingers in more than just a painfully tight *rock* --

<<Tim Drake, you are -- we will have *this* -->>

*Bruce* gasps --

And Clark's rhythm is ragged, jerky and sharp and *just* painful enough to make Tim ache for it, imagine sinking deep into heat and *power* --

Would it even be *safe*?

Is he risking --

"*Tim* --"

And now Clark is *pulling* Tim's hair, holding Tim's head bent back and shoving in and *in* --

"*Kal* --"

"One -- one *moment*, Bruce -- oh -- oh, Tim *Drake*, I --"

Clark grunts --

Clark *shouts* --

And swallowing constantly means that Tim manages not to choke when Clark comes, but it's a near thing. It's --

There's so *much* of it --

It's spilling down his *chin* --

Tim lets go of Clark's other hip and wipes the excess away, groaning in his chest for the feel of Clark shuddering, spasming --

"Oh, *Tim* --"

Clark pulls out, pulls Tim's fingers out, and floats into the air, head thrown back and penis *still* twitching even though nothing else is coming out --

Steph groans -- "Oh, that is so fucking *impressive*."

Tim turns to face her --

And she's seated at the edge of the couch cushion with her legs spread around Dick --

She's touching her clitoris and *bucking* --

Dick is fucking her with his *tongue* --

And when Tim looks up to her face again, Steph is smiling ruefully. "Hey, you -- *hnh* -- oh -- you can pretend. Uh. Gynecology lesson?"

"You're beautiful," Tim says, laughing and bringing his sticky hand to his mouth -- he stops and raises an eyebrow.

"What -- oh. Oh. Oh, Tim, that's *filthy* -- I. Um."

"Too much?"

"*No*," Steph says, reaching for him with her free hand --

Tim goes, resting one knee on the couch --

And Steph never looks away from him as she licks Tim's hand --

As she kisses and *sucks* at Tim's hand --

("The *truth*, boyfriend, is that this baby here? Is Superman *III*.")

But there's a different truth here, as well. A deeper one, a -- no, it's *not* stranger, but --

Tim watches the flush on her cheek grow deeper and wants to touch -- and wants to wash his hands very, very badly. "I love you."

Steph hums around three of his fingers and *winks* -- and then her gaze goes distinctly *hazy* --

And when Tim looks --

Dick is sucking her clitoris while she shoves *her* sticky hand into his hair --

Steph moans and *bites* Tim's fingers --

"Steph --"

Steph pulls back and grins at him. "Go take care of your *boss*."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "If I play the naughty secretary game will you lose all respect for me?"

"Oh, I... could bring one of Lois' least-favorite business suits?" And Clark floats down to join Steph on the couch. "They smell rather strongly of her favorite perfume, but Bruce *did* buy it for her."

Steph groans again --

Steph tosses her head and grips Clark's thigh --

"Oh... Stephanie," and Clark cups her cheek and turns her to face him --

"You -- uh. Who's *Lois*?"

"Lois Lane is Clark's wife," Bruce says, and turns to Tim. "And if we play the naughty secretary game, I'm afraid I'm going to have to insist that you wear Marisa's orthopedic shoes."

Dick chokes --

Steph pats his back. "There, there, don't *stop* --"

Dick gives her the thumbs-up --

And Clark brushes his thumb over Steph's chin. "Perhaps you would consider --"

"Your breath. Oh my God, you -- probably still taste like Tim's come. Uh." Steph looks at *him* --

"If you -- I have no objection --"

"Good *enough*," Steph says, and *lunges* for the kiss, taking it and humming, licking --

*Clark* hums, smiling into it --

Steph pulls back. "Wait, you're *married* --"

"An -- ah. *Open* marriage, Stephanie --"

Steph looks at Tim again -- "Is he bullshitting?"

"Not that I've been able to tell. Ms. Lane seems to have her own... amusements, from time to time."

"Okay, back to that being good enough," and this time Steph lunges far enough that Dick has to follow her --

Dick grunts and pulls her back *down* --

"*Dick* --"

"I assure you, Stephanie, I am more than capable of going where I'm invited," and Clark all but bears *down* on her --

And Tim knows -- the way he knows the pound of his own heart when he's terrified -- that Clark had watched Tim making out with Steph *extensively*. Well.

Tim steps out of the jeans and boxer-briefs that have been puddled around his ankles for rather too long, and -- yes.

He makes his stalk across the room a good one, holding Bruce's gaze and tracing Steph's saliva around his nipples --

"Tim."

"Bruce."

"How do you want me?"

"In my bedroom in the manor... three years ago."

"I'll call the Atom and have him begin working on the problem immediately."

Tim laughs --

And Bruce searches him, eyes deep and a little wild -- and very, very hungry.

Tim takes the last step closer and straddles Bruce's thighs --

"Are you sure you don't wish to see what's happening on the couch...?"

"My imagination is quite powerful, Bruce. And I wouldn't want to become distracted," Tim says, and runs the nail on his index finger up the underside of Bruce's penis.

Bruce shivers --

"Did you like seeing me on Dick's lap?"

"I had had that fantasy many times."

Tim thinks about that and nods slowly. "You brought him with you --" Tim lowers his voice. "You brought him with you precisely to make sure my caution wouldn't keep me from making love with him. With both of you."

Bruce cups Tim's thighs and strokes. "The fantasy became a need... when it became clear how much Dick needed *you*," and Bruce's own voice is quiet, as well.

*Clark* can hear everything --

Clark may or may not choose to keep the secrets --

Life is risk. "And what of my needs, Bruce?"

"I did not then -- and do not now -- believe that your need for caution outweighed your need for... love."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Your love, Bruce?"

"You could consider thinking of it as merely... a side benefit."

"A side *dish*, perhaps --"

"Balanced meals are very important for good health, Tim."

Tim smiles. "Are you saying you're good for me, Bruce...?"

"I'm saying... that I can be. If you allow it," and Bruce strokes up to the join of Tim's thighs to his torso before squeezing. Just --

"Your hands, Bruce..."

"Tell me. Please."

Tim covers Bruce's hands with his own. "I wasn't completely deluded even as a child. I knew that they couldn't, truly, do anything."

"You were never deluded, at all --"

"I believed you could love without pain. That you would never chase people away who cared about you. That you would never *hurt* where hurt wasn't dearly deserved."

Bruce closes his eyes -- but only for a moment. "I feared your innocence --"

"You've always feared innocence. *Everyone's* innocence -- including your own."

"Better, by far, for the loss of it to be a small pain than a crippling one. Better to lose it by -- rapid -- increments."

Tim strokes Bruce's knuckles. "I agree with you."

"That much was never in doubt."

"I won't push my loves away --"

"And when they need you to do just that?"

Tim smiles again. "I'll do it with a *clear* head, Bruce. I won't ever hurt them more than is necessary."

"I believe you," Bruce says, and pulls Tim closer. "And so do they."

Tim nods and cups Bruce's face, feeling him smooth from the shave he'd given himself before coming here -- heh. "You wanted to make a good impression."

"I've given myself leave to try again at such things."

"That's not all you've given yourself leave for... Dad."

Bruce's penis twitches, dragging against Tim's own --

Tim nods. "I'll use that against you."

"Be careful."

"With your heart, Bruce?"

Bruce smiles. "And with your own. Lies often become true in the telling."

And some lies became true *years* ago, but -- but. Tim leans in to kiss Bruce, making it slow and careful, slow and appreciative --

Bruce sighs into Tim's mouth and teases Tim's tongue with his own, licking and tasting --

Tasting *Clark* --

Bruce moans and makes the kiss harder, makes it deeper and *more* than itself --

Tim presses close and begins to rock, urging Bruce's tongue deeper into his mouth, urging it to *fuck* --

And Bruce changes the rock to a slow and *relentless* grind, moving Tim by the hips and making the space between them hot, *slick* --

Tim pulls back *just* to moan, just to make it loud *enough* --

To carry to the other side of the room, where Steph's cries are getting louder and louder, more *demanding* --

He knows Dick and Clark won't let her down --

It's possible they won't let her *up* -- heh. Tim smiles at Bruce and tries to move a little like the way Connor had, tries to *apply* the grace he knows he has for the street to this --

"That you would give me this touch..."

Tim raises an eyebrow --

"Anyone would wish your pleasure. Your *release*," Bruce says, squeezing Tim's hips before letting go and stroking up over Tim's abdomen, Tim's chest --

The touch to his nipples is *rough* -- but then it's focused, sure and *absolutely* designed to make Tim pant and wince for it, *arch* for it --

"Tim, yes --"

"I *don't* want to come before you do, Bruce."

"And this touch could make that happen...?"

For a moment, it seems *ridiculous* that that could be an honest question... but Bruce is working from what he'd seen Tim *do*, as opposed to from his actual thoughts. "They're *your* hands, Bruce."

"Noted," Bruce says, and *twists* enough to make Tim cry out --

*Again* and Tim is sweating, just that fast --

*Again* and the pain is making him lose his rhythm, making him want more, different, *something* --

He *can't* take Bruce's fingers in his ass right now, but -- God, he can be honest -- "I *want* you to fuck me --"

"I want that, as well... three years ago."

Tim laughs -- and it turns into another cry when Bruce twists *while* rubbing with his thumbs --

"The first time you ejaculated while *only* taking yourself..." Bruce smiles and shakes his head. "I remember your cries well."

"I *tried* to stay quiet --"

"You failed. Wonderfully," Bruce says, and begins to twist again --

"Bruce --"

"For a moment longer. Please."

Tim pants and licks his lips --

"So swollen... mm. My first thoughts were of things I could teach you to help you better control yourself. The vast majority, however, were far more realistic."

"In -- in terms of my *abilities*?"

"In terms," Bruce says, and *pulls* on Tim's nipples --

"Ohn -- *God* --"

"Beautiful. The realism in question was a matter of what I believe *I* would've had the control for. You are far too silent as a matter of course for me to want anything *but* your sounds."

That -- Tim smiles and begins to grind faster, more *purposefully* --

Bruce moans --

"And Dick? He's very... effusive."

Bruce grunts -- and laughs. "I have fitted him for *many* gags in my mind --"

Steph *yells*, pitch spiraling high and sharp --

Bruce glances over -- "Clark has left small bruises around her nipples --"

Tim *bucks* --

"And Dick is... hn. Singularly failing to lick away her juices."

("Who the fuck do they make those panty shields *for*? *Dehydrated* women?")

Tim shivers and reaches down to take Bruce's penis in his fists --

"Oh... Tim. Both of us, perhaps?"

"I'd rather have more control --"

"Perhaps we could negotiate."

Tim licks his lips and -- realizes that he's still grinding, even though most of what he can feel right now are his own hands -- "I -- gags --"

"Clark has informed me -- more than once -- that I am more contrary than several of the mules with whom he's acquainted."

"Ah... intimately?"

Bruce shows his teeth and pushes into Tim's fists -- "I try not to ask questions like that."

Tim chokes on a laugh --

And those are Dick's hands on his shoulders, warm and slick and sticky and *fragrant* --

*Steph* --

Tim shivers again --

"*Use* your calluses, little brother."

Tim shifts his hands into a slightly less comfortable configuration -- Bruce has rather more *girth* than Tim's staves --

And Bruce sighs and lets his head fall back, exposing the thick column of his throat, and --

Yes.

Just --

Tim leans in and sucks at Bruce's pulse point --

Dick moans -- "Oh... yeah, like *that*, Tim --"

Tim sucks *hard* --

And Bruce cups the back of Tim's head. *Just* cups, and it's gentle and warm and rather too much like breastfeeding for Tim to be entirely comfortable.

It's a very, very good thing that he likes being uncomfortable --

Tim bites down *hard* --

Bruce twitches in his hand, tenses -- and relaxes again. "Tim. You... are always welcome to mark me."

"And me, boss --"

"*Yes* --"

"Because I'm thinking... heh. I'm thinking I *like* the mark Tim left on your jaw -- even though the bad guys will all treat it like a target tonight --"

"Sacrifices... sacrifices must be *made*," Bruce says, and the laugh under his voice is broad, *rich* --

Tim bites his way to the other side of Bruce's throat --

*Clark* moans -- "Oh -- yes, *please*, Stephanie --"

"I *so* haven't had as much practice as the Toy Wonder, but you have no *idea* how much I've wanted to -- uh. Yeah. I -- *mmm* --"

Clark moans again --

Steph is living a *fantasy* --

And Tim knows that Clark is living one of his own. He has so much time to come up with *new* ones --

Tim laughs to himself and licks his way to Bruce's jaw, to the bruise he'd left --

He *tongues* the bruise until Bruce starts thrusting into his fist, one *powerful* push after another --

Dick rubs Tim's shoulders. "Squeeze him, Tim, let me see --"

Tim does it *almost* as hard as he would squeeze Bart if he were feeling especially kind --

"*Hnh* -- Tim. Tim, please let me feel you --"

Tim bites the *bruise* --

And Bruce pushes his hand into Tim's hair again and *pulls* him into another kiss, a *harder* kiss --

Bruce has been *waiting*, and while his control is the best --

The *power* inherent to pushing men like this --

The *high* of it --

Tim bites Bruce's lip and growls, knowing it for something sad and *light* compared to what Bruce can do, but -- sometimes it's the thought that counts --

"Tell me what you *want*, Tim --"

"I'm -- mm. I'm in the process of making up my mind."

Dick sucks air through his teeth. "*Mean* little brother. He *has* been following orders all night --"

"It's good for him," Tim says, and squeezes again --

Braces himself with his thighs when Bruce starts to *buck* --

Yes.

Tim lets go --

"*Please*, Tim --"

"Shh, it's all right, Bruce," Tim says, and scratches at Bruce's penis with his fingernails --

Dick hums. "Selina only *threatens* to do that to people."

"That we know of," and Tim does it again --

And Bruce is just -- burning at him. Staring *hard* enough that a part of Tim honestly just wants to apologize, bend his head, *demur* --

Tim smiles again. "Did it occur to you that I might find you coming on my face to be *incredibly* disrespectful?"

Bruce winces. More to the point, he lets Tim *see* it -- or can't help but show it.

Tim nods once. "In the future... we'll negotiate --"

"Tim. *Anything* -- "

"Come in my mouth, Bruce. Let me *taste* you --"

"*Please* --"

Tim pushes back against Dick until he moves and then gets down on his knees and *smells* Bruce, losing himself to the scents, to the way his mouth is already watering, to the way the twinges in his jaw just feel like *warm-up* --

Tim guides Bruce into his mouth and sucks a hard promise to the head --

Bruce curls his fingers in against the arms of the chair and tenses hard enough --

Tim pulls back -- "Dick. Jerk me off again."

"Mind if I get Steph all over my hand again first?"

Steph's whimper is muffled but still *carrying* --

Starfire -- isn't here.

"Not in the slightest," Tim says, and goes down --

And down --

And *down* until his lips are being tickled and scratched by Bruce's hair --

The grey ones are more *wiry* than the others --

And Tim can't breathe, can't --

No, he can still think, but that *won't* last. It's *Bruce*, and how many times had Tim sucked his own fingers?

*That* toy?

How many times had he seen Bruce half-hard in the shower and had to repress the need to *shake* --

Tim sucks in pulses and swallows in a slow, inexorable rhythm, feeling his heart start to beat faster, feeling his *self* seem to thrum with the ability to perform this act at *last* --

Steph is whimpering again, crying out around Clark --

Clark is breathing like it's painful, like every inhale is the best and worst kind of torture at once --

Is Steph Spoiler to him at this moment? Another Robin? A beautiful teenaged girl whose scent and self he's appreciated for some undoubtedly frightening length of time?

Tim files the question away to ask later --

And Dick is pressed close behind him again, heat and muscle and *movement* --

Tim clenches helplessly, fighting back a shudder -- but he doesn't have to. There's no one here who can't know what he's thinking, what he's *feeling* --

Tim reaches back to clutch at Dick's hip, urging him closer --

"Thinking about squeezing me in, little brother? Because I don't think your ass can *take* it --"

Tim pulls again -- no. He reaches back with both hands to spread his cheeks, dragging his cleft against Dick's penis --

Dick moans and *thrusts* -- "Ooh, I got you. *Right* here where you're all sweaty and *hot* -- mm. I will -- all right, maybe I shouldn't promise to *always* get it up for you --"

Bruce pants -- "I have faith. In both of you -- *hnh* --"

That for Tim mouthing him, for the feel of teeth hidden behind flesh that gives --

Flesh that takes? Tim smiles and begins working his head, finding a breathing rhythm that makes him feel like he's swimming laps, like he's cutting through warmth and wetness to find heat and *slickness* --

Bruce's pre-come on his tongue is just --goading, yes, *maddening*, yes, but also perfect, *right*.

It's an *answer* to --

Not *every* old need, but --

More. Tim needs more. He reaches for Bruce's hands --

"I won't. I won't be able to keep from *holding* you --"

Tim nods slowly and *seriously* --

Bruce moans and cups his head, and his hands are hard without being rough, *promising* --

"My dangerous love. My *reluctant* son --"

Dick gasps a laugh and starts thrusting faster as he wraps his slick and *sticky* hand around Tim -- "I could be reluctant, boss --"

"*Please* -- please don't --"

"I mean -- heh. It could be a *thing*, Dad. I won't say it unless Tim *says* I can --"

Bruce groans and bucks, forcing Tim to lose his swallowing rhythm --

He takes it *back*, humming when Bruce slips out --

Letting it get cut off again and again --

"This *feeling* --" Bruce pants and pets Tim's head, strokes him and *grips* --

And then he's thrusting hard but *steadily*, obviously keeping a tight grip on what's *left* on his control --

"God, Dad, I --" Dick kisses Tim's forehead and starts thrusting in Bruce's rhythm, starts *stroking* in Bruce's rhythm --

Tim opens his eyes *just* to show Bruce the way he can't quite keep them from rolling up --

"*Tim* --"

"Yeah, Dad, he's got you, he's -- mm. How does it *feel*?"

"Warm. So -- I can feel -- there is some *swelling* --"

Dick groans -- stops. "Fuck, that's *dirty* -- don't stop talking --"

"What. What should I *say* --"

"How much you *love* this --"

Bruce grunts and grips Tim's *hair*, pulling -- he stops. "I never -- this was never supposed to be --"

"Yours, boss, Bruce -- *Dad*. We're *yours* --"

Tim *tries* to shake his head --

And Dick laughs. "You wouldn't be this *hard* if you *weren't*, little brother," and Dick starts *teasing* Tim's penis, lifting it on his fingertips, pushing down, *pinching* --

Tim's groans get choked *off* --

"Oh, *yeah*, Dad, just -- God, just *take* him --"

Tim feels himself blushing, feels --

And Tim gets lost for a *long* moment in one of his older fantasies. Dick waking him up from a sound sleep and ignoring all of his questions --

Dick taking him by the hand and leading him down the hall, and every step would feel momentous, every slight shift in flesh against flesh, flesh against fine cotton --

Dick *smiling* at him and promising a treat, a reward for all of Tim's hard work --

Dick tugging him into Bruce's bedroom, lit only by a lamp --

And Bruce would be smiling, matter-of-fact and shameless in his nudity --

"Oh, I think we're losing him, boss --"

"Never -- *please* --"

Bruce never *begged* in those fantasies, never --

Tim whimpers and there's no time for it to be *heard* before Bruce is thrusting in again --

Tim opens his eyes and --

And Bruce looks more hungry than he did before, looks *starved*, just as if this *isn't* doing enough for him --

Dick's stroke is *ruthlessly* perfect --

And this --

This is where he admits that a part of him will always be thirteen years old and lost in a huge bed, aroused and *hoping* for that hand in the dark --

That smile and that *promise* that he'd done well, that he was *wanted* --

And he knows Bruce can see it by the way his eyes widen with shock and need and a triumph that seems *helpless* --

"My *love*."

And every thrust is hard now, every --

There's no *rhythm* for Dick to follow, but he's somehow following it anyway, thrusting and stroking, panting against Tim's ear --

"Close, Tim. He -- *I'm* --"

Tim *tries* to nod, but Bruce is holding him still --

Bruce isn't *blinking* --

And Tim *also* has to admit that he doesn't want to miss a moment of this, either. This --

He's being taken, but he's also being *enjoyed*, held close by two of the most beautiful men in the world --

The *best* men in the world --

"God, little brother, you don't know what it means to *have* this --"

He *does*, he *knows* --

"You don't -- just. Whatever you do, don't even *look* like you want my dick back in you."

Difficult --

Bruce gasps a laugh -- "Dick," he says, and the fact that he manages to sound *scolding* --

"Oh, Dad, don't *start*, I -- *look* at him --"

"I can't -- I can't look away --"

Then don't, please --

God, *never* --

And this is a different rush, this --

He's sore and he's *aching*, but *this* --

"Tim," Bruce says, and his voice is low, rough, *full* -- "I love you."

Tim squeezes his eyes shut --

"*No*, Tim, *open*," Dick says, and *bites* Tim's ear --

Tim opens his eyes and can't focus, can't --

This is another kind of rush. This is a power he can't hold in his hands, or with any other part of him. *This* power floods right through him, holds him still --

Keeps him steady for *this* thrust, and this one, and this --

Bruce is petting Tim's face with shaking hands --

Dick has lost everything *resembling* a rhythm and is just -- just taking, *too* --

And it's frightening to let go -- *terrifying* -- but he knows he'll be able to catch himself again even if no one else is there to do it. He knows --

Bart will always come when he calls.

Steph will always be --

Tim lets go, slumping against Dick and letting every moan out to be choked away, letting himself shake and -- fucking *tremble* --

Bruce shouts --

Dick cries *out* --

And it *takes* a moment for Tim to realize that that thrust would be the last one, that Bruce --

Oh, buried deep and coming, *straining* against himself and shaking, *twitching* --

Dick moans and strokes Tim faster, *harder* -- "God, I've always -- I've always needed to *see* that --"

Tim nods because he has to -- and realizes that Bruce had loosened his grip. He --

Bruce *snaps* his hands into fists and pulls out halfway, spurting twice more --

Oh, right on Tim's *tongue* --

Tim hums and sucks *carefully*, hums more and licks, swallows --

To have the right to *do* this --

To be in *this* part of his mind, awed and shaken and loved, so *loved* --

Tim reaches up and wraps his hand around the base of Bruce's penis, holding him gently as he fucks himself a little more, as he *takes*.

Bruce's hands are still shaking as he pets Tim --

*Dick's* hands are --

God, one on his hip and one on his penis, and he's panting hot into Tim's ear, thrusting so *hard* --

Bruce cups the back of Tim's head. "You still desire me in your mouth?"

Tim nods and hums, blushes --

Bruce strokes his cheek. "I confess... I've had this fantasy less often than some of the others of you."

Tim raises an eyebrow and tries to keep thinking, keep --

God, Bruce's *taste* --

"Both of you... so beautiful. As I've said, I've wanted your *sounds* --"

Clark *shouts* --

Steph makes a *surprised* noise -- and hums.

And *keeps* humming --

Tim smiles because he *has* to --

And Bruce strokes Tim's mouth -- "You will always love her and desire her happiness," he says, sounding proud, sounding --

Tim blushes *again* --

"In this. In this you are better suited to love --" Bruce grunts --

And Tim realizes that he'd sucked *hard*. That --

Well --

Bruce hums. "You'll allow me no room to backtrack?"

"Neither. Neither will *I*," Dick says, growling and moving his hand off Tim's hip to grip Bruce's, instead --

Bruce closes his eyes and sighs --

And Tim's penis twitches once --

And *keeps* twitching. Just -- Bruce is *happy*, Bruce is -- in some ways -- at *rest* --

In part because of what *Tim* had done --

Tim groans --

"Oh, little *brother* -- I'm not *like* Bruce. I want your sounds muffled by *someone's* dick all the *time* --"

Tim chokes on a laugh --

"Yes, be *happy*, I -- oh. Oh, Tim, I've always wanted -- I've always *needed* you --"

"You have him in this moment, Dick --"

"All the time, Dad, all the -- God, *give* him to me --"

And Bruce pulls out and drops into a crouch, *pushing* Tim against Dick's body and resting Tim's head on Dick's shoulder --

Tim clutches Bruce's forearms and just --

"My sons. It's all right --"

"My *God*, I shouldn't be *doing* myself to this --"

"Oh, I wholeheartedly agree," Clark says --

And then proceeds to do something that makes Steph grunt and *keen* --

Steph --

Dick --

*Bruce*, because Bruce is stroking Tim's throat slowly and purposefully, Bruce is searching Tim's *eyes* -- "Dick," he says, without looking *away* --

"Hnh -- hnh -- oh -- Bruce, I've got him so *slick*. It feels like -- God, I wanna shove in so *badly* --"

Right now, Tim would *let* him --

"We must wait for that, Dick. We must... please. Allow me to fellate him."

Dick moans and *keeps* stroking Tim for a moment --

Another --

He stops -- "Ah, God, *Dad* --"

"Yes --"

"*Please*, do it -- do it before I --"

And Bruce shifts his body to the side and *drops*, taking Tim in --

Tim cries out and *bangs* his head against Dick's shoulder --

"Oh, I *know* how good that is, little brother, how -- how good *you* are --"

Tim nods helplessly and cups Bruce's head, *holds* him and tries --

"Be *loud*, Tim," and Dick shifts just enough that the head of his penis drags against Tim's hole again and again --

He can feel how swollen he is, how *hurt* --

"Want you -- *want* you --"

Tim grunts and opens his mouth to say -- "*Please* --"

"Oh -- fuck, and Roy *never* lets me beg enough -- you can beg all you *want* --"

"Please -- please don't stop --"

Bruce *hums* --

Dick *shouts* --

And every Tim he is only wants more of this, every *Robin* he is knows that this is his, that it will always *be* his -- so long as he is himself --

That he'll *fight* if anyone tries to take it away --

So --

He'll fight with all --

All of himself --

Bruce sucks *hard* --

And Tim is bucking before the feeling hits as more than just perfect *pressure* --

Just -- he has *warning* --

But the warning doesn't matter because he's shouting and *clawing* at Bruce's head, shoving himself back against Dick over and over --

"Oh, God -- oh, God, little *brother* -- *hnh* --"

And the splash of Dick's come against his hole makes Tim shout *again*. So --

God, so dirty and *right* --

So --

Pure?

And *no* fantasy had ever prepared him for what it would feel like to laugh his way through the end of an orgasm with *these* men, these --

So beautiful --

Bruce pulls off and kisses him, lets Tim's come spill right back into his mouth --

Down Tim's *chin* --

No, he licks that away --

Dick bites Tim's *shoulder* --

And he and Dick shudder together while Bruce wraps his arms around both of them and holds *on*.

God, this --

Tim pants until the laugh becomes something rather more than breathless, and -- "I -- it probably says something about me that I'm thinking -- deeply -- about getting some space --"

Dick growls against Tim's shoulder and bites *again* -- "Little brother, I love you *madly*, but I know where Bruce *keeps* his escape-proof restraints. *Cuddle*, damn you."

Bruce hums and kisses Tim's cheek -- right where he'd come on it. "Be easy, Dick. It's entirely possible that Tim simply craves the thrill of the chase."

"Mm -- oh --" Steph *barks* laughter. "Oh, yeah, I -- that's how *I* got him -- oh, *Clark*, that -- vibrate -- oh, Jesus, Jesus, *Jesus* --"

"Do you enjoy Christian mythology very much, Stephanie?"

Steph --

Tim hadn't realized it was *possible* to gurgle in a vibrato --

Dick snickers. "Okay, I need to see that --"

"I could describe the tableau if you'd like," Bruce says, and the smile in his voice --

Well. He *had* promised to be perverse --

"Ohh. It's *always* dirtier when you -- God, *talk* --"

"Stephanie's upper body is sprawled against the couch. Her breasts rest full and soft on her chest, and her nipples are... mm. Quite rosy. Seemingly fully erect --"

"If -- God, Spooky, if they get any harder than this, they'll fall -- fall *off* -- oh, *Clark* --"

"Noted, Stephanie. Clark has lifted her left leg -- she is holding it en pointe -- while her right leg is bent at the knee with her foot planted on the floor. Clark has his other hand pressed to her vulva --"

Steph snickers --

Steph *croons* --

Bruce hums --

"God, Dad, *more* --"

"He appears to have penetrated her vagina with his index and middle finger. The periodic blur of his thumb on her clitoris is... telling."

The croon *becomes* vibrato --

*Dick* snickers. "Okay, Clark, you *can't* ruin her for human men, yet. That's just -- really no fair."

Clark hums. "It's only that she's always seemed to *enjoy* vibration here --"

"Oh -- Oh, God, you *perv* -- uh -- *uhh* --"

"Stephanie," Bruce says, and holds them both more tightly, "has begun to bang her head against the arm of the couch. Hm." Bruce turns to Tim --

"Yes, Bruce?"

"You purchased those toys with her."

"Yes."

"You... have never watched?"

Tim licks his lips -- and thinks about it. About what it would be like to lie side by side on Steph's bed while they *took* themselves --

Her sounds would be --

Her *scents* would be --

Tim *twitches* --

Bruce smiles --

And Tim pitches his voice to carry when he says, "I want to. I want to *watch*."

"Oh, fuck, *Tim*," Steph says -- and then her shouts gain that throaty quality, that *fullness* --

Tim closes his eyes and gives himself leave to just listen, just -- take this --

And it only feels like more of the *good* thing when Bruce and Dick start kissing him softly.

He can live with being denied escape for a little while longer.

And --

In the end, it only takes about twenty minutes for him and Steph to clear everyone else out.

It takes somewhat longer than that for Tim to find his pants -- at some point, someone (*Dick*) had hidden them in the coat closet -- and, by then, Steph has settled in to eating cold pizza on the couch and generally looking somewhat stoned.

Her hair is pulled back in a severe ponytail, her sports bra is slightly crooked --

Tim straightens it gently --

-- and her sweatpants are riding low on her hips. Her ample, curving --

Tim shakes himself like a dog --

Steph makes an interrogative sound around her mouthful, and really --

Tim smiles ruefully. "I seem to be... ah... appreciating you with a rather less *pure* aesthetic than what has become my usual."

Steph narrows her eyes at him --

Steph smacks the back of Tim's head. Hard.

"Um. Ow? I'm sorry?"

Steph attempts to chew and snicker at the same time, covering her mouth while she does it.

Tim waits, and sits beside her, grateful for the five minutes he'd taken in Steph's bathroom with several of Bruce's wipes. Very, very grateful --

"So -- what you're saying is that seeing --"

"And hearing."

"That seeing and hearing me getting busy with two random guys --"

"Hardly *random*, Steph --"

Steph jabs him in the chest.

Tim turns her hand to show her how to maximize the effectiveness of the strike --

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Steph --"

"I'm just wondering if you'd be humping my *leg* if I'd made it with Bruce, *too*."

Tim --

The images --

And Steph's thighs are *more* than powerful enough for her to *ride* him --

Steph snickers more. "Oh, boyfriend. You shouldn't worry -- you're still the gayest vigilante in the *universe*."

Tim frowns. "Steph --"

"Seriously. Because what you're getting *off* on are the hottest *men* in the world fucking me."

"But you're still *in* the fantasies, Steph. I mean -- it's not like I could have them about some... some random *civilian*."

Steph raises her eyebrows at him --

Bites her *lip* --

And ruffles his hair. "You're cute."

"I -- thank you."

"You're also... *Dick* told me that you tried to put up a fight. On the plane, I mean."

Tim opens his mouth to mention the subject change --

Steph's expression turns *pleading* --

Right. Tim smiles wryly. "You may have noticed how... ah... clingy Dick can become."

The pleading look gets replaced with a *dreamy* one -- "He's got some pretty sweet ways *to* cling, boyfriend."

He had kissed Steph goodbye --

He had kissed Steph most of the way across the *room* --

"So I take it you're enjoying being a 'little sister?'"

Steph blushes and bites her lip again. "Uh. Yeah? Is it -- I mean. He really means it. Doesn't he."

"Yes."

"Even though he barely even --" Steph shakes *herself*. "Wow. I guess. I guess you kinda *have* to toss patience out the window in this lifestyle."

"I -- I really want to *protest* that --"

Steph throws an arm over Tim's shoulder and squeezes. "But you *can't*, because you know you were wrong to live the way you *were* living. Right?"

Tim smiles ruefully. "Right," and he pushes a little closer to Steph.

"You really came here to get some comforting for your crazy life, hunh?"

"Ah -- yes."

"And that... kinda got thrown out the window. In favor of both of us coming a lot."

"Yes."

Steph's shoulders hitch -- "Um."

"Steph, are you about to laugh at me?"

"Uh." Hitch, hitch --

"Hm. You're not a very nice person."

"Nicer than *you*, boyfriend. After all, I didn't *have* to let your brother stick his face in my pussy."

Tim -- licks his lips --

"Gah! Stop that!"

"Sorry --"

"I -- um. Yeah. Need a little time for *that*, boyfriend. Uh. Wait. Except that I basically just said that I'm more ready to screw *Nightwing* and *Superman* than I am to screw my boyfriend of *years* --"

"It's all right --"

"Really *not*. I love *you* --"

"And I've been singularly *unavailable*," Tim says, and turns to face her more fully. "It -- I'm asking you to make one hell of a paradigm shift, Steph. And it makes perfect sense that you wouldn't be able to do it --"

"I *want* to have sex with you, you *ass*. Whatever -- God, I've thought about just -- uh. You know. Masturbating together."

"So have I."

"I -- *when* --"

"Ah. When I said that I wanted to watch... I was thinking about that. Bruce... Bruce knows me better than I know myself, sometimes."

Steph sighs and takes his hands in her own. "But you're okay, right? I mean, I *know* you didn't plan to do *Bruce* twice."

"I had... a number of fantasies --"

"I *know* that. Still. *Are* you okay?"

"I..."

"Yeah?"

"Steph, I..."

"Let it *out*, boyfriend!"

Tim laughs aloud. Just -- a little. And then he rests his head on Steph's shoulder and wraps his arms around her waist. "I love you."

"I loved you before we ever met, boyfriend. And -- I'll always love you."

Tim nuzzles her shoulder, her throat --

Steph shivers. "I'm afraid -- I'm mainly afraid that I'll want more than you can give me --"

"I always -- I've always wanted to give you everything --"

"Yeah, but 'want' and 'can' are two different things --"

"Maybe -- maybe I just needed... you were so beautiful."

Steph hugs him close. "And you didn't even *see* most of it. Which -- it's not like I *want* to shove my pussy in your face --"

"Steph --"

"Okay, okay, I really, *really* do, but -- there are a lot of things I want more than that. And *one* of them is just -- this. To continue being able to *have* this, where we *both* feel comfortable and okay. You know?"

Tim nods and kisses her throat. "You'll always -- I'll always run to you."

Steph sighs and pets Tim's hair. "And I'll always be here to catch you. Just, you know. Maybe my *pussy* won't be here to do it."

"Hn."

"God, I used to be afraid that you got that pathetic little un-laugh *from* Bruce."

"His is more of a --"

"'Hmm,' yeah, I know. Still." She smacks the back of his head. "You're allowed to laugh like a real boy. *I* don't need you to be Batman II, or whatever the hell you were giving Bruce and Clark."

That -- "I... Steph, how *long* have you known that Bruce was Batman?"

"*Duh*. Like I *wouldn't* notice that huge house *over* the Cave? Or maybe I would think you were just hanging out with some *other* six-four, giant, deep-voiced gazillionaire while you were training?"

"Hm."

"*Stop* that --"

"Sorry -- ah. Sorry. But..."

"What?"

"Bruce almost certainly -- well, no. I *saw* him plant three bugs while he was here --"

"*Gah* --"

"... yes. And there are probably at least four more *just* down here, knowing his habits... ah. Anyway. He's almost certainly going to get a truly impressive erection when he goes over this footage. And then he's going to panic about security. And then... oh, yes, I think he'll masturbate *while* panicking --"

"He could always just have more sex with *Dick*. While Dick calls him Dad and *means* it --"

Tim hums and kisses Steph's throat again. "Yes. When I heard him say that the first time... well, it was my first serious attempt to escape the jet."

Steph snickers more and rocks Tim a little. "You people are all *giant* freaks."

"Well -- yes. Pretty much."

"I -- you really want me to. Um."

"Yes --"

"I mean, they wouldn't have given away the store if -- "

"No."

"God, the Birds didn't *want* me, Tim!" And Steph pushes back to stare at him, to search him --

Tim smiles and strokes Steph's face. "And Bruce made a point of *telling* me that he'd had no part in that decision. At the time, I'll admit, I thought he was only doing his best to make me stop being angry with him over everything that went wrong between us when he was a fugitive --"

"And that was fucked-up beyond *belief*. I --" Steph bites her lip -- stops. "I was tempted to just... I was worried about him, and I thought maybe..."

"That you could help him?"

"I wanted *you* to help him, boyfriend -- but yeah, that, too."

Tim smiles again. "You were thinking more like Robin than I was at the time. And that, ultimately, doesn't surprise me in the least," Tim says, and takes her hand again.

Steph blinks at him --

Tim waits --

Steph opens her mouth --

Tim waits --

Steph leans in and *bites* Tim's jaw --

"Ah -- ow --"

"If you can't take it, don't dish it out to your *father* --"

"He's not -- *gah* --"

Steph snickers again and grins *obnoxiously*. "He so is. Just like Bart is your *son*."

"Well -- ah. Hm."

"Yeah. One thing, loverboy -- I'm not your sister, your mother, your cousin, your daughter, or anything else. One day I'm gonna be your *partner*, and I'm always gonna be your *girlfriend*, and if you play your cards so right that you technically become a card-playing *god* -- I'll be your wife --"

"Oh -- Steph --"

"But we can leave the freaky incest to *other* people, yes?"

"Yes --"

Steph *yanks* Tim into a better hug --

And off the couch onto the floor.

Tim tries to carefully move from on *top* of her --

"No, you -- stay right there."

"Steph... are you sure?"

Steph smiles up at him ruefully. "I kinda have to get used to this view, I think."

"Ah -- ah -- Connor."

"Who?"

"Green Arrow II. He -- ah. He gave me this really *beautiful* speech about how what the two of us have together is special and deep and -- all of those other wonderful things --"

"Well, *yeah* --"

"He was... he was trying to make me feel better about *not* being with you sexually --"

"Boyfriend, your eyebrows aren't gonna be nearly that sexy when I wash them down my bathroom sink."

"Ah -- noted. It's just -- he was making a case for... abstinence --"

"And you're freaking out."

"Yes."

"Which *way* are you freaking out, boyfriend?"

Tim braces himself on one hand, cups Steph's face with the other, and strokes her mouth with his thumb.

Her swollen mouth --

"Dick jerked me off with the hand he had in your vagina."

"Uh --"

"Bruce then *sucked* me off --"

"Holy --"

"And then he kissed me. I guess. I guess what I'm saying is that I already know what the two of us taste like *together*."

Steph's jaw drops.

Tim waits --

"I could *kill* you for brushing your teeth!"

"Noted. May we please make out now?"

Steph growls and pulls him in for a kiss --

Tim technically has to be home in an hour and a half --

He has *patrol* --

Tim focuses on rolling around on the floor with Steph. It seems, at this moment, to be the better part of valor.

*

Roy is on high alert. He's *been* on high alert since Clark had flown them back here before -- probably -- going off to make sure Dick and Bruce didn't fuck up with Tim too badly --

And he'd sure as fuck caught *that* vibe from Dick and Bruce, which is --

Well, he's not *sure* how he feels about it, other than being happy for Dick and terrified of Bruce fucking *that* up --

He doesn't have *time* to worry about that, yet --

And it's not like Dick won't *still* want to rip into him for screwing his little brother --

"Roy."

Connor, and he's using the voice which could probably mellow out a damned *suicide* bomber, so --

Yeah.

"I'm fine," Roy says, and picks up his mug of coffee and *sips* it just to prove it. He even makes eye contact with Connor over the rim. Briefly.

Connor makes that ridiculous mouth *twist* --

"Aw, God, bro, don't *do* that to me here --"

Connor stands up and crosses his arms over his chest, forearms flexing in their braces just a *little* --

Roy is *maybe* staring --

" -- help?"

"Uh? What?"

Connor laughs softly and pinches the bridge of his nose. "You're actually trying to *distract* yourself with sex, aren't you?"

"Uh... is it a problem?"

"Oh... brother," and Connor moves close, cupping Roy's shoulders --

His hips just seem to *call* for Roy's hands --

"I love you."

Roy grins. "That's all I need --"

"I think *not*. But -- you should at least *consider* telling me why you're so tense."

"I -- can do that. Right. Yeah. Um. Heh. You gotta forgive me, bro. I'm used to only being able to do that with a select *few* people --"

"And now I'm one of them," Connor says, squeezing Roy's shoulders. "Right?"

"God, yes, *always*. I mean -- the only reason why you weren't before --"

"Is that I couldn't quite cope with your *sexual* feelings for me. And... I believe what you're telling me is that sex is *always* a part of the problem?"

"*And* the solution, bro."

Connor's smile is slow, wide, *wet* -- "Yes, I believe I understand that now."

"Oh, good, because otherwise I'd *know* I hadn't done my *job* --"

"Roy. Is it that you're worried about Dick and Tim?"

No. Yes -- "That's... part of it. I don't know if you noticed --"

"But Dick was close to setting the world on fire with his heretofore unknown heat vision while *Tim* was close to an attempt to take every last person on that roof down as hard and fast as possible. Yes?"

"And *Bruce* -- uh. Bruce is totally screwing Dick now. Like -- it *had* to have started real damned recently --"

"You... how could you *tell*?"

"Because he was touching Dick like he *owned* him, and he *never* did that before. Not even in the days when no one was allowed to even *think* bad things about Bruce in Dick's general vicinity without Dick going nuclear."

"I... hm." Connor's gaze goes distantly thoughtful. "It was just a hand on Dick's shoulder, Roy..."

"When *Tim* saw it? He stepped back. And... it was the way he touched him. The... maybe how casual he was about it? No. How *sure* he was about it. Because Bruce and Dick haven't actually *touched* each other in public since Dick was Robin. They -- there were some seriously *explosive* eggshells under their boots."

Connor nods. "And you're worried about them."

"Dick still wants Tim. *That* much was clear by how pissed he was at *us*. And Bruce -- God, I think *Clark* is the only one who knows how Bruce'll jump at any given time, and *he* doesn't know all the time."

"Ah... how did *Dick* know --"

"Connor. They have cameras *everywhere*. I wouldn't be surprised if they had cameras in my damned coffee mug. Plus? That's how they roll."

Another nod. "All right. You don't think they'll be able to... ah... work it out?"

Roy smiles ruefully. "I *think* -- and I hope to God I'm wrong -- that they'll have a really *disturbing* conversation and then pretend everything is fine before going out to beat the hell out of every criminal they can find. And then Dick will be a little crazier and more hurt, and Bruce will bottle himself up so tight that *no* one can reach him, and Tim... well, fuck only knows with Tim. He might just make Bart patrol in a gimp suit."

Connor snorts. "I -- ah. I find I greatly miss the days when I wouldn't have known what that *was*, Roy."

Roy lets his smile get a little better, because -- Connor. "Aw, c'mon, there's an *up* side, too."

"Mm, so there is. What *else* is bothering you -- no. I know. You're worried about our father's --"

"*Your* father --"

"About *Ollie's* reaction to us. Yes?"

Roy closes his eyes behind the mask --

And Connor flips his lenses up. Right.

"Yeah, I'm terrified. He *loves* you --"

"He loves *you*, *too*, Roy --"

"I have *never* been his son, bro. Just -- there were times I would've wanted --" That. More than that. Different *from* that --

"Roy...?"

"I... uh. Heh."

Connor cups his face. "It's more, isn't it. There's something... something you don't *want* to tell me?"

Roy feels his smile start to curdle a little. "It's not about wanting to hide something from you, bro."

"Then... I don't think I understand," Connor says, and cups Roy's face. "Please, you can tell me anything. I *want* you to tell me *everything*."

"You don't."

"*Roy* --"

"I -- okay. Okay. How's this -- I'll make you a deal."

Connor frowns and searches him -- "I want you to *tell* me, even -- even if you think it will hurt me. That... that's what I've always wanted family to mean."

God, and just -- Roy pulls Connor close and hugs him, hugs him as hard as he can --

"Oh, Roy, yes --"

"Sometimes I forget that I wasn't the only asshole who grew up lonely -- yeah."

"I -- lonely? But you had --"

"A *deal*, I said," and Roy pulls back enough that he can meet Connor's eyes. "I'll tell you. But it has to *not* be here. It has to be someplace we can be alone, and it has to be someplace *you* can leave easily if and when you need to. All right?"

Connor frowns, obviously *confused* -- "I... all right, Roy. So long as you promise to tell me."

Roy strokes Connor's arms, squeezes his shoulders -- no. He cups Connor's smooth cheeks -- "Anything and everything, bro. No secrets."

Connor turns and kisses Roy's palms, one and then the other. "This secret is hurting you, Roy --"

"Aw, no, I'm *fine* --"

"I won't push you now," Connor says, and makes a point of *holding* Roy's gaze. "It has to be soon."

Roy licks his lips and fights back the fear, the need -- "I love you."

Connor smiles. "I love you, too. And there is nothing you can tell me about yourself that would make me --"

"Don't --"

"-- love you *less*. Roy --"

"Don't make *promises* like --"

Connor kisses him, and that's *always* been an excellent way to shut him up, but --

But *Connor* thinks he's wasted time --

Roy kisses Connor back, moving his hands back to Connor's hips --

Connor cups *his* face, stroking the stubble that always only needs a few *hours* before it's back with a vengeance --

Enjoying him.

Please, let Connor always *enjoy* him --

Connor moans and pushes closer, and all their armor is in the *way* --

The armor makes them brothers as much as anything else, though, so Roy can't help but be grateful for it, for *all* of this --

Connor pulls back *just* a little -- "Roy, I want to make love with you absolutely everywhere possible."

Roy's cock *twitches* -- "Yeah, that's -- I could go for that --"

Connor fucking -- he *beams* at Roy like Roy had done a *trick* instead of agreeing to listen to his other *brain* --

"God, Connor, kiss me --" Again, but apparently Connor wanted him to say that *directly* into his mouth, pressed against those soft lips, *perfect* lips --

Roy grips Connor's hips *tight*, rocks them together a little --

"Roy...."

Gotta just --

Roy *licks* Connor's mouth, inside and out, kisses all over those broad lips while Connor tries to catch him with his tongue --

Roy *sucks* Connor's tongue --

Connor bucks and starts scratching Roy's scalp with one hand while he plays with Roy's collar with the other. And it's just a *little* playing -- the kind of light touches someone *somewhere* could maybe ignore --

Roy can't. He gets his hands on Connor's ass and spreads him through his clothes --

Connor grunts and *bites* Roy's lip --

"Fuck, *yeah*, bro, I --"

Breaking glass. Breaking --

Roy looks up and over Connor's shoulder --

And that really is Ollie staring at them *just* like this is one of the things he'd never expected to see in his kitchen. Fuck, fuck, *fuck* --

Connor bites his lip *pointedly* --

"Uh -- bro. Company --"

"What? *Oh*," and Connor pulls back --

Connor darts in and bites Roy's lip *again* --

Ollie is still *staring* --

"*Relax*, Roy --"

"Uh. Working. Working on it. Connor --"

Connor pulls back *and* wraps one arm around Roy's shoulders. And turns the beam on Ollie. "Dad! Welcome back!"

Ollie --

Well, his jaw is working.

The vein in his forehead isn't throbbing yet, but he looks like he's chewing about twelve pieces of the hardest, most unpleasant gum ever made. Just --

"Uh. Hi... Ollie. I meant to -- um."

Connor *squeezes* Roy's shoulders. "We meant to tell you as opposed to just throwing it in your face --"

"It. I." Ollie shakes himself like a dog -- "You meant to -- the two of you --" Ollie frowns at the floor and generally looks like a man who had profoundly lost the ability to make sentences.

"Dad? Are you all right?"

Ollie shivers and looks up again. He looks at Roy's mouth. He looks at Connor's mouth. He looks at Roy's mouth *again* --

"I -- hm. I imagine that you're quite surprised, Dad, but I'd really like for you to start being happy for us *soon*."

Ollie blinks. Multiple -- he blinks a lot. He looks into Roy's eyes. He looks into Connor's --

"*Dad* --"

"Yes! Yes, I'm listening... ah... son. And Roy. You -- I'm listening," Ollie says, and he *starts* to scratch at his beard --

Well, he's really -- he's kind of --

"Dad, are you trying to pull out your *beard*?"

"What? Ah -- no. No, I am not," and Ollie brings his hands back to his sides --

He crosses them over his chest --

He grips his own biceps --

"Dad, really --"

"Son. Roy. Boys -- men. Ah. Hm." Ollie kind of *beetles* his brows --

The last time Roy had seen him do that, he'd just consumed most of a fifth of bourbon and was explaining -- sort of -- the importance of the welfare state in a civilized society to a Hal who'd been snoring *impressively*.

Right now...

Yeah, he's gotta feel stoned in the bad way at this point -- "Uh. Ollie. It's... okay?"

Ollie bites his lip -- stops. "Okay."

"Yeah. Yes. We --" Crap crap fuck crap. "We love each other," Roy says, and makes the stand-down gesture --

Ollie waves it away, turns around, and starts to walk out --

"*Dad* --"

"Just -- a moment. Please," Ollie says, and continues out of the kitchen.

Connor frowns in *consternation* --

And Roy takes a moment to beat at his forehead with the heel of his hand. Just --

"Roy, stop that."

"Just a few more, Connor, I kinda need it --"

"*Roy*."

Command voice. Well -- crap. Roy blinks and stands up straight.

Connor frowns at him.

Connor *prods* at him --

Connor *jabs* at him --

"Connor --"

"Roy, *cope*!"

"I *am* --"

Crashing sounds.

Stomping sounds.

Stomping sounds *followed* by crashing sounds --

"Oh, for goodness' sake," Connor says, and starts walking toward the chaos Ollie is causing in the living room --

Roy catches him by the shoulder --

"Roy, let me go *talk* to him. Let's *both* go talk to him --"

"You -- you've never seen him do this, have you?"

"He's overreacting *ridiculously*. *Insultingly* --"

"No, brother. What he's *doing* is freaking right the fuck out so he *can* come back and talk to us like a human being."

"But --"

"Trust me," Roy says, and squeezes Connor's shoulder. "This used to happen all the time when Hal was around. And -- yeah. He'll make a mess, he'll apologize, he'll deal, he'll clean up the mess, and then -- uh." Roy smiles ruefully. "Let's just say that I'm feeling *more* confident about how all this will go now."

Consternation again -- and Connor sighs. "If he ruins my fern sprouts, I'm going to be very upset."

"Nah, nah, he's only breaking his own stuff. And -- ferns?"

"I *like* ferns!"

Roy raises his hands. "There's nothing wrong with ferns! I just -- uh. Are *you* okay?"

"My *father* is throwing a *tantrum* about my *sex* life!"

Roy listens -- the crashing sounds have stopped. "Uh... not anymore?"

"I --"

Ollie comes back in and glares at both of them. At the world, really -- "Roy."

"Yeah, Ollie?"

"You've been trying to get into Connor's pants --"

"Pretty much since the first time we met, yeah."

Ollie chews his mustache and nods before turning to Connor. "And you -- you're happy?"

"*Yes*, Dad --"

"You're *both* happy?"

"Yeah --"

"*Yes* --"

Ollie blows out a breath. "I'm sorry I --" Ollie *harrumphs* -- "Yes, well. If you're both happy, then I'm happy," he says, and keeps *glaring* --

"Dad, I've *seen* you happy. You *do not look happy* --"

Ollie holds up a hand. "Connor. I -- hm. I suppose I should tell the Halliwell twins that you're not interested?"

Connor blinks. "The -- *who*?"

"Aw, man. Jeri and Kerry?"

Ollie's smile is broad and the same kind of *perversely* distant -- yeah, he'd hit that, too -- "They do everything together, Connor --"

"Oh my *God*, *Dad* --"

"And you really shouldn't -- wait." Ollie turns to Roy. "Roy, *are* you giving up your forty-eight other friends-with-bennies?"

Not quite *that* many -- "Uh -- "

"Hmph. Didn't think so," Ollie says, and *pats* Roy's shoulder before turning back to Connor. "You're young, son. You've got a lot of oats to sow --"

"*Dad* --"

"I'm being *serious*, Connor --"

Roy clears his throat. "He's sowing. He's -- uh. Made a good start, actually."

Ollie blinks --

Ollie *beams* --

Ollie *claps* Connor's other shoulder. "So who else is it? You were down at that Tower all weekend -- oh, hey, did you and Roy get to spend a little time with Starfire together?"

Connor looks --

Well, he looks a little stricken, to be honest. Roy squeezes his shoulder --

Connor closes his eyes and takes a deep, cleansing breath --

Ollie frowns. "You can tell me, son. We're all family here."

"I -- ah. Robin. Actually --"

"Robin."

"Yes --"

"*Robin* --"

"Dad, don't --"

"Excuse me," Ollie says, and walks out of the kitchen again.

"Oh, come *on*, Dad --"

Roy squeezes Connor's shoulder again. "This won't take long. You might wind up *wishing* it took longer, but --"

"He's been my friend for *years*, Roy! I met him before I met *you*."

"I know, bro, I know. Hell, why do you think I was so jealous?"

Connor sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "He's not going to be happy about me moving closer to both of you."

"I -- probably not, no."

"And you -- *do* you have any advice for that?"

"Mention that you'll be staying with *me*, since Tim still lives with his parents."

Connor winces. "I -- all right, now I feel like a pedophile."

Roy coughs --

A sound not unlike 'rarrrrrgh' comes from the living room --

"So -- does he still have those pictures of Bruce up on the archery butts?"

Connor pinches *harder* -- "Yes. Yes, he does."

"Don't mention that you're hot for him. Just -- leave that completely out of the conversation."

"I -- how did *you* know --"

"He's *Bruce*. *Everyone* either wants him, hates him, or some fucked-up combination of both."

Connor's laugh is breathless and quiet. "Ah... noted. I believe I would like a hug."

Roy's heart trips on itself just a little -- "I just happen to have one of those handy, bro."

Connor smiles at him --

And Roy pulls him into his arms, holding on tight and kissing Connor's cheek once --

Maybe a few times --

Connor laughs softly and turns it into a much better kiss, long and slow and more comforting than anything involving a mouth like that *should* be --

But it's Connor. Heh. Roy smiles into the kiss and turns them around a few times --

Ollie, standing in the doorway with a quirked look on his face. Something between a smile and what he looks like whenever Mia tries to cook something more involved than grilled cheese -- "Don't mind me --"

"All right," Connor says, and kisses Roy again, hard and *serious* --

Connor knows how to state a *case* --

And when he pulls back, he licks those lips in a *promise* before turning to face Ollie and putting his arm back around Roy's shoulders. "Are you done destroying the house, yet?"

Ollie sighs and crosses his arms over his chest -- and smiles ruefully. "It's different with Roy and Dick, son. Dick has always been *human* --"

"So is *Tim* --"

"By what *definition*? Back me up here, Roy."

"Uh. Well, he's great in the sack."

Ollie coughs -- and then looks thoughtful. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, pretty much. He *is* a spook, but he's... uh. He's got his own thing. He's not just a clone of Bruce."

"He *seemed* like --"

"Yeah, I know," Roy says, and raises a hand. "And he can be a stone cold *bitch* if you rub him the wrong way --"

"*Roy* --"

"*Trust* me on this one, bro. I *did* rub him the wrong way --"

Ollie frowns. "Did he try anything with you, Roy?"

*Protective* Ollie... is a little like huffing something and then trying to operate an Arrowcar. But he can deal. "Nothing big. He's just really... uh... *serious* about keeping business relationships separate from *other* relationships. He doesn't open up without a damned good reason."

Ollie chews on his mustache a little again -- "But he's good with Connor? Treats him right?"

Roy opens his mouth --

"*Yes*, Dad, he treats *me* *well*," Connor says, and glares.

Ollie makes a pushing gesture. "Okay, okay, just checking. You can be pretty damned *forgiving*, son. Maybe *too* forgiving."

Connor sighs, lifts his hand to his face -- doesn't pinch the bridge of his nose again. "He's been a wonderful friend and a generous lover. He *helped* me understand what I was feeling for Roy," and Connor turns to smile at him, "and also to understand what Roy had been trying to say to me."

Uh-oh --

Ollie is chewing his mustache again --

Ollie's *cheek* is twitching --

Roy tenses just a *little*. He *likes* the furniture Ollie has now --

Connor frowns and turns back to Ollie. "Oh... Dad. It's *okay*. I'm not -- *we're* not about to put on dark and scary uniforms and run around terrorizing the people we save."

Ollie twitches a little more -- and sighs. "They have *issues*, son. Just -- all of them --"

"Yes, and so do *we*. Huge, impressive, violent, addictive, sex-addled, living-room-destroying --"

"I -- I left your ferns alone, son --"

"-- *issues*. And thank you."

"You're welcome," Ollie says, and right now his expression makes that sound like a *threat* --

But Connor relaxes almost as soon as he tenses, which means that he's learning just as fast as he ought to.

Or that he *doesn't* like the living room furniture. It's a tough call --

And Ollie pushes a hand back through his hair and then scratches his beard back into shape in four neat, practiced movements that --

("And *that's* the way you keep those good, good smells with you *all* day, my boy.")

-- have a lot of memories attached to them. Like *that* one, and *Roy* remembers that the freshly eaten-out woman's name was Candace, but he's pretty sure that Ollie doesn't --

Because Ollie is Ollie, and Candace had been a civilian, and they'd never once taken their masks off -- no, Roy's not going to pretend to know what drives the decisions Ollie makes. He knows him well enough to know his moods, his rhythms, and to have a *fair* idea of how he'll jump when. That's good enough for him.

Right now, that *furrowed* brow means that he's trying his damnedest to come up with a way to make Connor see what *he* sees as reason --

"Don't worry, Ollie. I'll always look out for him."

Ollie blinks a couple of times -- and smiles at Roy with a warm pride that will pretty much always --

Yeah.

"All right, you do that," Ollie says, and turns back to Connor. "How *do* you plan to go about *seeing* the kid on a day to day basis?"

Connor -- blushes.

Neither he nor Ollie can *see* it, and Connor doesn't look *down*, but it's still obvious.

Ollie frowns. "Son...?"

"Ah... I'm thinking -- I'm going to move out east. At least for a while. To New York, I mean --"

"Was it something I said?"

"What? Oh, *no*, Dad --"

"Because -- you know we could always talk about... what you need, and how this house is run --"

"I know! And it's fine, really, everything is fine --"

"And I'd *never* bother your plants --"

"*Dad*. It's *fine*," Connor says, and makes a gesture that's probably meant to be soothing --

And Ollie looks at *him*. Searches him, really, and this --

There are times when Ollie *needs* him to translate, and then there are other times. Like when he needs Roy to say something isn't true, that he isn't hearing what he thinks he's hearing --

("Ah, Roy, you understand these kids better than I *ever* will.")

And --

("You're a damned good kid and you always have been, and if anyone says different they can try talking to my fist.")

*But* --

("How could you *do* this to yourself? Were you even thinking for a *minute*?")

Roy winces, and he wants Ollie to know that it's an *old* wince, that it has nothing to do with *anything*, but --

But that'll never actually be the *whole* truth, now will it?

Ollie nods slowly, and he looks -- God, he looks about a decade older than he did two minutes ago --

And Roy can tell Connor is seeing it -- Connor's doing his own wincing --

"Dad --"

Ollie holds up a hand, still as quick as anyone who lives this life *should* be -- he smiles ruefully. "I did *know* you wouldn't live with me forever, son."

"I -- I suspected it would be... longer."

Ollie's smile turns fond. "So did I. So did I. I -- hm. So am I hearing you say that you're gonna be an Outsider?"

Connor smiles. "They already have an archer *and* a martial artist. I... I'm thinking about being an independent agent in the city, or just... traveling around and getting a feel for my surroundings -- well. I'll be doing that, anyway."

Ollie nods. "There's no shame in taking your time at that. I've lived *around* here just about all my life and the city still finds ways to surprise me."

"I've always considered that to be a function of the lives we lead, Dad. I'm... prepared to be surprised early and often."

"You -- of course you are," Ollie says, and scrubs his hands against his jeans. "You're planning to head out right away, aren't you."

Connor glances at him with a question, a *request* -- right, Roy doesn't have to be a *completely* useless lump.

"I -- uh. Mainly we were going to have Clark fly us out later tonight with a few essentials. Connor still has arrangements to make --"

"I'll take care of all of that," Ollie says, moving close and cupping Connor's shoulders --

"Dad --"

"Let me. Take care of that. Please."

Connor laughs. "Dad, when you say please like that I always wonder how you manage to talk *anyone* into bed."

Ollie coughs and steps back, scratching idly at his beard and cocking his head to one side. "You wanna field that, Roy?"

Well... heh. Roy crosses his arms over his chest. "Sometimes? Talking is the *last* thing that'll get someone in the sack with you."

"Exactly. A woman is like a man with a conscience, son. It may be weak, it may be strong, it may be downright crazy -- but it's there. Your job is to *bypass* that thing entirely --"

"And sometimes," Roy says, and deliberately pulls himself into Ollie's best loom --

Ollie snorts --

Connor looks horrified at *both* of them --

"Sometimes, my boy, the best way to short circuit a fine young *person's* better angels is to be *good* and intimidating," and Roy tries beetling his brows a little.

"I don't want to *terrify* anyone into sleeping with me --"

"Oh, no, son, no, you never do that with someone you actually want to spend the *whole* night with," Ollie says, and *pats* Connor's shoulders.

Heh. Roy pulls on his best Ollie *glower* --

Ollie snorts *again* --

"That would be *wrong*, Connor. Rude, even."

"You never... never want to be rude to a *lady*," Ollie says, and his eyes are *twinkling* --

Connor glares at both of them. "You could both at least consider giving me *good* advice."

"No supervillains, son."

Roy coughs into his hand in a way that *might* sound like a certain woman's name --

Ollie claps Roy on the back *hard* --

"Heh."

"No *supervillains*," Ollie says again, stepping back to wag a finger at Connor. "No matter how good they look or how good the drugs they have you on are."

"I'll certainly do my best to avoid that," Connor says, and gets that look where he's obviously thinking about braining both of them --

"Heh. I'll miss that look, son," and then Ollie looks at both of them thoughtfully. "You ever think about just *driving* out east? Taking a little time with it?"

And that -- that would be *incredible*, but --

Connor sighs. "Roy really *has* to get back with his team as soon as possible, Dad, but I have to admit I'd enjoy doing something like that sometime," and he turns to smile at Roy. "I've had a few small dreams of driving you places, if only to thank you for teaching me."

God, *Connor* -- Roy takes Connor's hand and squeezes it. "New York is hell in a car, bro, but for all those trips to Gotham...?"

Ollie harrumphs again --

Connor glares at him --

"All right, all right, he's good in the sack and treats you both all right. That's all I can ask." He turns to Roy. "*That* good?"

"*Dad* --"

"Heh. You wouldn't know it to look at him, but he's got a whole encyclopedia of kinks in there. And Kid Flash is -- uh. Helping 'im out with that even more."

Ollie grunts. "*That* kid -- hm. I suppose he could use a Bat to keep a leash on him."

"He's quite mature, if somewhat unsettling," Connor says. "We had a couple of good conversations."

Ollie scratches his beard thoughtfully. "And if *you* can have a conversation with him... all right, I'll put the old judgments aside and wait for the new. God knows Wally used to be the *bad* kind of handful."

"We pretty much all thought about sedating him from time to time," Roy says, and raises his eyebrows. "Marlene's for dinner?"

"Not even close," Ollie says, and wags his fingers at both of them. "I've got all the ingredients for chili, and you're gonna eat two bowls each -- at least -- before you leave. Bonus points if you convince Clark to eat some, too."

"Dad, you put beef fat in the *vegetarian* chili you make."

"That's a terrible lie and you weren't supposed to know that, anyway," and Ollie points to the door. "Go hang out and train and let me get started."

Connor crosses his arms over his chest. "You could consider letting us help, Dad --"

"Then you better start training before I *need* help. *Scoot*."

Connor sighs and smiles. "All *right*, Dad," and he turns to Roy --

"Right behind you, bro. Let's go put a few dozen arrows in Bruce's chin."

"They'd damned sure all *fit*," Ollie grumbles, but it sounds more reflexive than anything else --

Yeah.

They head down to the basement-cum-Arrowcave and get started.

Connor's just a little faster with the bow than he used to be, but he still shakes his head and steps back when Roy lets fly --

"You're amazing."

"And *you* focus too much on your martial arts, bro. You *have* all the strength and speed you need, or you wouldn't have been able to take down Shiva."

Connor sighs and sights along the practice arrows one at a time, tossing the ones that aren't perfect.

There are *always* a few in every batch they order --

"When I'm working with Dad, it's just *easier* to fall back on the martial arts."

"Easy, schmeasy --"

"Schmeasy, Roy?"

"You heard me," Roy says, and peppers the pointy Bat-ears a little --

A few more for the blank lenses of Bruce's mask --

"*Schmeasy*. If you don't use it..."

"I'll lose it, yes, I know. Still -- I'm *better* at being a martial artist than I am at just about anything else. Archery will always be meditation for me, and meditation isn't *fast*."

True, but... heh. Roy grins and starts splitting arrows.

Connor hums. "Yes?"

"I -- heh. I have this image of Tim meditating *efficiently*."

"Oh... I." Connor laughs softly. "I've had that thought about him before. To be honest, I thought he would make *love* efficiently."

Roy snickers and clips the fletching on one of the arrows he was trying to split -- "Damn, bro, you shouldn't make me think of your boy measuring the precise arcs of your come shots."

Connor splutters. "Roy."

"Yes...?"

"He's not -- ah. Hm. I sincerely doubt that I could ever *truly* sink into bondage and domination."

Well... "We could give it a try. A serious one, I mean."

Roy can *feel* Connor looking at him --

Thinking at him --

*Being* at him --

Yeah. Roy licks his lips. "Or not."

Connor hums. "You're usually better at sounding casual."

Heh. "Am I? *Really*?"

Connor moves close and plucks the bow from between Roy's fingers. "Not in the slightest. You always make yourself... very clear. Whether or not the other person is smart enough -- or brave enough -- to read your messages," and Connor strokes up Roy's arm to his biceps. "I'd like to try everything with you at least once."

Oh... yeah. "Everything."

"Well. Perhaps not the panda suits."

"Not that you wouldn't look *good* in black and white."

Connor smiles at him warmly, brightly. "Roy. I'm a summer."

"Uh. Are you?"

"I haven't the faintest clue. But... would you like that --"

"Yes. In either direction."

Connor sucks in a breath and closes his eyes for a moment --

Roy kisses him, hard and quick and serious enough --

Connor kisses him back, cupping Roy's face and stroking Roy's stubble with the pad of his thumb before pulling back. "Would you like it more than the other things we've done?"

"Well... we've already played with it --"

"When it wouldn't be playing."

God -- Roy takes his own breath. "I don't know."

Connor raises his eyebrows.

"Seriously, I don't. It's always -- it's never *bad*, but whether it's mind-blowing or *just* good... it's always a surprise. It's always new."

Connor nods thoughtfully and starts to strip --

"God, Connor, *here*?"

"Clark," Connor says, and *looks* at him, "made you *scream* here."

"I -- don't be jealous --"

Connor shakes his head. "I won't be. He's *Clark*. But... mm. I would still like to make you make a great *deal* of noise."

"I -- rarely do. When I'm being a serious top, I mean."

Connor raises his eyebrows again -- lowers them and nods. "Then I will lose myself in the quality of your silences."

Don't moan, don't moan -- Roy looks Connor over, lingering on every patch of exposed skin. "Don't ever think I don't want you."

"I won't --"

"No matter -- no matter how detached I seem. Okay?"

Connor pauses with his shirt over his head --

"And stay right there for a sec," Roy says, pinching Connor's nipples hard --

"Oh -- *Roy* --"

Roy *pulls* --

Connor shakes himself like a dog. "Do you always... is it always pain?"

Roy offers *that* smile --

Watches Connor's eyes widen --

Oh, *baby* -- "No questions."

"Oh. Oh, my. Ah --"

"If you wanna back out... tell me now."

"I don't. I don't know --"

"That's okay, you'll have two more chances."

Wide eyes again, and that little *jump* in the abs that means Connor's cock is making its presence felt. "I -- yes, Roy. Or... I don't know... I want to know if I should call you something... different."

Roy grins. "Good way to avoid asking a question."

"Ah -- thank you --"

"Call me Roy... or big brother."

Connor swallows. "That -- somehow that seemed less *perverse* before."

"Everything's more intense like this, bro. Sometimes that's good, sometimes that's *great*, sometimes it's... the wrong kind of different. We'll decide together," Roy says, and works on Connor's pants.

"Oh, I -- I can do that --"

"You're busy keeping your arms up."

"Do you -- I don't." Connor shakes his head and bites his lip --

Roy narrows his own eyes and tugs Connor's pants and briefs down and down --

Gets those *boots* off --

And leans in to lick the arches of Connor's feet --

Connor laughs softly and *squirms* -- "I have the sense that this will leave me with *many* questions."

"You can ask 'em all... later," Roy says, pulling Connor's pants off and leaning in to bite Connor's ankle --

"Oh --"

All the way up his calf --

"Oh -- brother. Big brother --"

"You like that?"

"Your mouth... I've never understood the fuss about my mouth -- yours is so --" Connor shakes his head. "I don't have the words."

Roy licks the back of Connor's knee --

"That tickles --"

"I figured it would." He does it a few more times --

Connor laughs breathlessly --

And Roy bites down hard and sucks harder, hard enough to mark --

"*Oh* --"

Roy reaches up to steady Connor's hips, play with his jock a little --

Sucks *more* --

"Roy --"

"Nothing like a little... preparation."

"I really don't think I *was* prepared for that --"

"There's such a thing as preparing someone to *be* unprepared. Spread."

Connor pants a little --

Enough to make Roy really start to *feel* it -- as opposed to just wanting it --

Roy gets rid of Connor's jock and gets a grip on his sac --

Connor moans just *right* --

"Beautiful," Roy says, and starts nibbling, sucking, sucking *extra* hard --

"*Hnh* -- Roy -- oh, Roy --"

"Tell me," Roy slurs --

"You -- I already feel... somewhat owned."

"Somewhat, hunh?" Roy pulls back to raise his eyebrows at Connor --

And Connor smiles ruefully. "You're so confident. You -- all right, yes, of course you know exactly what you're doing, but there's more than that."

Roy waggles his head back and forth. "There's something to be said for... setting a tone, brother."

Connor licks his lips. "You're certainly -- you're doing that. I want you. I want to know what else you want to do with me. To me."

"The answer's always the same. You know that."

"Yes, I -- but." Connor *bites* his lip.

Roy lets his eyes narrow -- and gives Connor a *rough* squeeze --

Connor pushes up onto his toes and *grips* his hands together --

"Oh... you're beautiful. Perfect."

"Roy, I -- I want to be --"

"For me?"

"I -- *yes*, Roy -- *oh* --"

*Just* a suck to the underside of Connor's cock, right at the base where his foreskin is starting to bunch --

God, the first time he'd gotten the chance to play with Dick's foreskin he'd gained something like a new *religion*, but Connor's is so dark --

So salty-*warm* in his mouth --

Connor groans and shivers -- "Roy -- Roy, please..."

Roy pulls back. "Begging already...?"

"I... it's not right? I -- *ah* --"

Roy makes *sure* the bite to Connor's inner thigh is just a little too hard --

"Oh, Roy, that -- hurts. Because I asked a question. I -- I apologize."

Roy ends the bite with a sucking kiss and then *licks* his way up the underside of Connor's cock. "That's just right, bro. Keep it up."

"Yes. I -- yes. Please. I'd like to know --about other rules."

Roy shakes his head and bends Connor's cock down enough that it's easy to lick and stab at the foreskin --

"Oh -- please. *Please* --"

Roy pulls back and licks his lips. "You taste so good to me. So *right*."

Connor locks his knees -- "Please --"

"No questions. Absolute obedience. And you only tap out if you *really* need to -- and you *always* tap out if you really need to."

Connor bites his lip -- and nods.

Which -- this is a lot *friendlier* than what Kal had given him the first time -- when Roy had only his *hope* that Kal being Superman in another life would keep him from completely *destroying* him -- but --

Connor is worth the slow touch. The *careful* touch.

Roy wraps his fist around the base of Connor's cock and strokes him a little, *just* hard enough to make the foreskin slide and tease --

Connor moans and bites his lip again --

"Don't do that anymore. The lip-biting, I mean."

Connor opens his mouth and pants -- "I'm sorry."

"You should be. Only I get to abuse your pretty mouth."

"Abuse. I -- *please*."

And Roy smiles helplessly -- but he knows that the smile in question is just a little sharper than his usual, a little more cruel. Hot more than warm --

Connor searches him *hard* --

Roy strokes him faster --

"Oh, please -- please, big brother, I don't want to come this way --"

"And if I want you to?"

"I -- *ohn* --"

And *God*, is he twitching for *that*. And squeezing Connor's cock a *little* too hard. He eases off. "It's okay, you're right. *I* don't want you to come this way this time."

Connor nods and *starts* to lick his lips -- he stops.

"Good boy."

That gets him a *shocked* noise -- "I. I. Thank you --"

"*Don't* say that unless and until you mean it."

Connor frowns and nods --

"*Speak*."

"*Yes*, Roy. I --" Connor groans again and pumps into Roy's fist once, twice --

"*Stop*."

Connor stills himself immediately -- and he's leaking pretty steadily, the deep, dark head of his cock slick and shiny -- "I'm sorry, big brother. I -- I'll try to do... better."

"You'll do more than try," Roy says, standing up and *gripping* Connor's jaw, using the slight height difference to look down at him, to *loom* --

Connor moans and closes his eyes --

"*Open*."

"*Please* -- I mean. I'm sorry --"

Roy nods and leans in to bite Connor's lip, to *hold* it between his teeth as he slowly increases the pressure --

Connor cries out and *shakes* --

And Roy holds the bite just a little while longer.

Long enough to get a better shake --

A moan --

He moves to bite the shell of Connor's ear --

"Oh --"

The other one --

"*Please* --"

Roy pulls back and licks his lips. "Get down on your knees and suck. Me. Off."

Connor grunts and *drops*, reaching for Roy's hips --

"No. Hands behind your back. Wrists crossed --"

"Please, *Roy* --"

"Do it -- or you *don't* get my cock."

Connor's eyes --

Connor's eyes are so wide, so full --

Frightened and *open* --

And once he has his wrists crossed --

"Second chance. Do you need to tap out?"

Connor starts to shake his head -- stops and pants -- "*No*. Please, big brother. Please. Please give me your. Your cock."

Fuck, he hadn't had this fantasy, but he *had* had this dream --

This dirty fucking --

Roy growls -- he can't fucking *help* it -- and shoves his thumb in Connor's mouth, pulling it out of true while he teases himself with the edges of Connor's teeth -- "I'll teach you how beautiful you are."

"You --" Connor is slurring enough that he stops --

"It's okay. You don't have to speak just now," Roy says, and strokes Connor's hair with his other hand. "I'll teach you *everything* I know, baby brother. Just like you're teaching me every *moment* we're together."

Connor *winces* with what looks like *crushing* need -- and sucks Roy's finger. The question in his eyes is so clear that it almost deserves a *punishment*. But...

Heh. "Yeah. If I've got something in your mouth? You can suck it. I'll tell you when you can't."

Connor nods and looks *grateful* --

"One day. One day I'm gonna do you slow. Do you... mmph. All day. Hold you on the edge and bring you over again and again and *again*."

Connor shudders and nods frantically --

"No one would be able to stop me. A *god* wouldn't be able to stop me. I -- I have to love you, baby brother. And that's exactly what I'm gonna do," Roy says, pulling out --

"Oh, *please*, big brother --"

"Oh, you are *so* fucking sweet. Here it comes," Roy says, opening his pants and tugging himself out through the slit --

Connor eyes him and licks his *lips* --

"Yeah. You nice and hungry for me?"

"*Yes* --"

"You'll do what I say?"

"*Anything* --

"Then *just* suck on the head. No more than that."

Connor whimpers -- and then looks shocked that he'd done it. "I. That seems. I would like to give you more pleasure than that."

"Heh. You think you won't? You've got a lot to learn. Now hold your mouth open for me."

Connor's cock twitches so *nicely* --

And Connor leans in with his mouth *wide* open, lips already stretching just a little --

"Most beautiful man in the world..."

Connor looks up at him with his eyes so *full* again --

And he doesn't look down even when Roy starts painting his lips with pre-come, making them *shine* --

It almost seems like a tragedy not to watch *that* -- but it's always better to let the sub see your eyes when they beg for it this sweetly, this honestly --

Always better to let them *know* how much they're working for you, how much they're *giving* you just by following the rules...

"You see how fast you got me ready for you, baby brother?"

Connor starts to close his mouth to speak -- stops and nods.

Roy smiles. "Good boy. Always try to follow the most *recent* order even if it conflicts with the older one."

Connor nods again and his eyes get that much more *pleading* --

And Roy drags his cock over Connor's cheek --

Connor shudders and *whines* -- stops --

"No, baby bro. Don't even try to hold that back."

Connor shifts on his knees and shudders again --

"Yeah. You're making me harder. Making me need to *fuck* your perfect mouth..." Roy shakes his head. "I guess we'd better get started before I get *precipitous*, eh?"

Connor shakes with a *laugh* --

Roy grins. "Yeah, you're perfect. Have a taste," he says, and pushes in until the head is resting on Connor's tongue -- "Suck -- *hnh* --"

Connor's using *all* his strength for it --

"No, no. Ease back --"

Connor whimpers -- and does it.

"That's good. That's -- mm. Just right. I don't always need you to give it to me hard."

Connor nods and starts to suck rhythmically, gaze hazing over with concentration, pleasure --

"How does it feel to be *my* boy, Connor?"

Connor blinks and shudders again, staring up at him --

"That's -- mm. That's just what you are right now. That's just what we *both* need you to be."

Connor moans --

"Oh -- oh, that's perfect. Make those sucks a little faster."

Another nod and Connor does *that*, staring up at him with one of those perfectly *clear* questions --

"You're good. You're... oh, Connor. The first time I fuck you will be *fast*."

Another *whimper* --

"Yeah. You'll be too tight and hot for me to *think*. But I'll do you again right after that. And then you'll *ache* for me."

Connor groans and starts sucking in faster pulses, starts -- well, he's clearly trying to communicate *something* --

Oh. Oh -- "You already ache, don't you?"

The nod is rapid and *passionate* --

And Roy feels himself wincing, needing -- "We have to... heh. We *both* have to show a little control for that. We'll work on stretching you as much as we can --"

Connors nods and hums again --

"Yeah, *you'll* work on stretching you, too. It won't." Roy licks his lips. "It'll *feel* like it's taking forever, but it really won't."

Connor squeezes his eyes shut --

"*No*," Roy says, and pulls out --

"Oh -- please. I was just thinking about how you would *feel* inside me --"

"You have to let me *see* those thoughts. Every last one of them," Roy says, and stroking himself feels like the world's *best* tragedy --

Rules are rules.

Rules. Are --

"*Please*, Roy, let me suck you again, let me have you --"

"Beg more."

"Please, big brother, I -- I don't know how to say --"

"You know."

Connor groans and *rocks* on his knees. "Please. I'm begging. I -- your taste is already *fading*, and I can't -- it's another *ache*."

Roy narrows his eyes. "Do you like it? The ache, I mean."

Connor laughs breathlessly and licks his lips. "It's making me feel *crazy*, Roy, like -- like I could do anything, say anything -- like *you* could do anything *to* me --"

"I can," Roy says, smiling and dragging his fingernails along his frenum ladder. "You're mine, remember?"

And Connor's eyes are wide, a little frightened, a little freaked --

Too freaked? Roy starts to reach out with his other hand --

Connor pants and drops his head. Just -- bends his neck. "Please, big brother. I would like. I would like to know what I could do -- what I can do to be forgiven."

Fuck.

*Fuck* --

Roy manages not to come all over Connor's *head*, but he can't hold back a groan, can't keep himself from squeezing so hard it feels like he's trying to *fuck* himself with the ladder --

Connor shivers and pants *more* -- "Please. Please show me how."

"Uh -- fuck. You're doing it, baby brother. You -- look up."

Connor does, and now --

Now he looks dazed. Open.

His cock is so dark it *has* to hurt --

"Will you come if you give yourself a few strokes?"

Connor licks his lips -- "Yes, Roy. I'm sorry --"

"No. You never be sorry for being too hot for me. That -- heh. I *don't* like shooting myself in the cock, baby brother. Mm. You're on the edge."

"Yes. Yes, Roy."

"And you need... tell me what you need. *Exactly* what you need."

"I need you to fuck me."

Roy grunts and squeezes himself again. "Tell me what you need that you can have right *now*."

"I don't -- I wouldn't mind the pain --"

"I would. And don't worry -- it'll still hurt when I do you. Just in the *right* ways."

Connor groans and winces, cock twitching twice, three times -- "I -- *please*, Roy --"

"What. Do. You. *Want* --"

"*Hnh* -- I want -- I want your *cock*."

*Yes* -- "How."

"I want you to -- fuck my mouth. I want you in me. I want to make you *come*."

Roy raises his eyebrows. "Can you take it?"

"I *will* take it -- *oh* --"

That for a hand on his face -- "You'll squeeze your eyes shut *only* if you need to cough. Got it?"

"*Yes* --"

"*Open*."

Connor follows orders and starts gulping immediately --

Before Roy's even *in* --

Before --

God, so *hot* -- Roy blows out a breath. "Hot brother. *Perfect* brother --"

Connor groans around him and stops gulping to *suck* -- not hard.

Roy grins. "Yeah. Yeah, you're getting it. Now try that at the same --"

Time.

That --

Fuck, *in*, and Connor's eyes are rolling back in his head, Connor's cock is twitching and leaking so much there's a thread of pre-come connecting him to the *floor* --

And Connor has him. Just -- *has* him --

"Good. Good boy..."

Connor groans and shakes, blinking rapidly and obviously *trying* to focus --

"You don't know how good you look, baby brother. You... mm. I promise I'll show you. We can -- heh. Set up a few cameras of our own, yeah?"

Wide eyes *just* like Connor hadn't quite considered using all the spy-cams in this business *that* way --

God, he will. He *is*.

Roy strokes Connor's ears, his cheeks --

He cups the back of Connor's head and *holds* him on his cock --

Connor groans again, *sways* --

"Yeah. Now. Be ready --"

Connor nods *frantically* --

"This -- nnh." Roy licks his lips and starts to thrust, long, slow strokes to make sure Connor can keep the rhythm, and also -- "This is how I'd do you at first. The *second* time, I mean."

Connor's shaking so *hard* --

"This is how... yeah. Nice and slow. Slow and *hard*," Roy says, and demonstrates --

Connor whimpers and it gets choked *off* --

"Oh, baby, baby..." Roy gasps and moans. "So *sweet* --"

And Connor is *gripping* his hands together --

"You wanna touch me, don't you."

Another frantic nod --

"Maybe... hold me a little?"

Connor *shakes* his head, and --

God --

Fuck --

"You wanna *urge* me."

*Nod* --

"You want it faster? Harder?"

And the plea in Connor's eyes --

The need --

You always -- you never let need *go* --

Roy growls and *grips* Connor's face, seating himself just right, just evenly enough --

And now the thrusts don't need his direction or -- fuck, they don't need anything but *themselves*, and Connor doesn't squeeze his eyes shut or cough or gag --

"God, *brother* --"

Connor's eyes are *completely* hazed over, completely --

"Nnh -- you do me *so* right. I'm never -- fuck, I'll never let you *go* --"

Connor is shuddering *steadily*, constantly --

"Never -- never leave you *lonely* --"

And those eyes are wide again, but it's not anything *like* a question. It's happiness and trust, hunger on top of hunger --

Fuck --

"Come for me, baby brother. Do it and do it *hard*."

Shock --

Connor *jerks* --

And that sound is a groan broken into as many parts as there are *thrusts*, because you never stop when it's like this, you never fucking let *up* --

Especially not when Connor fucking *Hawke* is coming all over your boots and pants --

When his eyes are rolled up so far you can't see the *green* --

"God, *yes*, brother," and Roy gives it to him fast, *takes* it because that's what he would need --

What he always *needs* --

And Connor is blinking at him, body shaking and swaying --

Connor focuses and just *burns* at him --

"You like it, baby?"

Connor struggles --

And Roy realizes, after a *skip*, that he's holding Connor's head too tightly --

Connor nods and presses *up* with his tongue --

And it's body-music, *percussion*, because his ladder feels like it's *thrumming* for those licks, those *presses* --

Roy is grunting for *every* thrust --

Just --

He has to --

"*Love* you, love you so -- *hnh* --"

And there goes *all* of his mind, because Connor is sucking him, sucking the come right out of him like the world's best *poison* --

This --

God, this is the way he wants to *die*, and a part of him is wondering if he'll get his wish --

Connor's sucking him so fucking *hard* --

Connor --

Okay, Roy is *feeling* how hard Connor is sucking him, which means --

Roy *grunts* for the wave of feeling, for the way it *rocks* him on his feet --

And Connor has him by the hips just that fast, steadying him, holding him --

"God, baby *brother*..."

And this time, when Connor looks up, his eyes are hot and *promising* --

"*Fuck*, yeah. I --" Roy strokes Connor's hair and pulls out slow. "How are you doing," he says, *aware* that it sounds like about *half* an order.

"Ah -- stunned. Hungry. Amazed. Aroused." Connor licks his lips. "Would you say that was a *successful* experiment?"

Roy bites his lip --

"Hm. Oh, dear. I asked a *question*. Does this mean I get spanked on our next date...?" Connor raises an *eyebrow* --

Yeah. Roy grins *nice* and obnoxiously. "Spankings are for when you play your cards *right*, baby bro."

Just a little *flare* behind those eyes -- "Noted."

Roy shakes his head. "And if you remind me too much of Tim --"

"You'll fuck me *faster*?"

"I -- hunh. Now that you mention it? Yes. Lord knows that kid needs to be reamed *daily*," Roy says, and offers his hand.

Connor takes it and stands. "It did seem to do wonders for his mood."

"God, and I keep forgetting you actually *fucked* him --" Roy shakes himself like a dog. "And you liked it. Loved it."

Connor shows his teeth. "Very, very much. Roy... I loved this, as well."

Roy takes his first deep breath in... a while. "Not too much?"

"You made me come practically *untouched*, Roy --"

Roy presses his fingers to Connor's mouth. "Sometimes that's a problem. All kinds of people have trouble letting go --"

Connor raises *both* eyebrows at him.

"... except for how you were raised in a Buddhist monastery. Gotcha. Right. Okay, but *still* -- "

Connor grips Roy's wrist and tugs Roy's hand away. "I loved it," he says, and gives Roy the *solid* stare, the gale-force-winds-don't-even-make-me-*blink* stare --

"God, I love you."

And Connor's smile is bright and perfect. "And I love you. And I... hm. *Did* I... shift character too quickly?"

"I'm never gonna get on your ass for keeping me from potential traumatic brain injury --"

Connor snorts --

"Heh. But yeah, I usually like to stay in that headspace for a little while longer. Hold onto all those feelings while my cock *isn't* screaming at me."

Connor licks his lips again --

And Roy doesn't say even *one* word about the Queen genes working overtime to produce men who are *just* that good at going down. Not one. God, Ollie had taught *him* how to please a woman --

And Roy had made failing to ask about the things Ollie and Hal used to get up to when there *weren't* any women around into an art form --

And Connor is staring at him curiously. "It's nothing, bro --"

"Are you --" Connor frowns. "It's not nothing. If I did something wrong --"

"You were perfect. I promise. You -- it's *never* like that for a first time. Not for this stuff."

Connor frowns harder --

"It's *okay*, bro --"

"It's -- whatever it is you're not telling me. Yes?"

"I --" Yes. "A little, yes. It's -- I promise I *will* tell you."

Connor gives him the *arch* look -- "Preferably before it gets in the way of us making love? Or enjoying the afterglow?"

"I... heh. Yeah, okay, I'm hearing you. Let me lick myself out of your mouth a little?"

Connor presses his lips into a line too firm for that mouth to have *any* right to. "Hm."

"Uh... no?"

"I'm considering whether or not I should make *you* beg. Big brother."

And there goes his happy, happy cock. "We can --"

"Boys! Dinner!"

Connor doesn't even *blink* --

"*Hold* that thought, will you?"

Connor smiles, wide and lazy and *sharp* --

"You know what? I'll hold it for both of us."

*

As it happens, Connor has spent a significant amount of time training with the Outsiders. He hadn't truly expected it, but his experience with metas who have super-strength and the ability to shape-shift *is* coming in handy --

And Roy never actually lets him go so much as a *day* without shooting practice.

He has to admit that it was extremely interesting -- in several different terrifying ways -- to be ordered to shoot *at* Nightwing -- *Dick* -- while he bent, twisted, turned, flexed and caught every single *arrow* --

Dick hadn't let Connor stop until one of Connor's arrows cut off a lock of his *hair* --

Dick is a very interesting person. He's friendly and warm always, but the professionalism he shows both on the street and in serious training is... exactly what he should've expected it to be, actually, and never mind everything Roy has told him about the man over the years.

Roy's relationship with Dick seems to be back to normal. As near as Connor can tell, the improvement came at the end of a singularly epic -- and loud -- bout of lovemaking which had, in turn, come after a singularly *vicious* spar --

And Connor was pleased to discover that he's not jealous of Dick in the slightest. He'd *hoped* he wouldn't be, but Roy...

Connor has a room of his own, but he *sleeps* in Roy's, surrounded by his scents, his art, his music, his *life* --

Connor has added a few small decorations, and Roy's reaction to each one has been to smile at him as if he'd done something far better than staking small claims here and there. This, too, he should've expected -- Roy has shown no signs of disliking *anything* about claiming.

From either -- any -- direction.

There's also the question of Grace Choi -- which, of course, isn't a question at *all* --

And Connor has to admit that he's more than a little intrigued by the thought of *joining* her with Roy... sometime in the future.

When he has a *touch* more confidence, perhaps.

Connor smiles to himself and pulls on his quiver. Right now, Roy is waiting for him in the garage *with* Dick. He is, perhaps, already straddling his red motorcycle while Dick straddles his own blue and black one.

Connor's *green* one is waiting for him, as are the roads leading to Gotham -- because Tim's last e-mail had been *very* specific about when he would like to see them. Which... yes. Connor has rather a lot of reasons not to be jealous.

Dick *lives* with Bruce again -- and Roy's reaction to that hadn't been dissimilar to Connor's own reaction to Kyle presenting him with a light-construct unicorn to ride that one particular day -- and that's still *another* reason --

No, he's going about this all wrong. Jealousy is far too negative an emotion to consider -- even when it's being considered *in* the negative. Better, by far, to think about the warmth and happiness which is surrounding him -- and the people he cares for.

While Outsiders HQ isn't quite *marinating* in the lovemaking of the powerful and brave -- it's *not* Titans Tower -- it's certainly quite full of warmth and respect which can and does express itself via sexuality at times.

Well, all right, often.

And, while a *very* stubborn part of him wishes to insist that all of this happiness could happen *without* sex, he has to admit that *only* Clark and Diana ever seemed truly *relaxed* on the Watchtower.

The stubborn part of him wants to insist that the Watchtower isn't *for* relaxation --

But the rest of him is walking *briskly* to the garage, and is wondering -- idly -- how Tim will feel about the cologne Roy had picked out for him at a 'head shop' in the Village. It's quite woody and interesting, and tends to make Connor feel as though he's only moments from doing something terribly, marvelously, perfectly... sticky.

This may be because Roy has developed a habit of anointing him with the cologne and then proceeding to lick Connor everywhere it *isn't*.

And, yes, habits can be considered entirely developed within three days. Connor hums to himself, turns a corner -- and spins out of the way when Dick comes rushing through.

"Dick --"

"Sorry, Connor, get Roy to explain --"

And he's gone.

Hm.

Connor jogs the rest of the way --

And Roy turns and grins at Connor as soon as he hears Connor's feet on the cement. "There you are. And yes, you *do* look pretty for your boy."

"I'm also happy to say that I'll *smell* pretty for him... though I have to admit I assumed Dick would be there."

"God, I love it when you're a slut."

"*Roy*, I just meant --"

"Heh, I know," Roy says, leaning his bike enough to pat the seat of Connor's. "Oracle picked now to go over the new security protocols here, and for that? Dick is always gonna run."

Connor straddles his bike and puts his helmet on. "Do you think they'll get back together?"

"Brother, I don't think *anyone* knows what's going on in Oracle's mind on a day-to-day basis. I'm still not *entirely* sure what its *gender* is -- though judging by Dick's face when he talks about it, it's incredible in the sack."

Connor hums and turns his helmet radio on --

The quick, light burst of static tells him that Roy has done the same --

They ride.

"Anyway, I *hope* they get back together -- Dick was hurting pretty bad when it dumped him -- but I just..." Roy sighs. "According to Dick, Oracle got pissy at him for failing to deal with his Bruce obsession."

"Ah... hm."

"Yeah, exactly. Though, you know -- he *is* dealing *now*."

"I... yes, I can see what you're saying. I think?"

Roy snickers. "Bats do things *differently*, bro."

Connor hums. "Not very, ultimately."

"Heh. I..." And that didn't sound...

Hm. "Roy?"

"I'm -- gonna tell you. What you wanted to know, I mean."

"Oh, Roy -- I. Wait. While we're on our *bikes*?"

"Yeah, pretty much --"

"*Roy* --"

"No, listen, it's a *good* idea," Roy says, and edges his bike closer to Connor's own --

"It is *not* --"

"It *is*. Because I'm going to be *completely* honest with you, and then when -- *if* it freaks you out, you can just keep on riding to Gotham --"

"And not hold you? Look you in the eye?"

"God, Connor -- okay. Okay, look. It's about Ollie --"

"I picked that *up* --"

"I want him, Connor. I've *always* wanted him. I wanted him so bad --" The wet sound --

The wet sound is probably Roy licking his lips, and -- "Roy...?"

"I -- heh. Yeah. When he left me -- when he left to go on that road trip to Hal, all I could think was that he didn't really care about me, that he'd *never* care about me --"

"Oh, *no*, Roy --"

"Let me *finish*, Connor. Please. Okay?"

Connor swallows and tries to --

Tries *not* to see his father kissing Roy, holding him ---

Roy had been so *young* -- "Tell me. Please. And I don't judge --"

"*Wait*."

"I -- I'm waiting," Connor says, and tries to remember to focus on his driving a *little* --

"I thought he'd never care about me the way he cared about other people. I *knew* he wouldn't, because if he did... well, he wouldn't leave so much, right? Heh. He'd even stopped bringing home women for us to share --"

"Oh my *God* -- I. Ah. *What*?"

Roy's laugh is low and hurt. "Nothing happened, bro. Nothing like that --"

"That -- I can't even begin to *grasp* how inappropriate --"

"He was never my father, Connor. And I never wanted him to be. And -- no, that's a lie. Sometimes I *did* want him to be my father, sometimes I wanted that more than anything else -- but most of the time I just wanted *him*. God, he *taught* me about women, about life, about vigilantism, about our whole *world*. He plucked me off the rez and *gave* me this world, you know?"

"Yes, but -- *sharing*?"

"You've maybe never thought about how many people Ollie's hooked up with over the years? How many of them he all but sent *after* you?"

"I -- I tried very *hard* not to think about it -- ah. Roy. Are you --"

"Perverted? Fucked in the head? Fucking nuts? All of the above --"

"No, Roy, are you *okay*?"

Roy gasps a little. "I -- yeah. I am. I've -- look, it was practically a *thing* with the original Titans. Garth was seriously confused about Arthur, Wally twitched like he was electrocuted every time Barry clapped him on the shoulder, Dick had his huge Bruce *issues* -- and there was me, with Ollie. Only *Donna* was halfway sane about it, and *that* was mainly because the women on Themyscira fuck like animals all the damned *time*."

Connor blinks --

Thinks of Diana --

He licks his own lips. "I -- yes. I can... see that. But Roy --"

"I *dealt* with it -- for the most part. But God, Ollie was fucking *wild* back then. He just didn't see a *problem* with calling me in to join him with whoever he picked up... hell, we even had a couple of threesomes with *Dinah*. And -- man, when Ollie was dead, Dinah and I *kept* hooking up. We still *do* hook up, so no, it's *not* all that different from Gotham, but it's also... fuck, I don't even know what point I'm trying to make."

"Roy... do you *still* want him?"

Roy's laugh has a lot of hurt in it -- and it's an answer.

"Do you... do you only love me because --"

"Oh -- fuck, *no*, Connor. You -- you're *nothing* like him. I mean, I won't lie to you and say that the fact that you're Ollie's son means *nothing* to me, it's just that we've already *talked* about what it means to me. I -- believe me, okay? I'm not -- I'm not as screwed up as I used to be."

"Roy... it hurts that I can't hold you right now. I. I wish you'd told me *before* --"

"Before we hooked up, you mean? Yeah, I --"

"No, you ass, before we got into *traffic*."

"Uh."

"I *love* you --"

"Connor --"

"I *love* you, and I -- I want to *kick* my father for -- for a lot of *reasons*, but paramount is the lack of *restraint* --"

"He taught me --"

"He taught you to view him sexually, and guardians are *not* supposed to do that with their children --"

"I'm *not* his child --"

"*Bullshit*. Everything you say -- everything you *are* -- says you're ten times more Oliver Queen's son than I could *ever* be."

"Don't sell yourself short --"

"Don't sell *yourself* short, Roy. I -- there, that parking lot to the north. Pull *over*."

"Connor --"

"Do it now or I'll make us both *crash*."

Roy pulls into the corner of the parking lot --

And Connor parks in a position that will make it difficult for Roy to escape without damaging his bike --

"I won't *run* from you, Connor --"

"Helmets *off*," Connor says, and does just that.

Roy takes his off, as well --

And Connor grips Roy's face and kisses him hard, kisses him deeply, kisses him until he can feel -- a little softening.

Something in the general vicinity of relaxation -- if not especially close. He pulls back enough to rest his head on Roy's shoulder --

He wraps his arms around Roy's waist --

And, after a moment, Roy hugs him back. "Connor..."

"I love you, and -- I don't think you're... wrong or... dirty or whatever other *foolish* thing has popped into your mind."

"But --"

"No *buts*," Connor says, leaning back to glare -- no. He flips Roy's lenses up and then his own.

Roy looks hurt and sad -- but still hopeful. Oh, let him always have his *hope* --

"I love you, and I think... I think you had too much hurt. Too much -- when he spent time with you, you were mostly training or... sharing?"

Roy smiles ruefully. "Or patrolling. He had his own life --"

"He was supposed to have yours --"

"Aw, Connor --"

Connor *shakes* Roy. "You're not... I see that you forgive him --"

"Well, *yeah* --"

"And I -- a part of me is very grateful for that, Roy, because of course I love him --"

"You *should* --"

"I'm *still* going to punch him in the mouth the next time I see him. God, what was he *thinking*?"

And Roy just -- looks at him. No. He's not just looking, his eyes are dancing a little, and --

"Are you trying not to *laugh*?"

"I -- it's just that you're such an *Arrow*, Connor --"

Connor jabs Roy in the stomach. Lightly --

"*Oof* -- God, yeah, take it *out* on me --"

"You don't deserve to be *punished* --"

"You already know I *like* to be punished, bro --"

"And stop --" Connor growls and *head-butts* Roy lightly.

"Ow?"

"Stop trying to distract me with sex! This -- this has been *hurting* you --"

"It's an *old* hurt --"

"Not old enough. It could never *be* old enough, because this place in you -- it was holding you away from me."

Roy closes his eyes and nods.

"I'm not -- I'm too *selfish* for that, Roy! You have to stay with me -- or. All right, not that --"

"Yes," Roy says, and opens his eyes again. "*Yes*, that. God, Connor, I'm *yours* --"

"Then --" Connor shakes his head and cups Roy's face again. "There is nothing about you that's too dirty for me, or too strange, or too shocking --"

"Connor --"

"*Listen*. There might be -- there almost certainly *will* be things that disturb me or hurt me -- I'm hurt and disturbed right now -- oh, Roy, don't *wince* like that --"

"I never *want* to hurt you --"

"*You* didn't. Our father did -- before he even knew I existed," Connor says, and smiles ruefully. "If you try to stop me from hitting him, I'll *destroy* you."

Roy snorts, eyes lighting up again -- but the shadows come back just that quickly. "Connor... I would've wanted him even if he *hadn't* behaved... in fucked-up ways."

Connor strokes Roy's hair. "I know that."

"You -- it's not all his *fault* --"

"Love is never any one person's fault."

"Connor, you can't let me go with the idea that, yeah, he really is my father while *also* letting me go with the idea that it's okay for me to want to *blow* him."

Connor -- makes a face.

Roy winces -- "God, *sorry* --"

"No, I -- more and more, I find I enjoy these moments when ice-water gets dumped unceremoniously on my groin," Connor says, and smiles a little wryly.

Roy snorts again -- shakes his head -- "Seriously, Connor --"

"*Seriously*, Roy. I'm supposed to trust you to be on a team with a man in a -- apparently highly -- sexualized relationship with the man who *is* his adoptive father."

"Dick is --"

"Different?" Connor strokes Roy's hair again. "He's your *other* brother, Roy, and the two of you... I've been so jealous in the past of what you shared with him --"

"You should never *be* jealous --"

Connor covers Roy's mouth with his free hand. "I'm not jealous now, because I feel more like your brother than ever before. And... maybe Dick feels more like Bruce's son than *he* ever did before...?"

Roy winces and nods. "He -- yeah. But I wouldn't --"

"Have sex with our father. I know. And that..." Connor shakes his head again. "I'm not always a good person. I'm *glad* you never made love with our father, because I *know* you, and I know that would mean that we could never be together --"

"I *love* you --"

"Or be together as we are now. Roy... it's okay."

Roy frowns.

"It's *okay*. I *promise* you it's okay. I have a few mental images I'll be flushing away as soon as humanly possible, and you... no longer have any reason to keep *anything* from me. Yes?"

Roy opens his mouth --

Closes it --

Connor raises *both* of his eyebrows behind his mask --

And Roy's laugh sounds *exhausted*, but it also sounds... real.

*Right*.

He pulls Connor into his arms and holds on *tightly* --

And Connor holds on right back. Just -- he has to make this okay. He has to *keep* this --

And he will.

There is no one and nothing he wouldn't fight to hold on to this, and knowing *that* about himself --

It makes him feel both large in himself and painfully insignificant.

It makes him want to soar and want to hunker down somewhere tight and warm.

It makes him *over*, and Connor thinks he's been waiting for that his whole life.

After a while, Roy sighs and pulls back, smiling ruefully. "Any other life lessons for me, bro?"

"No important emotional conversations in *traffic* --"

"Done."

"No -- don't hide *anything* from me --"

"Done."

"Don't make me regret not being able to grow a van dyke."

Roy chokes and *coughs* --

Connor shows his teeth and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Heh. I -- will take that smack and like it, yeah?"

"Mm-*hm*."

Roy sighs and pulls Connor into a kiss that makes every other aspect of the world utterly irrelevant. It isn't the first or even twenty-seventh time Roy has kissed him like this, but it always means as much as it had the first time.

As much as he wants it to mean every time.

Roy pulls back, kisses Connor softly several times -- "Brother."

"Brother."

"Let's go fuck the living *daylights* out of your boy."

"My -- Roy."

"It's just that you react so beautifully to it *every* time I say it, bro --"

"You wouldn't say he's more *Dick's* boy?"

Roy snickers. "Christ, no. Dick says Tim makes him work for it *every* time. Of course, Dick *loves* that kind of thing, so it's possible that Tim's doing it on purpose."

Connor hums and straddles his bike again. "And... Bruce?"

"*Really* took the brakes off, it sounds like. Once this starts to get out more than it already has, the Watchtower's gonna be an *interesting* place to get glared at, I'm betting."

Connor thinks about it... hm.

Roy claps him on the shoulder. "Are *you* okay?"

"No, I -- I am, yes. I'm just... a part of me is wondering what would happen if our *father* took the brakes off."

"*Some* brakes are bred down to the bone. As far as I know? The *only* man Ollie has ever gone for was Hal, and I'm still not *sure* if they did anything other than share women."

"That really is quite a *lot*, Roy --"

"Not for some people."

"But --"

Roy kisses him quiet, sharp and sweet at once. "Not. For. Some. People."

Connor suspects he looks stubborn, but --"Roy, if the two of us ever share anyone --"

"Like your boy, in about two hours --"

" -- it will *mean* a great *deal* to *me*."

Roy grins at him. "And to me, baby bro. Because sometimes it really *is* the best thing. Well, *one* of the best things."

Connor smiles at Roy helplessly. "I think I want to be with you for the rest of my life, Roy. I --"

Roy kisses him hard, *perhaps* to silence him, but even if so, the kiss quickly changes to one of welcome, intimacy, happiness --

It occurs to Connor that they're giving New York a *singular* view of its vigilantes --

He really doesn't care.

Eventually, Roy pulls back --

Connor takes a moment to bite his lower lip and hold *on* -- *then* he lets go.

"You know you're gonna want your own city someday, bro."

"Hm. New York is *quite* large."

"*I'm* gonna want to move again -- and, fuck, I don't even know what I'm saying. I'll want you with me. For as long as *you* wanna stay."

Connor smiles. "I know. Now get on your bike. That Robin isn't going to -- hm."

"Fuck himself?"

"Yes, but then I realized how *ridiculous* that statement was."

Roy snickers again and gets on his own bike. "I would not be the *slightest* bit surprised if he had a sex toy collection like *mine*."

Connor turns on the helmet radio and pulls out --

Roy turns on his own --

"He told me that Bart tends to use his allowance money *for* sex toys. Well, that he *used* to."

"Allowance --" Roy snickers. "God, I love the world we live in, bro."

"As do I."

"So what does he spend it on *now*?"

"The materials to make his *own* toys, apparently. He is, of course, quite adept at learning such things *quickly*."

"I don't even wanna *know* what Jay's and Joan's garage looks like," Roy says, and takes point leading them into traffic.

"It occurs to me that they probably don't want to know, *either*."

"Heh. So. How do you *feel* about Bruce doing your boy?"

"I... he knew him first? No, that's not even remotely relevant," Connor says, and weaves around a taxi picking up a fare. "The *truth* is that I'm completely at a loss in terms of picturing Bruce making love."

"But you *do* want him."

"Roy, you said yourself --"

"Yeah, but you're *special*. And maybe I'm thinking that he *might* wanna join in. Or at least watch."

"I... goodness."

"Uh, hunh. Fuck this, we're getting on the highways now."

"Isn't that longer?"

"Distance-wise? Yeah. But these people are *all* Sunday drivers."

Connor has to admit that people seem to be staring at the tall buildings as much as they're driving. Hm. "Is there some sort of convention in town?"

"Heh. *Always*. But yeah, there's a big car show --"

"And you're not taking me to *that*?"

Roy jinks his bike somewhat obnoxiously.

"I can't ever seem to take my eyes off your rear when you do that, Roy."

"*Good*. And? We're going tomorrow if nothing too fucked-up happens. I'm thinking we can kidnap Tim and have him tell his parents some *completely* shameless lie. Dickie says he *loves* cars."

Connor takes a moment to remember easing himself into the Redbird and immediately being floored by the sheer number of controls --

The sheer number of things the *entirely* Tim-sized car could *do* --

"He certainly loved the car he *used* to have."

"Probably the one and only time people ever envied Tim for having *Bruce* as his mentor. Dick and Jay always had the sweetest toys, too, come to think of it."

"It occurred to me at the time that Bruce had given it to Tim as a token of affection as much as he'd given it as a tool to be used...?"

"Heh, yeah, I think so. You're totally trying to picture him having sex with Tim."

Connor laughs. "I can't even picture him taking his uniform off, and I've *seen* him do that."

"God, yeah, that *body*... heh." Roy speeds up --

Connor does the same -- "When *is* the last time you saw him... naked?"

"Except for the briefs which hid so little *and* so much." Roy sighs. "I was a Titan. We used to do sleepovers, I told you that."

"Yet another thing I'm singularly failing to comprehend. You've *also* said he didn't *like* Dick being a Titan."

"The older generation still tried to keep an eye on us sometimes. It's my *theory* that they tried that as a way to get closer themselves."

"Did it work?"

"Heh. *I'm* not the one who was actually *on* the League, bro."

"It *was* a different roster --"

"Okay, true. But -- okay. I'm thinking? Bruce probably makes love like he does everything else: thoroughly and perfectly. Maybe too perfectly. Like -- something you're not going to get over anytime soon."

That -- hm. "Would you want to?"

"I've seen what falling for Bruce can *do* to a guy's mind. *Without* sex."

"If you look at it that way, Roy, you've also seen what it can do *with* sex."

Roy sighs. "Dick hasn't been this happy... yeah, okay. Doesn't mean I'm not wary."

Connor nods internally. "We can always tell him --"

"That we want to use his place to use his partner, and, oh yeah, he's not invited?"

Connor laughs again. "All right, yes, I can see what you're saying. But... what *do* you have planned?"

"*We* are two flush young men on a mission. Gotham has *fantastic* hotels."

And they both have sets of civilian clothes in their storage compartments. "I... I think I would like to try, Roy. With Bruce, I mean."

"I... yeah? Even though you can't picture it?"

"I've recently come to discover that a failure of imagination is not a reason to keep oneself from doing something -- in and of itself."

Roy laughs. "Okay, yeah, I can see *that*. All right, bro. If he wants it? I'm there."

"I don't want *you* to do something you don't want to do --"

"It's you, bro. I *always* want it."

"You're making me both glad and *disappointed* that I've yet to develop any particularly outré kinks."

"Oh, trust me. Bruce? Is automatically out there. Just -- in every possible way."

"Now you *sound* like our father."

Roy coughs -- but doesn't swerve.

Good --

"You just tested me with that."

"Ah... maybe?"

Roy *snorts* -- "You're kind of a *horrible* person sometimes, aren't you?"

Connor shows his teeth. Roy can't see it, but Connor *knows* he can feel it. "Oh, yes. And now you're thoroughly caught in my web of debauchery and terror. How does it feel?"

"Pretty damned good, all things considered. Ha -- on-ramp. Let's make these babies walk and talk, bro."

"As you say."

They drive, and the highways are clear enough that they make it to the outskirts of Gotham in ninety minutes. Connor calls ahead to let Tim know that they'll be early --

"Oh. I do love a *punctual* man. See you soon," Tim says, and signs off just that *quickly* --

"Ooh, he's feeling *frisky*, bro. What*ever* will we do about that?"

Connor thinks about it. "I can't decide whether that... *that* was a sign of him having seen Bart recently or *not* having seen him."

"God, I want footage of him doing Bart."

"Oh... yes?"

"I -- heh. Call it professional curiosity? I *always* want to know how other tops work, even if I don't want them to top *me*."

"He's very... ah. You're much warmer than he is."

"Warmer, hunh?"

"Yes. You're not topping me as Arsenal. You're topping me as my *brother*."

"I -- always. Always, bro."

"I know," Connor says, and makes sure all of the smile makes it into his voice --

"But would you *like* --"

"I don't think so, no. I rather enjoy Tim being Tim -- and you being you. You're both very beautiful when you're... open."

"It's not *really* about being closed --"

"Perhaps not, but I rather think I'd feel as though it *were*. Perhaps I'd feel differently had I been raised in this life, but as it is... I believe I prefer more... hm. Even ground?"

"Even when the ground's not even, at all?"

"Perhaps I simply enjoy the feeling of being owned by someone I own, as well."

"Oh, you got me in spades, bro. Now remember, it's gonna *look* like we're driving onto rough scrub and then smack into a *cliff*, but we'll be fine."

"I do wonder about how Bruce's neighbors feel about the sound of powerful engines going... nowhere. Nightly."

"Bro, I'm pretty sure Alfred Pennyworth's been drugging Bruce's neighbors' food for twenty years."

Connor coughs. "Yes, I... well. Lead the way."

"*Happily*."

And soon enough they're pulling into the Batcave, and there are only a few bottomless pits to the sides of the well-maintained road leading to the parking area and, from there, the training areas.

And Tim is right there, head cocked to the side and lean arms crossed over his chest. He's wearing workout clothes -- a t-shirt, shorts, trainers, and tape at his wrists and ankles, and he looks...

"You think I'm cold, Connor...?"

What -- "Oh. My. You were listening to my conversation with Roy."

"Hn. Radio frequencies are very, very easy to hack," Tim says, and turns to nod at Roy --

"Be nice, baby Bats. I defended you to *Ollie*."

Tim raises an eyebrow just as if he *hadn't* made himself privy to that conversation --

No, it's just as much a mistake to consider the Bats ubiquitous as it would be to consider them constrained to Gotham and their various teams. Still -- "I don't believe we said very *much* untoward...?"

Tim shows his teeth. "Bruce, for *some* reason, has decided to shower early. He'll be done... oh, very soon."

Connor suspects his expression is reminiscent of a baby who has just been introduced to peek-a-boo and has not yet figured out how the adult had managed to disappear --

And Roy coughs. "*You* didn't shower for us. I think I might be hurt, little 'mano."

The *threat* on Tim's face becomes a smile. "You've always seemed like a man who could appreciate a good *musk*, Roy."

Roy licks his teeth. "Yeah? That's what you got for us?"

Tim begins walking backwards, unfolding his arms and spreading them to the sides. "In case I wasn't clear? Welcome, both of you."

"Thank you very much," Connor says, setting his helmet down and moving to follow. "I find that I've missed you."

"Oh... the feeling is mutual. Steph sends her regards, as well."

Roy raises his eyebrows. "Steph?"

"The former Spoiler, soon to be something... else," Tim says, and pulls off his t-shirt.

"Bat-sanction. All right, I'm even more impressed with her than I was before," Roy says, and starts to *stalk* Tim, which *would* be a tiny -- very tiny -- bit problematic were Connor not moving to flank Tim, himself.

"Oracle is, at the moment, taking her measure with the avatar program --"

"Yeah, we know the one." Roy pauses and cocks his head to the side. "Dick said that *Oracle* said she wasn't Birds material."

"She isn't," Tim says, and kicks off his trainers. "But Oracle will -- if the world is kind -- always have at least *one* strong, strong finger on the pulse of Bat."

Connor frowns. "I thought Oracle was working on Outsiders security with Dick...?"

"Oracle can multitask, Connor. There are times when I'm quite sure there's nothing it can't do," and Tim kicks one leg up to remove his sock --

Roy snorts. "You keep that up and it might decide to do *you*, little 'mano."

"Robin must *always* hope for the best, Roy," and, yes, there's the other leg -- hm.

"You don't have quite as much flexibility with that one?"

Tim smiles at him. "Not when my hip is as *thoroughly* bruised as it is at present."

Oh... that has a great deal of --

"Now *how* would a tough and *careful* little boy like you get an injury like that?"

Tim hums --

And there's an *exceedingly* large hand on his left shoulder --

"*Gah* --"

Presumably, there's another large hand on Roy's *right* shoulder. "Connor. Roy. Welcome."

Connor manages not to *flinch*, but -- there are some voices which should never sound that happy.

Wait, no, he shouldn't make judgments like that --

"Uh. Thanks, Bruce? I mean -- that wasn't supposed to be a question."

Bruce hums, and Connor can *feel* him looking at him expectantly --

And he does not have to *listen* to his fear. Not for this. Not anymore. Connor turns to smile at Bruce --

Who is very, very naked.

Oh... my. Yes, he's staring.

"Are you quite all right, Connor...?"

"Ah --"

"Bruce. Behave," Tim says, and toys with the waistband of his shorts.

"I wouldn't *dream* of disappointing you, muffin top."

"Oh God. That's -- uh. Bro, just cover your ears for a while. It'll be all right --"

Connor blinks and tries to *comprehend* -- "Bruce, did you just --"

"Focus," Tim says, narrowing his eyes -- and pinching his own nipples hard, twisting them in opposite directions. "You should be more friendly, Bruce."

Bruce narrows his own eyes -- slightly. "I do always try to do just that. Baby boy."

And that was -- a very *rough* accent, but somehow not quite as much of one as there could've been? Somehow. Connor isn't sure, and Roy looks just as baffled as Connor *feels* --

"Yeah, I got nothing --"

"*Bruce*," and Tim tilts his head back, baring his throat --

Exposing his near-nudity in a way that --

Well, perhaps it's only impossible to ignore by people who have made *love* to Tim -- and who had done it in very specific --

Bruce tightens his hand on Connor's shoulder --

"Uh. Ow?"

"My apologies," Bruce says, letting go at once and stepping between them, closing on Tim --

He strokes the fading bruises on Tim's throat with his thumb, shifting back and forth oddly --

And then Connor realizes that he's making sure that he and Roy can still see *exactly* what he's doing. Which --

"I think. I think we're being sent a *message* here, bro."

"Yes, I... I believe you're correct. I'm not entirely sure what the message *is*, though."

Bruce hums and *presses* on one of Tim's bruises. "My love. Will you tell them?"

"Hn. No masks. No shame. No *games*... unless we all agree on the rules."

Bruce parts his lips, and --

His penis is rising and *thickening* even as Connor watches --

It's possible that he should be trying to watch other *things* -- and Connor looks to Roy.

Who is watching him with the world's most *knowing* leer. Really. Connor turns back to Tim and Bruce. "I believe I would be amenable to that sort of... arrangement."

Tim turns to smile at him, opening his mouth to say *something* --

And while a part of Connor would honestly like to know what it would've been, the vast majority of his *soul* is taken up by the sight of Bruce *lifting* Tim by the throat --

Tim is gripping Bruce's forearm and *smiling* more --

And the kiss --

The strange thing about it is that it doesn't seem to be as hard as the *grip* Bruce has on Tim would suggest. It seems almost *gentle*, soft and openly -- very openly -- appreciative.

Bruce moans and lifts Tim *higher* -- high enough that Tim is actually looking *down* at Bruce --

Tim keeps his eyes *open*, avid and sharp --

Bruce closes his eyes and shudders once, all over. Which --

"Well... uh. Fuck."

"Ah... yes. I think... yes," Connor says, and reaches for the solvent for his mask --

Roy hands Connor his own. Right. Yes.

Connor strips off his mask as quickly as possible -- but still manages to miss the move that led to Tim having his legs locked around Bruce's *chest* --

Tim leans back and lets himself hang in the air, body *arched*--

"That -- fuck, little 'mano, has Dick been giving you lessons?"

"Many," Tim says, voice *slightly* strained --

And Bruce starts... playing with Tim's taut thighs. Stroking *lightly* --

"*Don't* tickle me, Bruce."

"And if I want your laughter in this moment?"

Tim *does* laugh, a bright and somewhat *cracked* snicker --

Bruce hums. "That's perfect," he says, and *rakes* his short nails down Tim's thighs --

"*Oh* -- mm. Roy. Connor. I sincerely hope you've both begun removing your clothes."

"I -- uh. Little 'mano, you pretty much *have* to forgive us for not wanting to look *away*."

"Hn. Sacrifice and compromise are important parts of any... successful endeavor."

Bruce hums again. "I promise that I will do nothing save for continuing to tease his thighs while you both undress."

Connor's penis -- twitches. "Then. I suppose we'll work quickly."

"Yeah. Uh. Right now," Roy says, and begins to strip at *speed* --

Connor does the same, and he doesn't *quite* manage to spill his quiver all over the mats, but it's a near thing --

Tim's breathing is audible --

*Rough* --

Once he's naked, the slight chill of the air hits him, and a terribly *confused* part of Connor's brain wants the rest to know that he's *naked* in the *Batcave* and that Bruce could see him that way at any *moment* --

But Roy is right there beside him, cupping his shoulder with his broad, warm hand. "You know something, bro?"

Connor breathes. "More every day, it seems."

"Heh. I'm thinking... Tim's overdressed."

"Hn." Tim sounds more and *less* strangled than he had before -- "I suppose you could ask Bruce to do something about that."

Bruce smiles down at Tim and strokes his thumb over the thin, neat line of straight, dark hair below Tim's navel. "I find myself in the mood to be... accommodating."

Roy licks his lips. "Show us, B. Show --"

Bruce stiffens --

And Tim curls himself upright and cups Bruce's face, searching him deeply, worriedly --

Roy *winces* --

And Connor is lost. "I... what?"

"Jason called Bruce that," Tim says, and strokes Bruce's cheekbones with his thumbs. "You're not betraying his memory."

Bruce tenses *harder* --

"*Bruce*. What *exactly* would he be doing in this moment?"

The silence lies heavy and *thick* save for the hum of various generators --

And then Bruce relaxes and laughs softly. "He would be... taunting me for not having insisted you remove your shorts, jock, and briefs before allowing you to lock your legs around me."

Tim's smile manages to be fond and bladed at once. "I love you. And you're terrible at planning from time to time."

"So he informed me. From time to time," Bruce says, pulling Tim close and turning to face him and Roy. "I'm sorry. You did not come here to deal with my... difficulties."

Roy raises his hands. "No, it was -- I didn't think."

Bruce smiles *gently*. "No? I believe... I believe at least a part of you was remembering your friendship with Jay."

"I -- uh. Heh. Yeah, probably. He -- he was really gone for you."

Bruce closes his eyes for a moment --

And Connor lets his gaze move to the case -- no, the *Case* -- under warm lights. The memorial everyone who had ever been on the League -- and any number of other heroes -- knew about. Even if they could never truly know all of what it meant.

Connor moves close to Bruce and Tim and rests a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Neither of us would ever disrespect your memories, and especially your memories of love."

Bruce opens his eyes again and stares at him, *into* him --

Connor shivers helplessly --

"Connor..." Bruce turns back to Roy. "Roy. I promise both of you, as I have promised Dick and Tim, that I will not allow grief and fear to keep me from happiness."

Connor looks to Tim -- and he's smiling wryly and cupping the back of Bruce's neck. Cupping it *protectively* --

And this is something Connor can understand and understand well.

Roy blows out a breath. "So... where... were we? Ish?"

"Hmm. I believe I was mere moments away from telling you that you're welcome to call me 'B.'"

"Oh -- Bruce --"

"I would like... I would like to have more good memories of that. Please."

Roy bites his lip and nods slowly -- and then sharply. "Anything you say, B."

Bruce tilts his chin up slightly --

And Tim strokes to the front of Bruce's throat and cups him there, squeezing for a moment before throwing himself back into an arch. This time, he reaches out enough to stroke a firm line up Connor's thigh.

"Oh -- yes, Tim?"

"Hn. How do *you* think Bruce should relieve me of the burden of my clothes...?"

That... is a wonderful question.

Especially since Bruce has gone back to stroking Tim's thighs and abdomen, scratching whenever he gets near Tim's nipples --

Tim's *hard* nipples --

And Bruce's hands are just as huge and powerful as they've always been, but --

No buts. "With his hands," Connor says, and looks up to meet Bruce's eyes again. "Please."

"Connor," Bruce says, smiling and -- flexing his hands. Twice.

Roy snorts. "Arrow-tease."

"Hm. Do let me know if it gets to be... too much for you, Roy," and Bruce looks down -- "Tim. Look up."

Tim curls himself up halfway, eyes glittering. "What do you need... Dad?"

Oh --

Roy *coughs* --

-- dear. Connor checks on Roy --

But he's only laughing appreciatively and *mostly* silently. Connor moves closer anyway --

"I need you. And your lovers. And your... hmm. Regard."

"You have me. You *will* have... most of my lovers. My regard... has time limits."

"Really."

Tim takes a deep breath, abdominal muscles flexing -- he licks his lips. "Did you want to make me wait, Dad? After all this time?"

Bruce's penis twitches, and Connor has to tear his gaze away from the pre-ejaculate beading at the tip.

"I want... to make you feel as I do. *Need* as I do," Bruce says, and flexes his hands *again* --

Tim's lips part and he licks them once --

Again --

"Would you like for me to lose control?"

"Yes. Soon," and Bruce tears Tim's shorts off with one *yank* --

Tim gasps --

Bruce reaches out --

Roy claps his belt knife into Bruce's palm --

And Bruce flicks the blade open before turning it in the light. "Tim."

Tim pants --

Stops --

"Yes, Bruce?"

"Have you ever wanted to bleed for me?"

"Hn. I've bled for you many, many times. Dad."

Bruce nods once and slices the jock away, and the sound of it hitting the mats --

A part of Connor is honestly considering scolding for the *waste*, but Connor recognizes that *that*... is merely the part of his brain with too much pride to *gibber* with the rest. And --

Roy reaches over and squeezes Connor's bourgeoning erection *hard* --

"*Hnh* -- Roy --"

"You were looking a little too *introspective*, bro," and Roy lets him go --

And Tim is... wincing, slightly.

It's clear from the bulge in his simple briefs that the jock *had* been hurting him --

Bruce *cups* Tim's penis through the briefs. "Tim."

"Y-yes. I'm listening."

"I will not let you fall."

And for a *moment* Connor thinks that Bruce is speaking metaphorically, but then he notices how much Tim is shaking. *Trembling*. Strain? Arousal? Both?

Bruce rides Tim's erection with his hand --

Tim moans and tilts his head back without relaxing his abdominals, baring his throat again --

Connor can't --

Connor moves in closer to them and pulls Tim's upper body against his own, lifting him enough that he can reach his throat -- "Tim..."

"Connor. I -- you really should let me hold myself up," Tim says, laughing and gasping at once --

Connor leans in and *bites* Tim's throat, knowing he's renewing a bruise, that he's leaving a mark he won't be able to stay and *care* for --

*Again* --

Tim gurgles and writhes for it -- or for what Bruce is doing with --

"Need a hand with that, B?"

"I believe I need *your* hand, Roy," Bruce says, and there's another tearing sound --

And Tim's briefs flutter to the mats *just* within Connor's range of vision. Connor sucks hard --

Tim gurgles again, gasps and cries *out* --

And Connor has to look. He -- he cradles Tim in his arms and turns to see Bruce and Roy with their hands twined together around Tim's penis. They're staring into each other's eyes --

Roy's lips are wet and parted --

Bruce lets his eyes slip most of the way closed and leans in slowly, almost *hesitantly* --

"Oh -- Jesus, this is --" Roy shakes his head and lunges for the kiss, cupping the back of Bruce's head and making it --

Connor *recognizes* that kiss. It's the one that bypasses welcome and goes right to acceptance, *lust* --

Bruce hums and wraps his free arm around Roy's waist, yanking him close and very obviously making the kiss deeper --

Roy's hand spasms on Bruce's head --

Roy *squeezes* with his other hand --

And Tim cries out, losing his grip --

Bruce turns out of the kiss and catches Tim, pulling him away from Connor, lifting and *turning* him until --

Roy cups Tim's face and gives *him* that kiss, *driving* him back against Bruce and grinding against him hard and *slow* --

Tim makes a shocked noise into Roy's mouth -- and then a pleased hum as he almost seems to sink *into* it --

Bruce lifts Tim's legs around Roy's hips, stroking them and squeezing, massaging them and seeming almost to *test*.

The bruise on Tim's right hip is indeed spectacular, a spreading stain of mild swelling and what *must* have been terrible pain --

And Connor isn't sure whether he's relieved or not that it's clear that the bruise didn't come from any *directly* sexual activity. It's --

This is almost too *much* --

But that thought dies when Bruce turns to him --

When Connor truly *feels* himself on the verge of dropping to his knees on the mats Bruce and his family have used to *work* themselves into several different kinds of perfection over the years --

"Connor...?"

Tim and Roy are still kissing --

And Bruce looks openly curious with a hint of *concern*. Which --

Connor laughs and steadies himself on his feet. "Bruce, I'm struck by a sense of... ah. I believe I'm being ridiculous --"

"Please. Come closer."

There's a certain *perverse* urge to tell Bruce to come to *him* --

But Connor realizes that Bruce is supporting at least some of Tim's weight with his own side. The act of a partner... or a certain *kind* of father.

Connor smiles and shakes his head, moving close enough that he can rest one hand on Bruce's *impossible* pectoral --

Bruce looks down at Connor's hand and smiles. "You were often quite open in your... appreciation."

"It's much easier to do when one tells oneself that the appreciation is aesthetic. Kyle has sketched you -- and painted you -- many times."

Bruce's smile grows somewhat wider. "I'm not... unaware of this. His figure studies are always... passionate."

Connor feels himself blush --

And Bruce narrows his eyes and touches Connor's cheek lightly, carefully -- "When you notice the urge to blush, your expression becomes... closed. Every time."

Connor blinks. "Ah... thank you for telling me."

Bruce nods slowly. "Did you ever help Kyle with his sketches?"

"I... have a rather good memory for distinguishing marks. Scars and the like. It's been helpful on the street --"

"And in Kyle's home."

Connor licks his lips. "I wonder, sometimes, if he ever... ah. Well. It has become increasingly difficult to turn my mind away from sexuality --"

"Don't try."

Connor laughs --

Tim moans again, shifts --

And Roy is carrying him away from them, cupping Tim's rear and -- yes, carrying him.

Bruce turns Connor back to face him. "Don't. Try."

"Bruce, you can't honestly -- *you* can't honestly --"

"Hn. I am always, with some part of my mind, considering the beauty and sexual... potential of those who surround me."

That -- "Ah. Always?"

Bruce's smile shows teeth. "Always. When I tried the alternative, I found myself... hmm. I often found myself edging toward situations and encounters which were, at best, inappropriate."

"But --"

"I was never more in control of my own sexuality than when I was making love with Jason each and every day. I am aware that that isn't saying much. Would you like to kiss me?"

Connor sucks in a breath -- "Oh... your scent."

"Yes?"

"Familiar and not. I -- I've never smelled you without the armor. And I'm altogether unsure whether I've smelled you when you were aroused --"

"You have. Connor... I've always found you to be beautiful by countless measures. You fascinate me. You..." Bruce hums and leans in, nuzzling Connor's mouth --

"Oh -- I -- Bruce. You've always been so... it was *easy* to look at you --"

Another hum. "Thank you."

"No, I mean -- you know what I mean --"

"The unique safety of the unattainable?"

"*Yes* --"

"I have never been safe. I have always been attainable," Bruce says, and kisses Connor softly, almost --

No, there is nothing *chaste* about it. It's a kiss which speaks of *all* the places on Connor's body which could *be* kissed --

And when Bruce slips his tongue into Connor's mouth --

When he *sweeps* in with it --

Connor moans and closes his eyes, giving himself leave to cup Bruce's waist with his free hand, to push back enough that he *can* stroke Bruce's chest --

*Twitch*, inside and out, for the somehow shocking brush of Bruce's scarred nipple against his palm --

Bruce *bites* Connor's lip --

And pulls back.

"I -- ah. I'm sorry, I didn't really participate very much --"

"No."

"Ah... no?"

"Connor... I would like to make love to both you and your brother. I would like to watch you both with Tim. I would like to watch you with each other."

"You... haven't?"

Bruce shows his teeth again. "I would like to have *permission* for all of those things," he says, and reaches down to *cup* Connor's scrotum --

Connor moans again --

Bruce narrows his eyes. "Roy has not yet taught you much... control."

"I -- I've *asked* --"

"You excel at being kind, Connor. Continue to do so... by continuing to fail to control yourself."

*That* -- Connor shakes his head -- "Does it make me seem younger?"

Bruce laughs *aloud*. "Tim is --not merely chronologically -- one of the youngest people I've ever known. His cynicism is innocent, untempered by the hope only relatively long life can bring. His control is the coldest possible tantrum, wielded with the natural manipulation of a child --"

"I -- what would he *think* were he to hear you say that?"

"I've told him. He skewered me -- again -- by calling me 'Dad,' and proceeded to sit on my lap for an entire hour. We enjoyed ourselves immensely."

Connor's laugh is breathless -- and then it's another moan, because Bruce is squeezing his scrotum *rhythmically*. "I -- Bruce --"

"A moment," he says, and turns Connor --

Roy has Tim on his hands and knees --

Roy is holding Tim's cheeks *spread* as he licks -- as he --

Tim is being too *quiet* for that, and Roy had told him that that sort of thing drives him, almost angers him --

"Oh -- *fuck*, *Roy* --"

Connor can *just* see the edge of Roy's smile in the moments before he does... something.

Something makes Tim *bark* out a cry --

Another --

"Ah... Bruce."

"Yes."

"Can you tell... exactly what Roy's doing?"

"I believe -- judging by Tim's reactions -- that Roy is sucking at the mild swelling around Tim's anus. There's always a hint of outrage for that sort of behavior."

Outrage -- "I find myself thinking of older uses of that term."

"As well you should. Tim has the unassailable *dignity* of a virgin who knows precisely how staggeringly large her dowry will be."

Connor *snorts* --

And Bruce kisses his temple, his ear --

Hot, damp *breath* on his ear, and Roy had taught him to love and fear that, to --

"Bruce, are you about to say something shocking?"

"I wouldn't dream of trying to predict your emotions, Connor."

"You're quite amazingly good at being *dry*."

"I've had some little time to practice," Bruce says, shifting behind him --

And then there are two broad -- broader than *Roy's* -- hard fingers pressed up behind his scrotum. That -- "Oh -- don't --"

"Connor?"

"I -- don't want you to stop. It's only... I tend to come very quickly from that sort of touch."

"Really."

Connor swallows. That had sounded like a threat because it *was* one -- "Bruce --"

"Let me pleasure you," and Bruce kisses Connor's shoulder, the side of his throat --

Connor shivers and squeezes his eyes shut --

And opens them immediately, because Tim is beating at the mats with his right fist while *driving* himself back --

"*Please*, Roy --"

Roy pulls back and licks his lips. "I think I *like* your musk, little 'mano."

Tim pants and curls his fingers in against the mats, and --

"He's so *lean*... I."

"He is spare. He rigidly controls his fat intake and tells himself that it's because he doesn't want to risk becoming bloated and slow. He is proud of his body -- and rightfully so."

"Is -- would you say he's your type?"

Bruce turns his face against Connor's cheek -- he gives Connor the feel of his smile. "A part of me wants to say, with no sense of irony whatsoever, of course, that I've found beauty in many different physical 'types.' While this is true, it has not escaped me how often I've found myself drawn to young men with superficial resemblances to myself at various stages of my youth."

Connor gasps a laugh -- and groans and locks his knees when Bruce *presses* with his fingers -- "Were you -- please --"

"What were you going to say before?"

"I -- I was deeply tempted to ask whether you were admitting to narcissism or ephebophilia, but --"

"There are other temptations now?"

Connor laughs again --

"Watch," Bruce says, and turns Connor's head --

Roy has acquired a tube of medical-grade lubricant from *somewhere* --

He gives Tim *two* fingers immediately, and the jealousy is a wound, an *ache* --

"You're not aroused by the sight."

"I *am* -- I. I've come to *despise* myself for not spending time and effort preparing myself for anal sex."

"Even though Roy is enjoying every moment of preparing you himself?"

"Bruce. It will not take long -- or much more effort on your part -- to make me beg you to *fuck* me. And -- I really can't wait for people to stop mistaking me for an *altruist*."

Bruce hums and nuzzles Connor's throat. "You have my apologies. It's quite easy to mistake a man with -- relatively -- few needs for a man whose only needs revolve around the needs of others. What do you want to have happen today?"

"Oh -- *yes*," Tim says, and his tone is abandoned, pleasured --

Connor *aches* inside where Roy hasn't touched him in much too long --

Yes, twelve hours counts as much too *long*, now --

Connor looks up and sees Roy looming over Tim, two fingers of his right hand buried deep inside Tim and moving --

He's *gripping* the back of Tim's neck with his other hand --

Tim is on his *elbows* and knees --

Connor licks his lips and presses back against Bruce without thinking --

Bruce hums and splays his free hand against Connor's sternum in the moments before stroking down --

Down --

"Bruce. Bruce, please --"

"Tell me."

"I -- I was going to -- share Tim. With Roy --"

"I have no objections to that. Tim... relaxes with the two of you," Bruce says, and wraps his fingers around Connor's penis --

Connor pants --

Bruce *licks* Connor's temple --

"I -- Bruce --"

"You're beautiful. I've imagined you with many lovers. I've imagined how they might bring you to lose your natural reserve --"

Connor laughs and *tries* not to thrust into Bruce's hand. "I'm hardly -- as you can see, it's simply not that *difficult* --"

Bruce lets Connor feel his smile. "I recycled those fantasies for Tim, shuffled them until you were using everything you learned in your -- fantastic -- adventures *with* Tim..."

Connor moans and -- well, he's squirming somewhat, but Bruce is holding his hands *still*. "Bruce. Will you... ah. I trust you not to hurt me --"

"You'd like for me to stretch you."

Put like that --

How else could it *be* put? That --

Connor decides to ignore the part of his mind which is always looking for gentle ways to express things and focuses on the stillness of Bruce's hands --

They don't have to --

"Stay still and *take* it, little 'mano. You know I've got you."

"I -- Roy. Roy, please, *more* --"

"And leave you too stretched-out for Dickie? Not a chance in *hell*. I *like* my sac --"

"I like it, too. I'd *like* to feel it slapping against -- "

"Ah-ah-ah, *just* this for now."

Connor looks up and stares --

And winces because Roy is giving Tim three fingers, three --

Connor knows how *big* Roy's fingers can feel --

Tim is -- he's *taking* them --

Bruce presses *up* with the fingers he has behind Connor's scrotum --

Connor groans and shivers --

"He enjoys that pain --"

"*Yes* -- I -- I *want* --"

"I'll give it to you... but you must --"

"*Do* it, Bruce --"

"Will you allow me to give you an orgasm?"

Connor feels his knees *shaking* --

Bruce strokes him twice, so *slowly* --

"Oh -- *please*, Bruce, I -- it won't take long --"

"Down," Bruce says, and he sounds almost *conversational* as he drops them both to the mats --

As he rolls Connor onto his back --

"Oh, look at *that*," Roy says --

"What --" And Tim *moans* --

Connor can't see them -- but they can see him, see Bruce looming over him, see him kneeling between Connor's thighs --

Even Bruce's *hair* seems perfect, and that's --

Connor shakes his head and reaches for Bruce, getting his hand caught immediately -- "Come *down* --"

"Shall I cover you?"

Connor groans --

Tries to *think* --

"I want -- I want a kiss --"

"And then?"

"*In* me --"

Bruce growls and --

It feels like being *pounced* on, like --

Oh, Bruce is so *big*, so heavy and hairy, so warm and *alive* --

Connor does his best to shove his hands into Bruce's hair, to muss and tug while Bruce breathes hot against his mouth, while Bruce stares into his eyes --

"Connor. Tell me how to kiss you."

"Let me --" Connor shakes his head and pulls Bruce in, not bothering to try to still himself --

Bruce gives him *more* weight --

And his mouth is hard and hungry, less naturally *generous* than Roy's --

Bruce makes Connor feel like his mouth is *impossibly* soft, *suggestive* --

"Connor."

And this kiss is *precisely* like being taken, being -- rolled over by something greater, and that does and doesn't have to do with *who* he's kissing.

To give himself over to sexuality --

To lose himself to this *moment* --

Connor *grips* Bruce's face and lets his body move. He uses his strength to lift himself up beneath Bruce --

He groans into Bruce's mouth when Bruce presses him *down* --

And Bruce growls into Connor's mouth and begins to thrust, tongue and hips --

The feel of Bruce hard against his thigh --

His thick and mobile tongue *moving* in his mouth --

And Connor can't limit himself to mussing Bruce's hair. He *has* to stroke, to mark out the spaces Bruce's shoulders fill, to study the scarring on his back --

Bruce bites Connor's lip --

Connor *bucks*, shocked and not by how close he's become, how near to his own --

It *will* be extremis --

Bruce bites harder and then sucks, *slides* his body against Connor's own --

Pulls back --

"Bruce, I -- will we be able to have this *again* --"

"*Yes*," Bruce says, kissing Connor's jaw, his throat --

The *sucking* kiss makes Connor think of Tim --

Tim is *grunting*, fast and sharp --

A little too *high* --

"Oh, pretty *baby*. You take it like this for Bruce?"

Bruce stiffens -- relaxes all over and kisses his way down Connor's chest --

Connor cups the back of Bruce's head --

"Louder," Tim says, panting -- "He makes me. He takes me harder and harder until I shout --"

"He knows what you *like*, little 'mano..."

And Connor is shocked by his own cry --

Somehow he hadn't *expected* Bruce to bite his nipple that hard --

*Roy* does that --

And Bruce is staring at him -- a question --

Connor nods and licks his lips --

Bruce smiles and *sucks* Connor's nipple, shifts until it seems as though he's trying to encompass Connor's entire *pectoral* muscle --

All right, that's very silly, but --

"It -- Bruce, I hope you don't mind my -- my being *insipid* --"

Bruce rumbles something that *feels* like a laugh, flicks at Connor's nipple with his tongue --

"You're -- very, very large, and that seems *profound* --"

Bruce laughs aloud and sucks Connor's nipple *hard* --

*Roy* laughs -- "It *is* profound, bro. *Look* at him."

"I --" Connor gasps and finds that he *can't* stop himself from spreading his legs --

Bruce makes a *pleased* sound --

"I'm looking -- with my *hands* --"

Tim growls --

Tim cries out --

Tim growls *again* -- "Be *mean* every -- every now and again. He -- ah -- Roy -- he *likes* that --"

"Oh -- Bruce --"

"Tim is, as usual, *correct*," Bruce says, licking his way to Connor's other nipple --

Connor digs his short nails in against Bruce's back and *rakes* --

Bruce *grunts* --

"Fucking *God*, that sounds inspiring. Hey, little 'mano. You make him make that noise?"

"As often -- often as possible -- *ahn* --"

"Oh, now you're giving it up *just* right --"

"*Please*, Roy --"

"Tell me I can watch you do this to Bart one day --"

"*Yes* --"

"Tell me I can *fuck* you a little --"

"A *lot* --"

"Nah, pretty baby. I don't wanna *come* yet."

Tim growls again --

Roy makes a surprised noise --

And Bruce looks up in their direction, *casually* holding Connor down with a hand on his sternum. He hums -- "Tim," he says, and the laugh in his voice is *openly* appreciative --

"*Later*, Bruce," and Tim is growling more, grunting and --

Connor can't *tell* --

Bruce hums once more and *darts* in to kiss Connor, licking in and in --

He pulls back --

"Tim made a successful attempt to wrestle his way onto Roy's penis --"

"Ah, *fuck*, yeah --"

"*Do* it, Roy --"

"*Take* what you want, little 'mano --"

And if an animal made the noises Tim is making, Connor would assume that another animal was in the process of being torn to bloody *shreds* --

Roy *laughs* -- and it gets cut off abruptly.

There's an odd *thump* --

Connor starts to move --

Bruce *shoves* him down against the mats -- "Tim is... hm. I believe he just paralyzed Roy's upper body..."

Roy makes a gurgling noise --

"I -- that doesn't sound very -- ah. Bruce --"

"Hmm. Tim is riding him. Roy's lower body seems to be... perfectly healthy."

"And if he -- if he knows what's *good* for him -- God, I -- so *hard* --"

"*Don't* stop, Tim," Bruce says --

"I *won't*. I -- show Connor, Bruce. Show him how good --" Tim's growl *this* time seems more helpless than aggressive --

And Bruce's eyes are narrow with *obvious* pleasure and lust. That --

"Are you quite sure you want *me* right now?"

Bruce shows his teeth in Tim's and Roy's general direction -- but that's not enough to describe what the expression *feels* like when Bruce turns it on him.

Just -- "Oh. I. Rescind the question."

"Do you."

"I -- you don't think paralysis is a bit extreme?"

Bruce cocks his head to the side and strokes Connor's cheek. His smile becomes... softer. But.

"You're aware that that isn't actually an answer, yes?"

Bruce hums, and turns back to Tim and Roy. "Roy. Say something."

What Roy says... is garbled. *Gurgled*. A rather fascinating confection of incomprehensibility and obvious pleasure. Hm.

Bruce turns back to Connor and raises an eyebrow.

"Have you ever considered -- and this is just a thought -- teaching Tim meditations which aren't directly relatable to becoming a better weapon?"

"Yes. In much the same way Tim considers teaching Bart how to better stand against him, and Stephanie considers the consumption of soy products."

Tim has always been quite clear about the fact that it would be worth his life to offer Steph vegetarian cuisine. And -- Connor laughs. "All right. I suppose I needed a moment to... ah. Pause?"

Another hum. "Then shall we begin again?"

"Bruce -- what do *you* want right now?"

"More. Starting... here," Bruce says, and his hand is so *fast* --

Until it isn't. Until he's rubbing slow, *hard* circles around Connor's anus --

Connor groans and --

He hadn't truly taken *advantage* of the control he'd briefly won. He --

Connor spreads his legs wider and *arches* --

"Beautiful. Have you posed for Kyle...?"

"I -- yes --"

"Would you pose for me?"

"You *draw*, too?"

"A hobby in my youth that comes in handy from time to time. Tim tends to make me feel like a particular *sort* of pervert when he poses for me. Dick is barely still even when he *sleeps*. You... perhaps have more patience?"

"I -- I --" Bruce is making the flesh around his anus feel *hot*, *sensitized* -- "Please --"

"May I penetrate you with my finger?"

"Yes --"

"May I fellate --"

"*Yes* --"

"Hmm. In my fantasies, you were always far more difficult to convince."

Connor laughs helplessly. "I'm -- sorry?"

"I'm sure I can find it in my heart to forgive..."

"Oh -- *Bruce* --"

"... in time. Stay still," Bruce says, and pushes hard enough with his fingers to *almost* breach --

Connor arches again --

And Bruce is gone, presumably to retrieve lubricant --

Roy's speech is still garbled by whichever strike Tim had used -- Connor can think of three with that sort of effect, but it's entirely possible that Tim knows others -- but it's recognizable *as* speech, now threatening and pleased in tone --

Tim is alternately panting and crying out, rhythmic and sharp --

Connor *could* look --

But there's something... extra in following Bruce's order, in joining his brother in being at the mercy of the Bats --

Their father would have so *much* to say about this, and would possibly acquire new, full-bodied images of Bruce solely to make his target practice that much more *pointed* --

Which is reason enough to be laughing when Bruce returns and drops to his knees between Connor's legs.

Bruce raises an eyebrow --

"I am -- ah. Musing on the nature of this *particular* helplessness."

"Roy ties you sometimes."

"Ah. Yes. It's very... it's usually enough to make me lose all ability to remain calm."

"Your training in escape artistry butts against your desire to let Roy do as he wishes?" And Bruce opens the tube and slicks his fingers.

Connor *stares* for a moment, feeling something of a *skip*. It's Batman, it's himself with his legs spread, it's *personal lubricant* -- and he doesn't want any of the above to change. "Yes. I... as I've come to understand it, the conflict is part of preparing me for the moment of... release."

Bruce smiles. "Certainly, it is for some."

"Not for you?"

Bruce splays his dry hand on Connor's abdomen and presses --

"Oh -- that --"

"Tim has told me that this touch makes him feel... very young."

"Yes, that, but -- I don't think I can explain *why*."

"Perhaps the size of my hand?"

"Understandable on Tim, but --"

"Yes, *but*," Bruce says, and strokes through Connor's pubic hair, avoiding Connor's penis with all but the lightest touches. "When I am dominated, I fight... oh, every moment. Even when I surrender, a part of me continues to struggle. When I lose myself to orgasm, I am taken by an emotion not unlike despair... and I am grateful for every moment of it."

Connor licks his lips and feels himself -- well, no, he's not actually wilting. He's not sure that would be *possible* at this moment. It's just that he feels as though he should be --

"I've disturbed you."

"Ah -- I would say it was more *depressing*, Bruce. Everyone should be able to let go of themselves with *some* measure of joy."

Bruce's smile is *almost* distant --

And Tim makes a sound akin to a *squawk* -- "Oh, God --"

"You *had* to know this was coming, little 'mano --"

"*Please*. Please just don't *stop* --"

"Do you *deserve* my cock?"

"I need -- *please*, Roy --"

"Ooh, yeah, *fight* for it."

"*Hnh* --"

"You can breathe *after* you come."

Oh... Roy. Connor makes a note to mention something along the lines of Roy -- *perhaps* -- not using that particular line on him unless and until he wants Connor to *laugh* --

Bruce looks over at Roy and Tim and narrows his eyes. "I don't think that will take very long, at all... hm." He turns to look back at Connor. "Roy managed to keep himself still -- and show all the signs of continued paralysis -- until Tim was... lost. Now, he's holding Tim's wrists over his head with one hand and choking him rather brutally with the other. I strongly suspect Tim will invite you both here... often." Bruce slides his slick fingers along Connor's cleft with slow, *firm* care, which is really the sort of thing --

The monks had taught him a great *deal* of physics, and there is such a thing as activation energy, as necessary *reaction* --

He's panting again, just that *quickly* -- "Oh -- please, don't make me wait any longer -- *oh* --"

In and it's immediate clear how much larger Bruce's hands are --

"Oh, Bruce --"

"Don't mourn for me, Connor."

"I -- so deep --"

"Don't..." Bruce hums. "I am a very happy man," he says, and begins to thrust, slow and careful, *testing* --

And Connor has to arch, shove *back* --

There were *words* there, and certainly -- certainly an important conversation, a chance to share what *he* has learned --

He opens his mouth to speak, to *plead* for a chance to make his case -- he groans and *pants* more --

"Faster?"

"*Please* --"

"I fantasized introducing you to this pleasure slowly and with *great* care --"

"*Ohn* -- I --" Connor can feel himself *sweating* --

And Bruce flares his nostrils. "I fantasized my own loss of control... and my own regrets."

"Please* --"

Bruce begins to thrust *harder* -- "Would you ever wish *me* to hurt you, Connor?"

An *important* question, to be sure, but all he's doing right now is licking his lips and remembering Roy's hands, Roy's *teeth* --

Roy grunts -- "*Careful*, Bruce --"

"*Always*," Bruce says, crooking his finger --

Connor cries out and beats his fist against the mats, feels himself rising further into his arch, feels himself *ache* --

"Connor... the desire I have felt for you has always been brighter than my other desires, more... forgivable, perhaps...?"

"I don't -- I don't know --"

"You will never be *my* son."

That -- Connor laughs and gasps. Just --some concerns are clearly *petty* in this life, and surely Bruce should know? He --

His body clenches suddenly and he cries out again, wants *more* --

"Roy," Bruce says --

"I'm -- I'm listening -- and hurry *up*, little 'mano. I *don't* have all day."

It was, perhaps, Tim's *turn* to gurgle -- though the part of Connor which remains capable of thought is convinced to the point of zealotry that Tim would much rather be using another nerve-strike. Certainly, *he* would --

Bruce grunts. "I have longed to *taste* that blush."

"It's *damned* pretty -- what *is* it, B?"

"May I stretch your brother?"

*Oh* --

"Oh, *fuck*. And you're *asking* me -- and you know exactly what that does to me --" Roy growls. "You're making me wanna fuck your little Robin *blind*, making me wanna ask *you* for permission -- but you don't *do* that with him. Do you?"

Bruce crooks his finger *again* --

And Connor is gripping his own penis before he can think, panting and *needing*. So much of him is on his *knees* right now -- "Roy, *please* --"

Roy moans -- "Do it, B. Do it -- *open* him for me. Just -- oh, pretty *baby*, would you look at that?"

And abruptly Tim is shouting --

Roy had *released* him -- because he came. *Is* coming --

Connor squeezes his eyes shut and tries not to let his *memories* of Tim coming carry him over --

Except that *he's* shouting, because Bruce is pushing in with two fingers --

They're bigger than the *toy* Roy had used on him, rougher, less forgiving of --

Of --

Innocence? *Physical* innocence --

Tim makes an *outraged* noise --

That gets muffled by what *has* to be one of Roy's kisses --

"Don't *worry* so much, little 'mano. You know I gotta save this for Bruce."

Connor doesn't think he's ever heard a *satisfied* growl before --

And none of it matters, because Bruce is getting deeper --

*Deeper* --

Connor claws at the mats and feels himself sweat more, tries and fails to catch his breath -- "*Bruce* -- "

"You must keep breathing, Connor --"

"I -- I *know* that, but --"

"Tell me."

"So -- it burns like the *first* time --"

*Bruce* growls and claws at Connor's abdomen --

Connor jerks and Bruce is *seated* inside him, knuckle-deep and *pressed* to the taut and sensitive skin of Connor's cleft --

"You must stop me if you're not sure --"

"Nuh-uh, B, he *needs* this," Roy says, hauling Connor up into his arms and holding him *tightly*. "Don't you, baby bro?"

Contact, intimacy, so much *warmth*, and he never wants -- he *always* wants -- "Yes -- *yes*, oh, Roy, I can't *wait* --"

"I know, *believe* me, I know. By the time Dick fucked me the first time, I thought I was gonna go *crazy* --"

"Please -- *please* --"

And Tim kneels beside Connor and wraps his hand around Connor's penis. "You should probably at least *try* to make Roy wait as long as possible."

"Be *nice*, little 'mano --"

Tim shows his teeth. "I'll consider it. *After* you fuck me the right way."

Roy snorts. "Yeah, well maybe don't *paralyze* me the next time."

Tim *glitters* at Roy. "Amateur."

Roy *chokes* a laugh -- "Is that how it is? Pretty baby, one day I'm gonna use you so hard you *cry* for me. And I won't stop until you pass out and I can lick your salty little cheeks."

"Hn. You did seem to enjoy that sort of thing."

Roy --

Connor can *feel* Roy smiling, and he knows exactly which smile it is by the way he strokes over to Connor's nipples and starts pinching and twisting. "I'm a man of taste and distinction, little 'mano. You'll learn."

Tim hums like Bruce --

And Bruce tilts Tim's head back *gently* and kisses him, holding his fingers still inside Connor and stroking Connor's abdomen in broad, long strokes which are anything but soothing --

Roy laughs softly and *filthily*. "Batman on Robin action. How you likin' it, bro?"

There's a part of Connor which is only *stuck* on how long he'd gone without anything like this, on the feel of Roy's breath on his ear, on the sense that this could somehow be even more were he more knowledgeable, better, *experienced* -- "I'm afraid -- I'm afraid I'm in no state to *appreciate* --"

Bruce growls and pulls back from Tim. "Now, Connor?"

"Please -- ohn -- *ohn* --"

And then it seems like that's the only sound he can *make*, because Bruce is crooking his fingers over and over --

Bruce is -- it feels like he's *forcing* Connor, like he's demanding Connor's body work *this* way and not any other --

He's *happy* that he never considered this in the monastery. He --

He'd never have been able to keep himself *quiet* --

"Oh, *yeah*, baby bro. Mm, that's so -- give it up for him. For *all* of us --"

"*Roy* --"

"It's okay. It's -- he's doing you right, isn't he?"

"Yes -- *yes* --"

"Tell him to fuck you with those fingers. Tell him what you *need*."

*More*, and the answer will be the same, it's a *threat* of itself, of a future just like this, and how could he ever *deny* -- "It feels -- I'll *come* --"

"For *me*," Bruce says, and does -- something --

He's working his fingers *quickly*, almost seeming to *vibrate* them --

And Connor can't *stop* himself from planting his feet and *thrusting* up --

Tim squeezes him so *hard* --

"*Please* -- please, I --"

"You know what to do, brother."

Connor groans and squeezes his eyes shut --

Opens them because that's not what he's supposed to *do*, not with Roy so close, not with Roy to *see* --

"Bruce -- *fuck* me, please *fuck* me --"

"*Yes*," Bruce says, brushing Tim's hand aside and gripping Connor's hip --

Holding him still with one *hand* --

And every thrust is a burn, a promise, a step *closer* to what he *needs* --

Connor reaches back and *clutches* at Roy --

"It's okay, brother, I've got you --"

"Please -- *please* --" But at the moment he hasn't the faintest idea who he's begging or what he's begging *for*. Bruce's fingers are thick, *implacable* things --

And when Connor manages to focus --

When he can look *up* --

Bruce is staring into him. He seems --

It feels like Bruce is *consuming* him with his gaze, taking all of him --

*Taking* him --

Connor cries out and it *becomes* a grunt, a shout, *more* --

"*B*," and Roy holds on tighter -- "You see how close he is --"

"Yes --"

"*Take* what you want while you can, because you are *not* making me wait for you," Roy says --

"Hn. Yes, Dad --"

Bruce grunts -- "Tim --"

"Let me see you fellating Connor. Let me watch you wrap your lips around him --"

"I want -- I've wanted --"

"With me, yes. You have. And you will. Over and over again, really -- but not right now."

Bruce moves so *quickly* --

But he only nudges Tim's head aside and kisses his throat --

Tim gasps just the same --

And then Bruce is pushing Tim further away and leaning in --

Looking Connor over --

"Beautiful. Perhaps you will pose for me just like this," he says, and *licks* Connor's penis --

"*Oh* -- your *tongue*, I --" And couldn't it be a paintbrush? Something to tease, to --

He's *going* to talk to Kyle, but --

"Bruce, your tongue is so *hard* --"

"Heh. Just wait 'til you let Clark get a taste, bro."

He will *never* be able to think about Clark without thinking about the sound of Roy's screams, but this --

Bruce is *kissing* Connor's penis, licking and nuzzling, tugging at the foreskin with just his lips --

The *contrast* of it to the way he's thrusting --

It is, Connor thinks, another way to be prepared for being unprepared, another way to lose himself to another's touch --

To let *go* --

Until Roy is stroking him in the way that always means that he *can't* do anything less --

Until Tim is kissing him, cupping his face and teasing his tongue --

Until Bruce bends him down and sucks him in, swallows him *in*, and for a moment Connor isn't sure *whose* mouth he's shouting into --

The logistics seem so *complicated* -- no, they're in the Batcave, and so perhaps it's only correct that Batman and Robin are devouring him *whole* --

He can't --

There's nothing to *do* with this feeling save to ride it --

The only thing he can hold onto is his sense of self --

Roy *jokes* about Connor being a Buddhist sex god -- as if there could ever be --

Such a thing --

Let go, let go of everything, let go and become something --

Something more --

Connor clenches --

Spasms --

And then there is nothing but heat and light, pleasure and the only true nothingness he will ever know --

He's so *grateful* --

And Connor is aware that he's arching, that his hands and feet are twitching, that he's all but *bellowing* --

Connor slumps and Roy lays him down --

Bruce is pulling back, kneeling up and looking down at Connor --

His lips are swollen and red --

And Tim pushes a hand into Bruce's short hair, scratching at his scalp and taking a kiss that must be --

He doesn't know, because Roy is covering him, kissing him, grinding against Connor's hip --

Oh, Roy is *hard*, and that's the same goad it's been since that night in the Tower, but it still takes a moment for Connor to get his arms around him, to hold and *encourage* --

Roy moans and kisses his way to Connor's ear. "I want you to watch Bruce doing me, bro. Can you?"

"Ah. Perhaps you could give me a moment to remember how to move?"

Roy's laugh is as breathless as one of Connor's own --

Roy *licks* Connor's ear --

"Yeah. Tim will take care of you," Roy says, pushing up on his hands to grin down at him.

"Perhaps I'll take care of Tim," Connor says, and takes a moment to look Roy over.

Roy strokes down the center of his chest. "*Perhaps* you'll save a little more sugar for me."

Connor smiles and hums. "Brother."

"Brother. Was that blowjob as good as it looked?"

"Well, I wasn't entirely *there* for a goodly portion of it, but, yes, I'd have to recommend the experience."

"Thank you," Bruce says, appearing like the world's most solid apparition over Roy's shoulder --

Roy tenses and shivers -- blows out a breath and relaxes. "You know what I want from you, B?"

"I believe --"

"Do you know. What I *want* from you."

Bruce narrows his eyes -- and squeezes his own penis with a force that makes Connor want, simultaneously, to hide and to bend over something sturdy -- "Yes," Bruce says, and rests his slick hand on Roy's shoulder --

Roy shivers again --

"Come with me."

Roy closes his eyes and pants, eyes tracking quickly behind the lids --

And Connor knows that Roy's thoughts are difficult ones, possibly even *confusing* ones, but -- "Brother... take what you want."

Roy gasps and stares at him -- and when he smiles, the warmth threatens to make Connor forget that he *wants* to let Roy go. Roy kisses his forehead and pushes up onto his feet, turning to face Bruce --

And Roy hardly looks *small* -- he *couldn't* -- but in this moment it can be nothing *but* clear that Bruce is even larger, even though Bruce is hardly looming. "Where to, B?"

Bruce cups Roy's hip and yanks him close, seeming to nuzzle the air millimeters from Roy's mouth --

Roy's penis -- still slick and shining with lubricant -- twitches once and begins to leak once more --

"Pick someplace with *many* lines of sight, Dad," and Tim moves around from behind Bruce, trailing small, hard fingers along *Bruce's* hip --

"Of course, my son," Bruce says, and *bites* Roy's lip --

Roy grunts --

Bruce pulls back. "Go to the pommel horse and bend over."

"I -- heh. You give Dickie a ride on that bad boy, yet, B?"

Bruce laughs quietly. "You're quoting Jay again. This time, however, I can answer in the affirmative," and he lets go of Roy's hip. "Go."

Roy licks his lips --

Roy sucks his *bitten* lip --

Bruce narrows his eyes --

"Fuck, yeah," Roy says, and moves for the pommel horse in... something like his usual swagger. It's *not*, even taking his powerful arousal into account. There's something --

Tim offers Connor his hand and helps him to his feet. It's not remotely a surprise, at this point, that he actually *needs* the help to a certain extent --

Roy's *walk* --

"Jason, again," Tim says quietly. "Roy is giving Bruce a gift."

Connor nods and lets Tim lead them to -- the console. Hm --

"Sit down?"

"On Bruce's *chair*?"

Tim grins at him, and it occurs to Connor that it's the softest smile he's seen on Tim's face since the first time they'd met. It still feels like a weapon.

"Tim --"

"You'll leave your scent for him, Connor. And he'll appreciate that... oh, a great deal."

"I --"

Roy gasps -- and when Connor looks, he sees that Bruce has spread Roy's legs with his own.

"Oh. I. Yes, I believe I'll sit down --"

"Hn. Leave room for me."

"I'm sorry?"

"On your *lap*," Tim says, and strokes a firm line down Connor's sternum.

Oh... my. "I believe this feeling is sexual *inadequacy*, Tim --"

"You'll be up for the challenge soon enough," and Tim gives him a slight push.

Connor sits, utterly unsure how to arrange his legs --

Tim turns and sits, spreading his legs over Connor's own and reaching up to wrap his lean, strong arms around Connor's neck. "Would you believe I've never had this fantasy?"

"Ah... about me?"

"In general. Dick, however, takes every opportunity possible to make me sit on -- or near -- his lap, and has started *pushing* me onto Bruce's... well. It's enjoyable. To me, anyway. How about you?"

"I -- you feel very, very good, Tim --"

"Thank you," and Tim shifts until Connor's soft penis is pressed against the base of his spine. "When I asked Dick about it, he muttered something cranky -- and mostly incomprehensible -- about the perils of aging. Thus, there's a certain *particular* satisfaction in giving him some semblance of youth."

"Most children are rather pointedly less *sexual* in my experience, Tim."

"Nobody's perfect."

"*What*?"

"Hn. Look," Tim says, and nods toward the pommel horse --

Where Bruce is massaging Roy's shoulders and back, ruthlessly working out the tension while also *feeling* Roy in several obvious ways --

That --

"Does... does he touch you that way, Tim?"

"Yes. When I let him."

"Why would you *not*?"

"Because I rather like keeping myself... somewhat apart. As much as is possible. As much as he allows it to *be* possible."

Connor thinks about that --

Roy starts moaning. Just -- moaning.

Bruce is still only touching his back and shoulders, but the *quality* of those touches --

"You're worried about losing yourself to him," Connor says, meaning it to be a question, but failing --

"Hn. I always lose myself to him. But, for now, I retain the ability to gather myself up again. I have responsibilities, and a life I enjoy far away from him."

Connor thinks about cameras, feeds... "Not very far."

"Far enough. I... he could swallow me easily, Connor. And, in the process, shear away every last bit of personal growth I've managed since I was thirteen years old --"

"You're not that *weak*, Tim --"

"No? Perhaps not. I know he wants me here with him. I know he wants me to divorce my parents and move in. I know he could convince me -- God, so easily. And, of course, he would allow Bart to visit anytime I wished -- he's learned that lesson well -- but there would always be something for me to do here on the weekends. He would never order me to stay, but he wouldn't have to. He's never *had* to. Hell, *he* was the one who made sure I *would* become a Titan..." Tim sighs and leans back against Connor. "He could take me over, because I would let him, because it would answer something very lonely and *hungry* in me. I'd never have to make another decision so long as he lived --"

"That's *not* what he wants from you --"

"No, it isn't. But if I looked like I *needed* it enough..." Tim shakes his head. "I'm making him sound like a very particular sort of god and making *myself* sound like... oh, the devoted and willing sacrifice, I suppose. I'm being irrational, and I'm allowing it to make me cold, and make two of the people I love most in the world suffer. I know all of this... but I also know what tends to happen when I *don't* trust my instincts, no matter how crazy they may seem to be. Watch."

"I -- Tim --"

"*Watch*," he says, and lowers one hand to stroke Connor's thigh --

And Roy is shaking, arms stretched wide as he tries and fails to dig his powerful fingers in against the ends of the pommel horse --

Roy is shaking and Bruce is biting him, hard enough to leave reddened marks all over his back -- no. Not all over. He's biting in precise lines and arcs that follow the musculature of Roy's back --

He drops to his knees and begins to do the same to Roy's *thighs* --

"Has he done *that* to --"

"No. But I'll beg him to one day."

"Because you think -- you *know* that that's one of the ways he made love to Jason."

Tim sighs and tilts his head enough to nuzzle his cheek against Connor's own --

"Oh... Tim," and Connor nuzzles back, wraps his arms around him --

"Thank you. And yes."

"You never have to thank me -- I missed you a great deal. I missed you before we ever made love --"

"I feel -- and felt -- the same. Connor... it's entirely possible that I'll relax about Bruce someday," Tim... offers.

A gift to Connor's sensibilities, for all that it's also the truth. "I want your happiness. And Bruce's, as well. And Dick's --"

"Hn. And everyone else's?"

"Well. I'm rather less concerned with the happiness of supervillains, Tim."

"*Hn*. You're an Arrow. That will be beaten -- and possibly fucked -- out of you eventually."

Connor bites Tim's ear. "I begin to see why Roy wants to take a riding crop to you."

"Ooh. I missed *that* conversation."

"Rather careless of you, don't you think?"

This time, Tim laughs aloud. "Do you enjoy spending time simply sharing your lovers with your other lovers as much as I do?"

"It feels like..." Connor sighs and shakes his head. "I've yet to find the words to express it, beyond a sense of it being still another way to make love. To make sex something more than just the acts of bodies... though I've come to wonder if I've been selling sex short for all this time."

"Yes and no... for all that my certainty in that is, like yours, based entirely in the theoretical. May you never simply have sex, Connor."

"I wish the same to you," Connor says, glancing over again --

Bruce has turned Roy to face him -- no, the *correct* way to describe the tableau is that Bruce has bent Roy over the pommel horse *backwards*.

The bites --

The bites to his chest come in the same rhythm as the ones to his back and legs --

Roy is gritting his teeth and tossing his head a little, breathing rough and *hitched* --

"I worry -- I don't know what Roy is taking from this."

Tim shifts, reaching up with both arms again to stroke Connor's cheeks. "Don't you?"

"I -- well, of course he enjoys sexualized pain, and he's desired Bruce for many years..." Connor frowns, and -- yes. "He's desired Bruce for *himself*, not their late mutual lover."

"Hn. You're in the Cave, Connor. Jason will *never* be *only* someone's deceased lover... but I do take your point, I think. You're worried, perhaps, that Bruce will forget that he's making love to *Roy*?"

"I don't think he *is* making love to Roy, Tim. He --"

Bruce yanks Roy's hips away from the horse, wrapping his arms around them tightly and scraping his teeth in the bowls of his hips --

Roy is *grunting* and panting, even more aroused than before. His nipple rings --

("These? Heh. They start aching like crazy when I'm horny enough -- even though the nipples themselves just *don't* get that much more erect.")

Connor licks his lips, feels himself stir and wants -- "It's a need in me. A *less* specific ache --"

"You never want him to be used."

"I don't think that's *wrong*, Tim --"

"It isn't," Tim says, pushing closer and *pressing* on Connor's cheekbones with his fingertips. "It's only... you heard Roy say he would use *me* --"

"Yes, but --"

"He meant it. He meant that he would... mm. *Take* what he needed from me and then -- and only then -- consider what I needed."

Connor holds Tim tighter reflexively. "Tim, you. Roy wouldn't..." But that's not true. That --

Roy has never used *him*, and Connor knows he never *would* unless Connor somehow convinced him that that was what he wanted, but Connor also knows that there are places Roy *goes* with other people, other lovers...

"You're frowning again."

"It doesn't seem -- it's not making love."

"It can be."

"Tim --"

"Sometimes. Sometimes all I *want* is to be used. Fucked hard in my mouth, my rectum -- fucked hard and *left* hard, forced to give myself an orgasm or go without --"

"*Tim* --"

"Connor. It's..." Tim shakes his head. "Sometimes, I think, it would feel like the kindest possible thing... because then I wouldn't have to ever feel as though I've *burdened* --"

"Tim, you're tempting me to *kick* you --"

"And you can do that very, very -- heh. Later. But in all seriousness..." Tim drops his hands and twists in Connor's lap enough to face him. He covers Connor's hands with his own, twines his fingers between -- "In all seriousness, that's just the kind of thing I *built* myself to want from time to time. A little too much loneliness here, a little too much self-loathing *there*... well. Perhaps it's nothing to encourage, but it's *there*... and won't go away simply by being ignored."

And there will always be, perhaps, a part of Connor which had only ever wanted to be touched in *some* way, held and moved and struck --

He had *lived* for the martial arts training, even more, in some ways, than he had lived for those moments of a hand on his shoulder, or of a brush of fingers when bow was passed from sensei to student.

It -- Connor looks down.

"You understand."

"More than I wish... but I let those thoughts go --"

"All of them?"

"I... think so," Connor says, and forces himself to look up again, to smile ruefully... "I left the monastery and gained family, friends, acquaintances... all seemingly overnight."

Tim narrows his eyes thoughtfully -- and leans in to kiss Connor's jaw *just* as thoughtfully. "If anyone could move past drives like those via the judicious use of chili, hugs, and zen... it would be you."

"Oh, yes. Truly, Tim, I am a *god* among men."

"Hn. That's what we keep trying to *tell* you, certainly..." Tim sighs and kisses Connor again --

"I like that very much --"

"Good. I think... I think Roy is taking as much as he's giving --"

"I don't want him to take -- *poison* --"

"Connor... are you sure there's nothing in him that needs just this? The touch of an older man. The *hunger* of an older man. The *need* of an older man..."

Their *father* -- and Tim had *heard* some of that conversation --

And, knowing him, hadn't *needed* to hear it spoken that plainly, at all.

Connor pulls Tim closer because he has to, because it's either that or going to Roy right now, pulling him *away* from this, pulling him into *his* arms, where he'll always be safe and loved, where touch will always be meaningful --

"You could consider letting me breathe. You --"

Roy *shouts*, and it's reflex to turn, to loosen his grip enough that *Tim* can turn --

Bruce is holding Roy's penis pressed to his abdomen as he mouths and suckles at Roy's scrotum -- shaved as ever but unadorned today --

("Christ, bro, *not* on a motorcycle. Times Square does *not* need my blood, brains, and spunk making things colorful for the tourists.")

Roy is beating at the horse with his fist, and his noises are almost *strangled* things, strained and breathless --

Oh, no --

"Tim, he's not *speaking* --"

"There's such a thing as making a good show of things --"

Connor *growls* --

"Ah -- noted," Tim says, *patting* Connor's hands before turning back. "Roy."

Roy squeezes his eyes shut and shudders -- but Bruce never stops what he's doing, never --

"Roy. Would you do that to me?"

"*Hnh*, I --" Roy shakes his *head* --

And Connor is moving, placing Tim on his feet *gently* --

"Roy," Bruce says, and licks a stripe from Roy's scrotum along the underside of Roy's penis -- "Answer."

"I --" Roy's eyes fly open once more -- "B, c'mon, you know -- you know that's not how this *goes* --"

"Please," and Bruce's voice is heavy, even, *bald* with begging --

Tim shivers and touches his own throat before frowning at his hand and dropping it back down to his side --

"Ah -- fuck. *Fuck* -- I'd do you just like this, little 'mano, only -- only meaner for *interrupting*."

His voice --

The *strain* -- it's too much in the wrong *way*, and Connor can't -- "We're *together*, Roy --"

"Bro -- God, baby bro, it's *okay*, I promise --"

"It isn't," Bruce says, standing and *gripping* the back of Roy's neck --

Roy's knees buckle, but Bruce has no difficulty holding Roy *up* --

"With us, Roy. All of us."

Roy *whimpers*, tries to shake his head --

"*Please*, big brother --"

"I need -- oh fuck, I need it so *bad*," Roy says, squeezing his eyes shut again --

Opening them and staring at nothing --

"*Please* --"

"*Roy*," and Connor knows he using his command voice, but he can't -- "*Tell* us what you need."

"Bruce. Just let Bruce... and I can be -- heh. Maybe a little different from who I actually am --" And Roy cries out for Bruce's bite to his throat, reaching up to clutch at Bruce's shoulder with one hand while clawing at the horse with the other --

He's bucking his *hips* --

"Ohn -- oh, *yeah*, B, take me, you know I love it, you know I *need* you --"

Bruce's growl is muffled by Roy's flesh, and Connor can *see* his jaw working harder to take more, to cause more pain --

"B, *please*, you know -- fuck, you could never make me good, but you could make me *great* --"

Bruce pulls back --

Roy *gasps* --

And Bruce forces Roy's head back enough that he can look *down* into Roy's eyes, to loom as Roy can loom when he wishes --

And this is, perhaps, the new definition of unfairness, of loneliness --

He can't *give* this to Roy. He's not sure *Bruce* can, and that leaves Roy with only Clark -- *Kal* -- as a true outlet --

He's Roy's brother and that should *mean* more --

Tim grips Connor's shoulder and squeezes -- reassurance. But how --

"Roy. We thought you were lost to us once. We thought... hn. We thought of you as the boy who was constantly attempting pranks, the boy who led our other children astray in increasingly *distressing* ways. *I* berated myself for not realizing that you would come to a bad end. An *ignoble* end...."

Connor discovers that he's clenched his hands into fists, but he can't be --

He can't be *blamed* for that --

"Not -- not everyone is *built* to be a hero twenty-four-seven, B --"

"*Enough*," Bruce says, and grips the back of Roy's neck harder. "You must listen to me, Roy."

"You've got -- uh. I'd say you got a *good* amount of my attention, B. And I've got just a few suggestions as to what you can --"

"Roy," Bruce says, and the name is growled as much as its spoken --

Roy shivers and closes his eyes again, *tries* to turn away --

And Connor doesn't realize that he was trying to move until he feels Tim's grip tighten on his shoulder. But -- "Tim, I must --"

"Give him a chance," Tim says, quiet and sure. "There are any number of reasons why we all keep coming back to him," and his voice gains rueful amusement, the *obvious* desire to bring calm --

Connor tries to unclench his hands --

Connor *looks*, and Bruce is nuzzling Roy's cheek, kissing him over and over --

"God -- God, B --"

"I'm here. I've got you."

"You -- you *do*, but you don't --"

"Have to?" Bruce smiles and presses it against Roy's cheek. "No, I don't -- by some definitions, anyway."

Roy gasps a laugh. "Lemme guess -- you're about to tell me those definitions are wrong."

Bruce hums and kisses his way over the parts of Roy's neck he isn't gripping with his huge hand -- "They don't have to be. I admit that."

Roy is *squeezing* his eyes shut again --

"Roy... you must stay with me in this moment. You must share yourself with me."

"I --"

"You're about to tell me that you already are. We both know that's a lie," Bruce says, and bites Roy's ear *hard* --

"*Fuck* -- B, *let* me --"

"I already have. I want more now. I want you."

Roy opens his mouth -- he pants and starts to shake his head, pants more and shudders --

"Beautiful. So..." Bruce growls and releases the back of Roy's neck --

"*No* -- oh -- God, fuck, ignore me --"

"No. I will not," Bruce says, and *cups* the back of Roy's neck. "Like this."

"Just -- you know -- you don't *have* to --"

"Is it what you need?"

Roy turns *away* --

Bruce turns him *back* -- "Is it what you need."

A strange and somewhat juddery sound -- and when Connor looks down, he can see that Roy is scrabbling for *purchase* on the horse --

His hands must be sweaty --

Connor knows the *taste* of that sweat, knows --

He's salivating for it the way he always does now, for the taste and for the chance, the *touch* --

Perhaps the touch Bruce is giving Roy with his other hand: A slow, splay-fingered stroke down over his chest and abdomen, a rub that speaks of force, firmness --

Roy shudders *again* -- "Please. Please, Bruce --"

"Answer."

"I *need* it, you know I need it, you know I -- I --fuck, *please* --"

"I need you, Roy," Bruce says, and the calm is out of his voice so thoroughly that it may as well not have been there, at all. Bruce's voice is hunger, *age* --

Roy moans, penis twitching --

Bruce *grips* Roy's penis --

Roy shouts and pumps into Bruce's fist once, twice --

"*Stop*."

"Bruce --"

"Do it *now*," Bruce says, and squeezes hard with both hands --

Roy cries out and stops, clutching at the horse as his knees start to buckle --

And the brief tension in Bruce's arm is enough to tell Connor that Bruce had been holding Roy *up* for a moment. That strength --

Bruce *could've* been an archer -- Connor *knows* that he'd trained his partners in the bow --

Is that something else Roy needs? Is that what Bruce wants to give?

Could Connor watch?

"Bruce. I -- B, please --"

Bruce kisses Roy without letting go with either hand. Bruce --

The angle is wrong for Connor to see exactly what Bruce is doing that's making his shoulder and arm muscles flex and shift, but it's enough to make Roy moan into Bruce's mouth, press closer --

And Tim presses close to him, backing up against him --

And Connor realizes that he's getting hard again, that --

"Inspiring, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, but --"

"He's not done, yet," Tim says, and brings Connor's hands to his hips. "Trust me."

"When you're capable of -- of ignoring --"

"Never that," and Tim begins to rub himself against Connor, moving like --

*Unlike* himself, actually. It's enough to distract -- until Connor remembers circumspect -- and all too brief -- letters about working undercover, and the things Tim had taught his body to do with *ruthless* consciousness -- "You don't have to perform for me --"

"And if I'm performing for myself?"

"You -- you're trying to distract me --"

"And it's working -- to some extent. Let it --"

"Tim --"

"I promise to stop before things get... hn. More exciting," and Tim pushes up on his toes --

Tim is *dancing* with him -- in much the same way any number of women and men have attempted to dance with him in the various clubs Roy has brought him to over the years. The differences, however, are myriad -- starting with the fact that it's Tim and *not* ending with the fact that they're naked in the *Cave* -- hm. "Tim..."

"Yes?"

"What would you *do* if you caught Bruce's attention in this moment?"

Tim... blushes. It's a victory Connor frankly doesn't know what to do with --

Save that Connor will not allow Tim to become truly embarrassed. That -- it wouldn't be the act of either a friend *or* a lover. Connor kisses Tim's temple and begins to stroke Tim's hips. "He already knows, of course. Do you doubt that he will use this knowledge to seduce you further?"

"I don't -- I wouldn't be able to take it --"

"If he lost interest, or even seemed to. I feel the same way about Roy."

"You're his *brother* --"

"You're Bruce's son, and he -- I believe strongly that he will only let you go if you force him to do so --"

"I don't -- I *can't* --" Tim growls and shoves Connor's hands from his hips -- "*Trust* me --"

"Of course I do --" And Connor lets Tim lead them back to Bruce's chair, lets Tim push him down, lets Tim *straddle* him --

"*Our* scents --"

"He loves you --"

"I'm so -- oh, Connor, sometimes I think I wouldn't be myself if I weren't terrified *all* the time," Tim says, and leans in --

Connor stops him with a hand on his mouth --

Tim raises an eyebrow, and his eyes...

The pupils *aren't* dilated enough to hide the eternal *chill* in those blue-grey eyes. Even now. Even like this. Even *caught* -- "You're beautiful," Connor says, and smiles helplessly. "And absolutely horrifying."

Tim shifts -- he's letting Connor feel his teeth, feel that he's *showing* them --

"The fear doesn't truly touch you, anymore -- or. No, that's not it. That's..." Connor frowns and thinks about it, deliberately forcing himself to ignore the very specific wet sounds from the vicinity of the pommel horse, the quietly *abject* neediness in Roy's moans --

Of *course* Bruce could kiss Roy in a way that would draw out those sounds --

And Tim seems to be focused only on him, gazing at him --

*Studying* Connor from over the edge of Connor's own hand --

"You make the fear your own, Tim. You -- you've *become* it."

Tim narrows his eyes, cocks his head to the side -- and nods once before *biting* the side of Connor's hand. The *heat* in those narrow eyes is as incongruous as ever, as --

"Do you become someone else? Is that... perhaps something in your many undercover assignments -- oh --"

Tim is *licking* the flesh held between his teeth, but --

"Answer me."

Tim pulls back -- and very conspicuously bares his bruised throat --

"You're lovely, but answer me --"

"Could it be a matter of --" Tim pauses, smiles, and licks his lips. "I built someone... someone different, but still myself. The fact that I never had much opportunity to let him -- me -- out... hn. I'm still myself. Just... more of me."

"This... isn't the first time you've made me think that I ought to have *done* more with my repression."

Tim pats Connor's *cheek* --

"Is that really called for?"

"Perhaps not. But it suited my mood. What are they doing?"

"I'm afraid to look."

Tim raises an eyebrow. "Because of the-- relative -- quiet?"

"Yes. And... the inevitable distraction."

"Perhaps you'll let me fellate you while you... give me a play-by-play?"

Connor feels himself pursing his lips --

And Tim runs a finger along the lower one. "I promise to stop no more than five minutes after you tell me I should."

Connor laughs and pushes Tim --

Tim hums and -- that was definitely a purr. He kneels --

On cold *stone* -- "Tim --"

"Shh. Nobody sits in the chair without being fellated at least once. It's a rule here."

Connor sighs and smiles. "All right, I've put up all the fight I --" And the rest of that is a moan, because Tim is --

His *mouth* --

His mouth is no more compelling than the *dancing* light in his eyes, like something --

"You're a fairy tale, though I -- I'm not at all sure which *one* -- oh --"

Tim licks his lips. "Do let me know if you make any decisions on that matter."

Connor sighs again. "Of course. And..." Connor looks over -- Tim had positioned the chair *just* right for this --

Bruce is still kissing Roy, still working his left hand *somehow* --

Had he stopped? What --

"I can't tell what, precisely, Bruce is doing with the hand he has between them."

Tim takes the head of Connor's penis in again and hums --

"Oh -- oh, yes, please, I --" Focus. He has to -- "Roy is... he's shaking. I don't think he's *stopped*..."

Tim pulls back to lick the head of Connor's penis slowly, *thoroughly* --

"I want... I think Bruce is teasing --"

"Demanding is more likely, or... hmm." Tim licks Connor again, again -- "He's pleading his case. Lips and tongue, teeth and fingers..." Tim shivers once. "I can feel him from here. If Roy doesn't give in, *I'll* beg."

"Do you. Do you often beg for him?"

"Not nearly as much as I wish to," Tim says, sucking Connor in again and starting to work his *head* --

Connor moans and *cups* the back of Tim's head -- "Oh, Bruce stopped kissing and pulled back. He -- he's *squeezing* Roy's penis, over and over --"

"Roy," Bruce says, and his voice is pitched to carry -- "Give me yourself."

"Please, I -- how much more do you *need*, B?"

"Everything. For this moment if no other --"

Roy groans and --

Connor licks his lips. "Roy is clutching at Bruce's shoulders -- his arm and his shoulder. He looks... he looks as though he'd be swaying without Bruce's support. I've never seen him *more* aroused than he is right now --"

Tim moans around him --

*Connor* moans and slumps back in the chair -- no, not yet. He sits up and strokes and cards through Tim's fine hair, so dark, so much unlike his own --

And Tim's eyes only say 'more.'

Yes.

Yes --

"Roy, I want you with me. You have to..." Bruce takes in a sharp breath and --

"Bruce. Bruce is kissing Roy. All -- all over his face. Roy is stroking Bruce's arms and shoulders and -- he's *urging* toward Bruce, begging. Begging with his body --"

Tim clutches Connor's *thighs* --

"Yes, Roy. Take what you want," Bruce says --

Roy cries out and *shoves* Bruce back --

"Roy --"

"Roy. He just --" Connor licks his lips again. "He's bent himself over the pommel horse again, Tim. He -- a man with a severe learning disability and a great deal of alcohol in his system would have... no difficulty discerning what Roy wants --"

"Oh, *God*, bro, say it -- say it *anyway*," Roy says, reaching with one arm --

Tim sucks him hard enough to almost *hurt* --

Connor grunts and tugs Tim's hair -- "Roy. Roy is reaching back for Bruce. He wants Bruce to take him. *Fuck* him -- *ohn* --"

Tim is *panting* around Connor's penis, licking and kissing *wetly* --

Tim is barely *blinking* --

And he cuts his eyes toward Bruce and Roy. Right. Right --

Connor looks, and Bruce is bent over Roy and -- "Bruce -- Bruce is kissing Roy's ear --"

"*Whispering*, bro --"

"Oh -- what --"

"He's --" Roy gasps and it sounds more like a *sob* than anything else -- "He's telling me he won't *use* me unless. Unless he knows it wouldn't hurt -- God, B, I *want* it to hurt -- *fuck* --"

Connor cries out -- "Tim, not -- not your teeth. Not *yet* --"

Tim hums --

Connor *arches* -- *focuses* -- "Bruce. He has his hands on Roy's hips. He's -- he's *moving* Roy, and I believe. I believe *I* can feel his penis. Oh -- Bruce, are you. Are you very hard?"

"*Aching*," Bruce says, and works his own hips --

"Tim -- Tim, Bruce is thrusting, and Roy is panting -- please suck me --"

Roy groans. "*I* wanna do that, wanna do that all the. All the fucking time, c'mon, B, *do* me --"

"I have *regrets*, Roy. I wanted. I wanted to help you but did not know *how*."

"God, B, you -- you had your own --"

"I *discussed* you with Clark -- and with Kal."

"What. Oh -- oh, *fuck*, you -- did you --"

"No, Roy, I..." Bruce laughs softly --

Tim hums *insistently* --

Connor clutches at the arms of the chair and breathes. "Bruce -- Bruce is *massaging* Roy's hips. Roy... Roy is frowning, possibly confused --"

"*Definitely* confused, bro, I -- what did you *do*, B?"

"Bruce just *gripped* Roy's hips -- I -- Bruce, I don't think he'll try to get *away* --"

"No, no, baby bro, it's good, it's -- he wants me --"

"*Yes*. And I wanted you then, as well. I'd seen so many strong young people, so many brave and even *wise* young people *fall* to addiction. I had already numbered you *among* them. But every report I received, every snippet of information Kal deigned to share..."

Connor swallows, *shakes* for the feel of Tim working his mouth on him fast and *viciously* -- "Bruce is mouthing the back of Roy's neck, kissing and licking --"

Tim shivers and --

*Yes* --

Connor leans forward enough that he can comfortably manipulate the bruises on Tim's throat --

Tim whimpers and sucks hard once more, sucks Connor *deeper* --

"Tim, you have to let me *focus* --"

"He -- he *so* doesn't, bro --"

"Roy," Bruce says, and that wet sound --

Connor *misses* what that wet sound was --

"I have not often begged Kal when I wasn't in some way *tied*... but I begged him for you. He teased me with my indecision, *mocked* me for not even being able to urge Dick to your side... Dinah could tell me so little. And I would not, could not bring myself to ask Oliver --"

"He didn't know *anything*," Roy says, and that --

That *hurts*, but Connor can feel the truth of it, can understand how the father he loves so dearly could have once been something much *less* --

And Tim is stroking Connor's thighs *soothingly*, holding Connor's gaze with something --

Well, Connor knows that he *shouldn't* be reading the expression as blank menace -- he's *seen* what that actually looks like on Tim -- but --

Connor bites back a laugh -- he doesn't want to break this *moment* --

"No," Bruce says, and sucks a hard kiss to the side of Roy's throat --

"A -- a kiss, Tim --"

Tim nods --

And Bruce sighs and gives Roy more of his weight --

"Oh, that feels -- God, B --"

"Roy... there came a day when Kal was speaking to me over the comm. He told me of how you were working on your archery far away from either of your families. He told me how, even as you hit every mark, you began to lose yourself to grief and pain. He told me how you shook, and how your tears gleamed in the sunlight --"

"Oh, God. Oh -- fuck, B, I --"

"He offered me one last chance to go to you myself, to *claim* you --"

"You didn't *want* --"

"I *did*. But I feared Dick's reaction. I also feared for trouble on the League, but that was a minor concern. A *trifle*. I knew how Dick would react were I to take you in. I... I was too much of a coward to try to have the conversations with him that would've needed to happen...." Bruce sighs --

Tim *hums* --

Connor shivers -- "He's. He's making love to Roy's throat again. And working. Moving his hips. I believe his penis is -- ah. Nestled in Roy's cleft --"

"So big, bro. So *hot*."

Connor clenches on nothing and *grunts* --

"Yeah. Yes, I know what you want, bro. I *promise* you'll have it soon. Can't -- can't wait any *longer* --"

"You can do *anything*," Bruce says, and sounds almost *angry* -- "I -- Roy, *tell* me --"

"Want you, B, do -- fuck, I *will* do anything --"

"Feel this. Every *moment*," Bruce says, and --

"I believe --" Connor licks his lips *again* -- "I believe Bruce will leave bruises on Roy's hips --"

"Love it, love it so *much*, bro -- *God*. When Bruce is fucking me..."

"Yes. Yes, Roy, I'm *listening*," Connor says, and tries to distract himself with the feel of Tim's cheek -- nearly as smooth as his own --

It's not *working* --

"Fuck his *mouth*, bro. Give it -- give that to *all* of us."

Connor gasps --

Tim *nods* --

And, when Connor looks, Bruce is staring into him with all the heat in the world in his eyes, or -- no. All the heat in *this* place, the living, beating heart of the Batcave, the legend --

Tim is sucking Connor so *ruthlessly* --

And Connor doesn't remember *why*, but he's nodding, and "Yes, yes, I --"

"Then -- please, B. Give it to me --"

"Give me *yourself* --"

"You want me crazy, you can -- God, fuck, I won't *fight* you --"

Bruce pulls back and drops to his knees --

Roy *grunts* --

And Tim is humming for every suck now, taking --

Connor is gripping Tim's hair and practically *assaulting* his bruises -- "Bruce. On his knees. I believe -- analingus --"

Roy makes a *choked* noise --

Bruce *groans* --

And Tim pulls back, wrapping his fist around the base of Connor's penis and tonguing Connor's slit *mercilessly*. Just --

"*Tim* --"

"You don't." Lick. "Want." Lick. "To miss." Lick and *lick* -- "The main event," and Tim is clearly the wicked queen or --

No, he probably *wouldn't* find that offensive --

And Roy --

Connor pants and tries not to *claw* at Tim -- "Roy is beating on the horse with his fists --"

Tim sucks in the head and hums *again* --

"*Please*, Tim, I --"

Tim pulls back. "More. Tell me -- his *expression* --" *On* again --

Connor pants and tries to keep himself from standing, from *fucking* his way *in* --

He looks, and Roy --

"Roy looks -- his mouth is open as if he's *trying* to cry out and can't find -- can't --" Connor scratches at Tim's scalp because he has to --

Tim hums *loudly*, and the vibrations make Connor arch off the chair --

"*Tim*, I -- his eyes are squeezed shut and I -- he looks agonized. *Tortured*. I -- oh. Oh, my. Bruce -- Bruce has the fingers of one hand wrapped *tightly* around the base of Roy's penis --"

Tim grunts and *swallows* him. Just --

Connor can't even cry *out*, and he knows --

Oh, he knows how Roy *feels* --

Except that Roy gasps and starts making *desperate* noises, bass shouts and tenor cries --

Tim hums *again* --

"I don't *know*, Tim, I don't -- Roy sounded this way when he was with *Clark* --"

"*Same*, bro, same -- taking me *away* -- oh, *please* --"

Bruce stands up, picking up the lubricant that had fallen on the mats --

Tim claws at Connor's hips, making Connor *jerk* --

"He stopped -- Bruce is standing, slicking his fingers -- "

"How *many*, bro?"

"*Three*, Roy --"

"Oh -- God, fuck *me*, *fuck* me --"

"*Yes*," Bruce says, and --

"Tim, oh -- he's gripping the back of Roy's neck again. Roy -- Roy is reaching back to spread himself -- oh, Tim..."

Tim shakes his head and wraps his hand around the base of Connor's penis again *while* he reaches down to squeeze himself, *work* himself --

His expression is almost *distant* -- but Connor knows, now, that *that* expression is for those times when Tim is simply too aroused not to give into the *haze* of sexuality --

And it's enough to get him something like his control back --

Connor knows it won't *last* --

He has to take advantage. He -- yes. Connor stands and brushes Tim's hand aside, wrapping his *own* around himself and using his other hand to grip Tim's head and pull him back --

"*Connor*, please --"

"I'll push in as Bruce does," Connor says, and has a moment to be proud of himself for getting that *out* --

And then he's moaning because *Tim* is moaning as he strokes himself --

Because *Roy* is moaning as he tries to spread his legs *wider* --

Because Bruce is *staring* at him again, pinning him to this *spot* until Connor feels like he should ask his *permission* --

But Bruce turns back to Roy, and --

"Bruce is looking Roy over, Tim..."

Tim nods and licks his lips, *testing* against Connor's hold on him --

Connor makes it tighter --

Tim grunts again. And Bruce --

"Bruce is... sliding the lubricant along Roy's cleft --"

"B, *please*, please, you know I can take -- *hnh* --"

And for a moment Connor can't tell whether he's groaning for the feel of Tim's hot, soft mouth on his hand or for the *sight* of Bruce pushing in with three fingers, *breaching* Roy --

But he has to *say* it, and --

"It seems. It seems as though it should be too *much*, Tim..."

Tim *kisses* Connor's fist, mouths it --

"Bruce isn't *pausing*, and he. You can *hear* Roy panting, hear -- oh, Roy, does it *hurt*?"

"So much. So fucking good -- oh, B, you should be *hotter* --"

Bruce grunts. "I'm sorry. I don't --"

"No, no, don't listen -- please don't *stop*, it's *you* --"

"Roy..."

Connor starts to thrust because he has to, because -- oh, but he won't let himself get *deep* -- "Bruce is clutching Roy's hip again. Holding. I believe he can hold Roy *still* --"

"*Yes*," Roy says, and starts --

"Roy. Roy is trying to push back *anyway*, Tim, and he -- he looks frustrated. Hungry. *Starved* --"

"*Need* it, bro. Always -- always fucking -- I promise I'll *show* you --"

"I *believe* you, Roy --"

Tim whimpers and shivers --

And Connor remembers to keep his hand where it is. For *now*. And -- "Bruce's fingers are all the way inside, and --"

Roy groans --

Roy grunts and *keeps* grunting, because --

"The thrusts are -- short. *Hard* --"

"The best, oh fuck the *best*," Roy says, and --

"Tim. Roy is... shaking his head even as he tries -- he's trying to take more --"

"Have to, God, I *have* to -- fuck, B, did you *watch* me with Kal?"

"Many times," Bruce says, and starts thrusting faster --

Roy is grunting rhythmically --

Tim *whimpers* --

"Oh, Tim, I --" Connor strokes Tim's hair and -- "Bruce -- you can *hear* the rhythm he's giving Roy --"

Tim nods almost frantically --

"I -- I want to *beg* --"

And Roy coughs out a groan and falls to his elbows on the horse, still *straining* to work his hips --

"He's on his elbows. Roy -- *brother* --"

"*Connor* -- fuck, bro, it's so *good*, so fucking *human* --"

*Bruce* grunts -- "Are you sure. Are you sure that's what you *want* --"

"*Please*, B, please don't stop, please -- I couldn't fucking *take* it --"

Bruce thrusts *hard* --

Roy shouts --

Tim shudders --

"Hard, Tim, very --"

"I need you, Roy. I... I don't have much control --"

"You don't -- ah, *fuck*, B, you don't *need* it --"

"Then. Then be easy for... until I'm --" Bruce snaps his mouth shut and shakes his head --

Tim's hum is *urgent*, and Connor knows what he wants, what he *needs*, but --

Bruce is pulling his fingers out --

Tim's mouth is so wet, so soft and perfect until he sucks --

Tim is sucking Connor as if it's the only way to *communicate* --

Bruce is slicking himself --

"The way -- the lubricant is shining on Bruce's penis. He --"

Roy groans and reaches back to spread himself again --

"Tim, I -- Bruce's hands are shaking. Have you --"

"No," Bruce says, wincing as he squeezes himself -- "Tim hasn't. Hasn't allowed me to --"

"Ah, *God*, B, you -- take *him* --"

Tim *growls* around Connor -- and grips Connor's hips when the sensation nearly makes him *fall* --

"*You*, Roy. In this moment -- so beautiful, so *willing* --"

Roy's laugh is high, *cracking* on itself -- "Anyone would be, anyone -- Connor, *tell* him --"

"I *want* you, Bruce --"

Bruce's penis twitches *twice*, spattering Roy's thigh with pre-ejaculate, and that --

It takes everything Connor *has*, but he manages to pull Tim off him -- "*Tell* him, Tim --"

"I want -- oh, God, Bruce, I -- I *will* --"

Bruce *growls* --

Roy goes rigid and *yanks* on his own scrotum --

Tim gasps -- "*Please*, Connor, fuck my *throat* --"

*Yes*, but -- "Not yet. Not -- Bruce, you have to --"

"*Yes*," Bruce says, and guides himself --

"Oh, Tim, Roy is *shaking* --"

"Is he -- is Bruce --"

Connor shudders and *braces* himself on his feet -- "Pushing. Pushing in. *Slowly* --"

"Too slow. Too much -- *B* --"

"I won't --"

"*Hurt* me," Roy says, and his voice is command laced with a hunger so deep it *feels* like rage --

Connor is gripping Tim's hair too *hard* -- "Bruce -- Bruce has Roy by the hips again. He --"

And Roy *shouts* when Bruce thrusts while pulling him *back* --

"Oh, Bruce, you must be so *deep* --"

"Connor, *please*," and Tim is clawing at Connor's hips, *pulling* --

"Yes. I --"

Connor turns away from Bruce and Roy and just *looks* at Tim for a moment, just takes him in, stares and --

His lips are swollen and his eyes are wide --

His penis looks hard enough to *ache*, and Connor wants more, so much *more*. He wants Roy to hold him down and Bruce to kiss him, he wants Tim to bite him the way Bruce had bitten Roy and he wants Roy *inside* him --

He wants *this*: the feel of himself *firmly* in Roy's footsteps as he tilts Tim's head to just the right angle, the perfect angle to allow him to slide in, inch by inch --

"Fuck, B, *fuck* --"

The perfect angle to hold his attention as Bruce gives Roy what *he* needs --

As Connor takes what *he* needs --

But no, he has to focus on Tim right now, on the perfection of focus *he's* showing despite something so wonderful, so arousing happening just over there --

"You're beautiful," Connor says, again, and isn't surprised by the roughness in his tone, the hunger they *all* share --

The way it deepens when Tim narrows his eyes *slowly*, as slowly as Connor is pushing *in* --

"*Tell* me, B, you gotta --"

"They are... gazing into each other's eyes. And I do not know whether I wish their focus to be more diffuse or not."

"Ohh, *God*, I oughtta be insulted by -- oh, fuck, that *thrust* --"

"This one."

"Yes. Yeah. C'mon, B, don't make me *wait* --"

"No one could --"

Roy's laugh *has* humor, but not *enough*, and that --

Connor pauses and starts to turn --

Tim *yanks* him in the last inch and a half, *gulping* --

So *tight* --

"I'm trying --" Bruce grunts and pants -- "I'm trying to be. Generous in the thoughts I share --"

"You don't *have* to --"

"About *Oliver* --"

"Oh, *Jesus*, B -- uh. Not while you're *inside* me --"

Bruce hums -- "Noted. You were going to tell me --"

"Hard. *Fast*. Or -- Jesus fucking -- get *off* in me --"

"As quickly as possible?"

"Yes -- no --" Roy groans and Connor knows that sound for fists on the pommel horse -- "Don't make me *think* --"

"I want your thoughts --"

"You want me *crazy* --"

"That, as well," Bruce says, and turns --

And that's when Connor realizes that he'd turned away from Tim, that he's staring *helplessly* at Bruce, at his perfect balance as he *takes* Roy, one thrust after another --

Bruce shows his *teeth* -- and splays one hand on the center of Roy's back -- "We have your brother's attention."

"What -- I -- oh, Jesus, Connor, fuck Tim's *mouth* --"

Connor *grunts* --

And when he turns back to Tim, Tim's amusement is no more vivid than his arousal. There is no doubt in Connor's mind that Tim is paying attention to absolutely all of this, including the parts where Connor is struck *dumb*, mindless --

Tim swallows *deliberately* slowly --

And Connor's body needs no further instruction, no --

It's so easy *to* thrust, just as if they were both created for something like this, shaped in the chaos of past knowledge and past *ignorance* and born into forms that --

Bodies that --

Connor hears a growl, but doesn't realize it's his own until he's already cupping Tim's face, *holding* Tim's face --

His eyes were already relatively large, but like this they're deep, *compelling* --

Every blink feels like a betrayal, a shock, a *loss* --

"His grace is --" Bruce grunts --

"Fuck, don't *stop* when I clench, don't stop *anything* --"

"Roy --"

"*Hurt* me --"

"I never -- I should never make you *ask* for such a thing, and I never will again," Bruce says, and now *his* grunts are rhythmic, effortful --

And it's impossible not to take Bruce's rhythm for his own --

Tim's eyes go wider than before, shocked and *young* --

And then they start to roll up --

"*With* me," Connor says, growling again and clutching much too hard, holding on to the rhythm by main force --

And groaning when Tim's focus comes back with a snap that *should've* been audible --

Oh --

"B -- *B* -- oh, God, *Bruce* --"

"*Yes*, Roy --"

"Feel you, feel you all through me --"

"Take *all* of me --"

And Roy is shouting again, wordless and taken --

As taken as Connor is by this rhythm, this --

He feels ruthless, brutal --

He feels more like himself than he'd ever thought possible, as if every moment of his life had led to this one, this chance to use every lesson learned about grace and force to *fuck* his beautiful friend, his --

"I want -- I want you to be my brother as *well*, Tim --"

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and blushes, looking young, impossible, *taboo* --

"*With* me," Connor says again, and it's a plea more than anything else --

And it's answered by the plea in Tim's eyes when he opens them, when he reaches up --

And clasps his hands together above his head, leaving himself open to be --

Used.

This time, it truly is *only* will that keeps Connor upright, but he must not break, or waver, or *disappoint* --

His friend --

His lover --

The brother he's *making* for himself with every thrust, every promise to take this deeper, make it *more* --

It will *be* more --

And Tim never looks away --

And Connor is thrusting so *quickly* --

And Roy -- oh, Roy is *screaming*, and Connor wants to scream, as well, wants to share this, all of it --

And throwing what's left of his control to the wind may not be the only way to do it, but it's the best --

The *perfect* way, because Tim is still blushing --

Because Bruce and Roy are tethered to them *only* by pleasure --

And this is why he can't fight back the *grin* as he thrusts, as he tumbles along the path of his pleasure somewhat -- 

Oh, somewhat *maniacally* --

And Tim is so open --

So --

He's *open* for Connor, for all of them, and Connor will never forget --

Please, let him never --

Oh --

Tim's hands are *trembling* with the need to unclench -- no, with the need to *touch* --

And Connor knows he won't let himself do anything of the kind until --

"*Bruce* --!"

Roy calls Bruce's name again and again --

Roy *screams* again --

Connor clenches on nothing and hears himself whine, feels himself --

It's *better* to grip Tim's wrists in one hand, to push the thumb of the other in *next* to his penis --

Tim *jerks* for him, eyes rolling back once --

Once *more* --

And Connor hears himself shouting, but the sound is only meaningful for whatever pleasure it might bring to someone else, someone not currently *lost* in the spreading, searing *rush* of orgasm --

Oh, yes --

Oh, yes, *please* --

For his brother, his *brothers* --

Everything for *them* --

Slammed *rudely* back into his body and he is -- upright. Somehow.

He'd managed to remove his penis from Tim's mouth, but not his thumb --

Tim *sucks* his thumb --

Connor feels himself twitch rather *optimistically* and grunts. He -- can focus.

On Tim's eyes.

Which are narrow and hot, needful and needy -- oh, yes.

Connor drops to his knees and releases Tim solely so he can cup his face again, kiss him and lick the taste of himself out of his mouth -- hm. Perhaps he should let Tim speak.

Perhaps --

"Roy. Roy, you must --"

"Here -- fuck, I'm *here*, Bruce, don't stop --"

"I --"

"Don't *stop* --"

And Bruce says something... in Kryptonian?

Tim pulls out of the kiss and smiles with his swollen mouth. "'Beautiful one, I need your voice to guide me.' Or something of the sort. I believe Bruce was worried about fucking Roy unconscious."

That would explain why *Roy* is speaking in Kryptonian now -- "Ah. He really does seem to enjoy that sort of thing."

"Hn. All good, right-thinking people do. But Bruce is... a gentle man, at heart."

Connor turns *just* enough that Tim can be sure that Connor is looking at Bruce all but *plowing* Roy into the horse --

"Well, Roy did ask. Multiple times, even."

Connor narrows his eyes at a darker shadow... "Very true. And he seems to have made a further expression of his wishes on the horse."

"The two of you *nearly* came together. I must say, it warmed my black, withered heart."

That -- Connor raises an eyebrow.

Tim raises one of his own --

"You're pretending to be rather less affected than you are. Why?"

Tim turns his head down and away -- no, he'd simply shifted his head enough that his hair would distract from and disguise his eyes. Which --

Connor strokes the hair out of his way. "No one on your team is willing to do that without an engraved invitation. Yes?"

Tim shows his teeth. "I only booby-trapped my hair once... and it was entirely sufficient."

Connor snorts. "Tim."

A deep breath, a neck-stretch -- and Tim sits on his heels and grips himself. "I want Bruce to make me come -- despite the fact that waiting for that may very well kill me."

Connor narrows his eyes. "Nothing more than that?"

"And nothing worse, I promise. Well -- all right, it really is somewhat reflexive --"

"Tim. You let me use you."

"I manipulated you into using me. There's a difference."

"Is there?"

Tim lifts his chin in such a way that the fluorescents mainly highlight the *older* bruises -- Connor's all. And there's a point there -- there's *definitely* a point there -- but --

Connor isn't sure it's the right one. He cups Tim's jaw, stroking Tim's cheek with his thumb. "Are you saying that I injured you?"

"Marked me as your own, perhaps...? Yes. Yes, you did. And that was exactly what I wanted --"

"Is that how Dick treats you?"

"I wish he would... sometimes."

"Tim --"

Tim turns his head quickly and presses a *hard* kiss to the pad of Connor's thumb. "I'm going to be thinking very deeply about... your desires."

"Please do."

"At the moment... they frighten me to a rather embarrassing degree. I..." Tim smiles ruefully. "Trust me when I say that I'm improving in matters like this. When Bruce introduced the current Batgirl to the family, I tended to hide more often than not."

Connor nods and... accepts. As best as he can. He rests his free hand on Tim's sternum. "You are welcome in all of my homes."

Tim takes a breath and searches Connor -- and frowns. "One of my homes... I don't believe I'd ever be able to bring you there."

Connor kisses Tim softly, feeling obscene and hopelessly strange at once considering the *counterpoint* of Bruce's and Roy's sounds --

It's not the only reason.

Still, Connor lets the kiss be what it wants to be before pulling back. "Mia told me that my father has a picture of you on one of his archery butts."

Tim coughs. "The ones of Bruce weren't sufficient?"

Connor smiles. "If you *truly* weren't welcome he'd photocopy pictures of you for the litter boxes of the semi-feral cats which hang around the youth center... ah. I only meant --"

"That you understood where I'm coming from. I know," Tim says, smiling at Connor and taking his hand in his own. "When I think of calling you brother, my heart seizes."

"In a bad way?"

"In a way that makes my shamelessly obsessive inner nine-year-old cry foul," and Tim brings Connor's hand to his mouth. "Brother." He *kisses* Connor's hand --

"You don't have to --"

"I know. I know. And -- I also know that it wouldn't be *much* more than what we already have..." Tim frowns and nibbles Connor's thumb for a moment before looking up again. "I love you," he says, and there's no hesitation, no sense of search --

"I love you, too. Though I would think --"

"That it wouldn't be easier to say than the other...?" Tim smile takes *precisely* half of his mouth. "I am... hm. Contrary?"

"To a rather twisted *fault*, Tim --"

"But it's an *attractive* sort of fault. Yes?"

"Very much so," Connor says, tugging his hands away from Tim solely to be able to stroke his face --

To drag his wet thumb along one sharp cheekbone --

"I'd like to see you often, Tim."

Tim lets his eyes slip closed -- and reaches down to grip his own penis. He doesn't stroke, or pet, or --

Do anything the thing's level of *hardness* would suggest. Hm. "Is part of the pleasure waiting for Bruce?"

"Mmnn -- I. Maybe?" Tim's laugh is breathless and quiet. "It feels like I've *been* waiting for him -- I can be very slow."

"All of this has been... hm. Well, no, Roy had *been* trying to communicate with me for well over a year --"

"It's still sudden. All of it," Tim says, and opens his eyes again. "I can't believe you managed to move cross-country in a *week*."

"It helps to not have all that many possessions, Tim."

"Still --" Tim laughs again, squeezes himself -- "My only objection to seeing you more often is that I worry... I should be giving more time to Bart."

"I would never interfere --"

"I know," Tim says, leaning in quickly and kissing the corner of Connor's mouth --

"Oh. Thank you."

This time, Tim's smile takes *most* of his mouth -- it's still a weapon.

The question becomes which of them it's aimed at -- but Connor knows. "You just lied to me."

Tim sighs and squeezes himself hard -- "The pleasures of being *seen* -- mm. I -- yes, I did. I'm worried about giving so much of my time away to others that I lose my edge. I'm worried that I've already *begun* losing my edge. I'm worried that this -- all of it -- will take away from my abilities on the street, from time spent improving myself --"

"It isn't. It *won't* --"

"Connor --"

"Tim. A part of you is *using* your current arousal to hone yourself and your ability to go without physical release even when it's on offer --"

"Of course I am, but --"

"*But* -- you are yourself, Tim," and Connor rests his hands on Tim's hard, lean shoulders. "Only you can take away your edge, and I have rather *intense* doubts about whether even you *could*. You..." Connor takes a deep breath and tries to think past all of the sexuality, the pleasure *banked* --

"You -- you really shouldn't try to *convince* me that this is the right way to live --"

That. "Tim. I don't *have* to convince you. You already know that it *is*. I -- you taught *me* --"

"You have to admit that we're taking this to *extremes*, Connor --"

"We're *taking* it everywhere we can, in every possible *way*. We are... loving," Connor says, and squeezes Tim's shoulders, massages Tim's shoulders -- "You're beautiful, and I believe Bruce *must* use you to give himself a -- a *baseline* --"

Tim snorts --

And Bruce kneels just behind Tim, covering Connor's hands on Tim's shoulders with his own --

"Oh -- God --" Tim shivers --

"I do," Bruce says, and kisses Tim's ear. "He will always be sure and cold -- when that is what's needed."

Roy wraps his arms around Connor's chest. "My brother's more worried about when it's *not* needed, B."

Tim opens his mouth --

Bruce covers it with one hand and kisses Tim's ear again. "It is a difficult metric, but I trust Tim implicitly. He will only ever allow himself to be seduced when there is room for such things."

Tim shivers --

And Connor moves his hands away from Tim's shoulders. Just -- he brushes Tim's hair away from his forehead, gives himself permission to stroke the back of *Bruce's* hand, his wrist --

Roy kisses Connor's forehead --

And Tim closes his eyes again, but it looks like it takes *effort* -- hm.

"Bruce... you don't think you've given him too *much* responsibility?"

Bruce raises an eyebrow as if to point out how ridiculous a question like that is when taken against *Tim* --

"I'm serious. Now that he knows that *you* won't ever... ah, put the brakes back on..."

Bruce hums and nods. "Tim. Stop taking responsibility for all of our actions."

Tim hums indignantly --

"No. I refuse to allow you to make the same mistakes --" Bruce hums. "Though when you lick my hand that way, you do make quite a compelling case." Bruce moves his hand --

Tim licks his lips. "I'm hardly condemning myself to decades of repression, Bruce --"

"And we both -  we *all* know that there's more to sexuality than just the use of your beautiful body," Bruce says, and pulls Tim into a straddle of his thighs.

"Beautiful -- I'm still *tripping* over --"

"I love you," Bruce says. "And I am not the only one. There will be times when I need you to hold yourself away from your desires, but this is not one of them."

Tim closes his eyes, obviously *deep* in thought --

"Listen to the man, little 'mano. This... this is *all* good. And we all *need* it."

Tim laughs softly and opens his eyes again, pressing back against Bruce and looking him and Roy over with a smile that only seems small when one doesn't study Tim's eyes --

Connor strokes the soft skin beneath them. "None of us will ever take advantage of you, Tim --"

"I *know* that. I --" Tim laughs again. "Self-denial is a difficult habit to break, I think."

Roy laughs, as well. "Look at it this way, little 'mano -- you've been putting up barricade after barricade --"

"I've been *abandoning* my barricades --"

"Because they aren't *necessary*. You -- heh. You've got your own impenetrable tower. Knowing you? It's always gonna be that way. If it wasn't like that, then I'm betting *Bart* wouldn't be as gone for you as he is. Trust *him* to keep you steady. And trust the rest of us not to ever try to tear that tower down."

"I... have to admit that sometimes it seems as though you -- all of you, and Dick, as well -- are trying to do just that."

Connor smiles ruefully. "I've learned that there are temptations inherent to the... ah... *chosen* solitude of others, but... you are yourself, Tim, and I believe I will always love you as much for what you hold apart as for what you give."

Tim frowns --

"No, it's not a bad thing --"

"I -- brother." Tim shakes his head and smiles ruefully, reaching out to twine his fingers with Connor's own. "I promise to give as much as I can -- oh --"

Bruce is kissing Tim's ear --

Stroking down to Tim's hips and *lifting* him --

"Jesus, B, don't you worry about giving him a complex?"

Bruce hums --

And Tim lets go of Connor's hands to cover Bruce's. "He's been known to *throw* me at criminals."

Roy snorts -- "Uh. I -- sorry."

Tim's smile *glitters*. "Oh... I'll find a way to make you pay."

"Heh. I'm sure you will, little 'mano. Just remember -- I don't *have* to bring Connor with me --"

"You really do."

Roy coughs. "You -- I was trying to make a *threat*, bro --"

"It wasn't a *good* threat," Connor says, and pushes back against Roy. "A *good* threat would be something along the lines of promising Tim that you'll only, say, be *excruciatingly* gentle --"

*Tim* snorts -- and groans.

When Connor looks, Bruce is making love to Tim's bruises with his mouth, licking and pressing, nibbling and sucking --

He's still holding Tim by the hips, still holding Tim *up* --

Roy starts stroking Connor with that wonderful possessiveness, that not-quite-casual *wonder* -- "Hey, little 'mano..."

"I'm -- mm. I'm listening --"

"If you *really* wanted to be good for Bruce, you'd put on some weight. Make him *work* to move you around."

"Ah -- fuck you sideways?"

Roy snickers and kisses Connor's cheek three times -- "Yeah, that could just about work. Though you could probably fist me at this point and I wouldn't squeal."

"Squeal -- you -- Roy, *you're* giving me a complex," Tim says --

"You've been showering with Bruce for years, little 'mano. You should be *over* that complex."

Tim snorts again -- gasps --

"A moment, if you would," Bruce says, and lays Tim down on his back before kissing him hard, deeply --

Roy makes an appreciative noise. "God, I can't wait to see Bruce doing this to Dickie."

That -- "I'm rather enjoying *this* view, Roy."

"Oh, yeah, it's pretty fantastic -- I'll give you that -- but Dickie... see, he'd be wrapping himself *around* Bruce right now --"

"That would impede the *view*, Roy --"

"Heh. And Dickie isn't *your* brother. Okay, yeah, I hear you. You just watch and enjoy, then, because I have something I need to do."

Connor blinks and starts to turn --

At which point Roy *spreads* Connor and slips his soft penis between Connor's cheeks. "Mmph. Yeah, that's better. *Watch*," Roy says, and turns Connor back to face Bruce and Tim --

Connor takes a moment to pull Roy's fingers into his mouth --

Roy moans. "God, bro, gimme a few minutes to have a *brain*, will you?"

"No," Connor slurs, and -- yes, he thinks he can taste the wood and leather of the pommel horse on Roy's fingers --

The noises Tim is making are rough things, loud and almost mournful --

And Connor knows that they are, that for every one of Bruce's kisses --

Bruce's *bites* as he reaches Tim's abdomen --

Bruce's *touch* as he strokes Tim everywhere he can reach --

Tim is mourning for the loss of his control -- as he will, perhaps, in every moment like this one.

Connor isn't sure if the fact that that makes the sounds more arousing is proof of his own acceptance of the changes in his life or if it's simply proof that he's not the best possible person... but he *is* sure that it doesn't matter. Moments like this are for pleasure and intimacy, warmth and the sort of touch which cannot simply be brushed aside for the sake of any mission -- or any spiritual journey.

This --

"God, *Dad* -- *ohn* --"

Roy's penis twitches --

Bruce muffles his groan with *Tim's* penis --

He'll always take this for himself. He'll always grow more and more aroused for it. He'll always --

"God, yeah, give it *up*, little 'mano..."

Brother. *Brothers* --

And so it means even more to be able to watch Tim curl up on himself and try and *fail* to get a grip on Bruce's hair, to watch sweat bead at Tim's temples and the base of his throat as he gasps and moans, croons and tosses his head --

"*Please* --"

As he begs sincerely enough to bring all of them closer to being able to have even *more*, and --

Yes.

Connor can't be sure about Bruce and Roy, but he knows that *he* was lying, that he will *always* try to tear down Tim's walls, that he'll be manipulative and warm, hot enough to --

"Bruce -- Bruce, your *mouth* --" And the rest of that is grunting noises, sharp and breathy as Bruce forces Tim to fuck his mouth in *that* rhythm --

Roy groans. "That's what he was using on *me* --"

"You liked it --"

"God, I *loved* it, and I *really* can't wait to do you just that way, bro --"

Tim cries out --

Tim wails -- and it gets cut off by a gasp as Bruce pushes one finger inside Tim and starts to work it back and forth --

"Bruce -- I -- fuck me, *fuck* me, Dad, *please* --"

Bruce growls and does it -- and stops sucking Tim --

"Oh, that's no *fair*, B --"

"I don't. I don't want this to be over *quickly*," Bruce says, and he's studying Tim, looking him over -- and repeating the motions again and again.

"But you *do* want him to come --"

"*Yes*, Roy --"

"And you know he needs it."

"I --"

"Bruce..." Connor licks his lips. "He told me he was waiting for you. That he wanted *you* to make him come."

Bruce winces -- but it looks far more like lust than anything else. "My son..."

Tim goes rigid -- relaxes and cries out again, wordless and somehow *sweet* --

"This -- it's probably what's scaring him most, B. You know that, right?"

Bruce swallows and nods slowly -- and keeps fucking Tim with his finger. "He knows how badly I've failed at romantic relationships..."

Connor thinks of walls, of barricades and moments of rational *sense* --

Connor thinks of obliterating all of the above and smiles. "Kiss him again, Bruce. Take... take his *sounds*."

"Yeah, B. *Give* it to him."

Bruce looks almost *wild* for a moment -- and then he all but *falls* on Tim, pouncing like some terrifyingly efficient *beast* -- "My *love*," he says, and kisses Tim hard for a moment before pulling back. "*Come* for me."

The sound Tim makes is desperate and almost *hurt* --

And then it's gone, because Bruce has his other hand on Tim's throat --

Because Bruce is kissing away even the breathless whimpers --

Roy groans and leans in to bite Connor's shoulder -- briefly. "Ever wanna be done like *that*?"

"I think... ah. I'd be tempted to fight for *survival*, Roy --"

"You think Tim isn't?"

Tim is jerking and shuddering, clenching and unclenching his fists -- and working his hips rhythmically.

Connor shivers --

Roy holds him *tightly* -- "Yeah. And we're... we pretty much *encouraged* Bruce to *devour* him."

"They --" Don't lie. "Yes. I confess..." Connor licks his lips. "I understand all of the effort you and everyone else expended to get me to surrender my virginity."

"Heh. The good ones are *always* too damned tempting, bro."

"Perhaps too tempting for our own good, yes -- oh."

Bruce pulls out of the kiss and just *stares* down at Tim --

Tim's eyes are wide and full, hungry, desperate --

"I see you, my love. My beautiful son. I will never look away," Bruce says, and starts fucking Tim *harder* --

Roy groans and pulls Connor into a kiss --

"Tim... now."

A thumping sound, rapid and arrhythmic, and Connor bites Roy in something resembling an apology before turning back --

It looks more like a seizure than an orgasm --

Bruce releases Tim's throat --

Tim arches and screams, spurting twice more before falling back down to the mats --

Roy *thrusts* against him, sliding his penis along Connor's cleft in a move that makes Connor *growl* --

Bruce pulls out and holds Tim down against the mats with one hand on his sternum before turning to Connor and raising an eyebrow in question.

"Ah... impatience, only --"

"*Soon*, bro," Roy says, and starts stroking Connor with motions that can't seem to decide whether to be soothing or maddening.

Bruce takes in both of them with a long look -- and then turns back to Tim. "How are you."

"Picking up pieces of my... ah." Tim sighs and starts to sit up --

Bruce pushes him back down. Gently, but still --

"Bruce --"

"Ooh. Is it hold-little-brothers-down time? I *like* that time," *Dick* says, as he jogs down the long staircase -- with Steph behind him.

"Yeah, whatever, it's *naked* time, and I'm gonna kick *all* of you for not *waiting* for me," she says --

"Hey, don't be like that, chica --"

"People I don't know *don't* get to call me 'chica,'" and Steph stops just beyond Tim with her hands on her hips. Her hair is much shorter than it had been the last time -- the only time -- Connor had met her, and she's wearing jeans that hug her curves and a t-shirt which seems to be advertising a country singer.

She's quite lovely, and Tim seems to be trying to get closer to her --

"Aww, no, stay there, boyfriend, it's cute," she says, and turns back to him and Roy. "Is that Arsenal strapped to your back, Connor?"

"As a matter of fact, yes --"

"There, you know me," Roy says, and reaches for Steph with one hand. "*Now* can I call you chica?"

Steph's grin is rather... aggressive. "No. But you can call me Stephanie so long as I can call you Roy."

"Done. Now, you were saying something about naked time --"

"*God*, yes," Dick says, dropping to his knees and attempting to tug Bruce's hand away from Tim -- he had somehow found the time to remove all of his clothes. Which *would* be deeply impressive --

If Connor hadn't seen how fast Roy could remove his *own* clothes when there was 'motivation' in the offing. Connor turns to Steph. "Did you have a productive time with Oracle?"

"If by 'productive' you mean 'bruise-inducing' and also fucking *humiliating*, yeah," she says, and strips off her t-shirt. "Boyfriend, I'm so gonna need you to kiss my girls better for me. Oracle put me up against fourteen-year-old you and you *immediately* punched me in the tits. Like, a *lot*."

"I know just the salve to use. After the kissing, of course," Tim says, and prods at Bruce's arm, which hasn't moved at all.

Despite the fact that Dick is still tugging at it --

"Boss, c'mon, I *promise* I won't let him get away."

Bruce hums. "I might simply be enjoying myself."

Tim narrows his eyes. "You don't think you've had enough of that for the day, Bruce?"

Bruce shows his teeth. "Not by a long road... son."

Steph snickers and kicks out of her sneakers. "Seriously, Spooky, you've gotta go *easy* on that stuff when I'm around."

Really? "You don't approve?"

"Oh, I *approve*. I just don't think the parts of me that approve should always get a *say*."

"I *disagree*," Dick says, and now he's tugging on Bruce's arm with both hands -- "Those parts are good, smart, right-thinking parts. *Juicy* parts. *Sticky* parts. Soft and -- and --"

Dick pounces on Steph --

"Gah -- *Dick*!"

And then they're rolling around together.

Bruce still has his hand on Tim's chest --

And Connor thinks -- deeply, even -- about coaxing Roy away so that they can give the family time to *be*... a very specific sort of family, indeed.

It's just that those thoughts blow away entirely when Bruce turns to look at him --

When *Tim* turns to look at *Roy* --

Well, then.

Connor dips, twists --

"Bro, what --"

Connor flips Roy onto his back and straddles his waist, pressing down on his sternum with one hand -- "You're absolutely right, Bruce. This *is* quite enjoyable."

Roy blows out a breath and snickers. "You *know* you're not gonna hold me like this --"

The sound Steph makes is something between a giggle and a *shriek* --

And Bruce and Tim are more than capable of using the distraction to come to Connor's aid in restraining Roy --

Who snickers again. "Okay, okay, I surrender. Have your wicked way with me --"

"If you insist," Bruce says, and leans in --

"But tell me what Dick is doing to the *recruit* --"

"My name is *Stephanie*, and he was trying to -- *oof* --"

"This time, I *have* the zip-strips," Dick says, and proceeds to use them on Steph's wrists --"And she always makes that sound the first couple of times I go for her ass, Roy. See?"

*That* sound was more of an indignant *squawk* -- though there was also some giggling.

"Dick," Bruce says, and presses down on Roy's wrists --

"Whoops, almost forgot," and Dick hands Bruce *several* zip-strips --

"Thank you."

"You're *very* welcome, Dad, think fast --" And Dick *tickles* Tim --

Tim jerks away after making an exceedingly creditable attempt to give Dick a black eye with his elbow --

Bruce catches Tim -- and zip-strips his wrists behind his back. Which --

"I believe three prisoners is rather... ah... enough?"

Bruce smiles at him.

*Dick* smiles at him --

Connor makes a point of running slowly, as he doesn't want to get too far away.

end.





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