Disclaimers: Not mine.
Spoilers: Vague mentions of the GK/TNBA episode "The
Demon Within," Batman Adventures v2 #9, and the JLU
episode "For the Man Who Has Everything." Timeline:
About a year after the JLU ep.
Summary: Tim makes a new friend.
Ratings Note/Warnings: NC-17. Content some readers may
Author's Note: Written for the Kink Challenge. Because I
Acknowledgments: To the Spike, LC, and Livia for audiencing
and spamming me with terrifying art throughout the
process -- including the one which provided the title. God
Possibly -- *just* possibly -- it would've been worth it to
listen (for once) to the whole "don't wander, it's dangerous"
After all, the warning had come from *Bruce*, who didn't
actually *provide* warnings even when they were, just
for the sake of example, about to go to the apartment of
a demon. From *hell*.
On the other hand -- and he's thinking this is a phrase
which is about to get horrifying, being as how the...
*thing* is holding his gauntlets, boots, belt, and tunic
and still has enough limbs to *reach* for him --
On the *other* hand, it was *Bruce*. Who *did* tend to
give warnings about *Superman* all the time.
Like Tim had somehow missed the whole "giant alien with
god-like powers" memo, or... or.
Possibly he could maybe save the crafting of the "this was
*your* fault" speech until sometime after he's figured out
how to get out of here.
Or sometime after he's figured out how to keep his shorts --
Nope, they're gone.
And the thing is, Bruce could've just *said* Clark had a
zoo -- that *is* what this place is, right? Animals and...
Are they animals?
Tim settles the suction pad more firmly on his left hand --
the right is good -- and climbs up the window a little
'Window.' *That's* another really freaking inaccurate --
*inadequate* -- word. He breaks through *windows* all
the time. He doesn't even need the tools in his belt for
that, *or* his gauntlets -- though his skin prefers it when
he has them on, definitely. *This* window is actually
more of a force-field, judging by the mild tingle it's giving
The fact that the suction pads stick to it anyway... well, it's
a fact. Go team Fortress of Alien Tech.
And his many-limbed new friend down there can't climb.
It really doesn't matter, considering the fact that his new
friend can *stretch*.
It's entirely possible this information was written on the
plaque helpfully placed outside the... *exhibit*, but, then
again, he doesn't know how to *read* Kryptonian.
It's a mistake to look back and down. It's really, really a
mistake, because it -- *it* -- is waving his t-shirt like a little
ripped *flag* and --
Ow. That was. Tim can't even describe the sound the thing
had made, but it was loud, and it...
Well, wait, that's something. If it screams down the house,
then that's *kinda* like having an alarm raised, right?
Granted, right about now he isn't looking forward to having
Bruce and Clark and -- oh *Jesus* -- Diana show up to see
him in all of his mostly naked glory, stuck to a
not-window-at-all and trying to dodge --
Okay, so it's *hard* to dodge effectively when you're using
the suction pads. That's kind of *why* they don't bust 'em
out all that often, and he's definitely going to give the
whole matter some thought just as soon as his new friend
quits waving *him* like a flag.
Which would be good, he thinks, watching the pads go
flying. Especially if it happened right *now* --
It does. Hunh. Well. Well, that's *good*.
Now it's just a matter of... of. Well. He's actually in a fairly
*decent* position to aim a kick, but he can't reach the
vaguely globe-like center of the thing, which he's guessing
is where the... *whatever* is.
He aims a tentative chop at the limb holding him and --
eugh. It's *not* cold, and it's not really hard, but it's wet
How had he not noticed how *wet* it was when it slid
around his chest? That --
He can't *stop* noticing now, because it feels like he should
be sliding *through* the thing's grip, only he isn't, and...
Warm. Definitely warm.
Tim thinks about the scrapes and cuts on his chest from
his last skid over the stone floors of the Cave -- his
*tunic* protects him, but he almost never spars with the
others in uniform -- and.
Is it... is he being poisoned?
All at once, he's warm all *over*. *Hot*, almost, and --
no. Psychosomatic reaction. He's not hot at all. He's cool,
he's fine, he's *cold* --
He's wrapped up so tight he can't *see*.
So tight he can't *hear*, because he *knows* the sound
that thing made was loud -- it thrums through the limbs
currently making a slimy *mummy* out of him -- but
it's muffled, and...
And possibly he's in trouble. Possibly, definitely --
No. He's... he's not supposed to *sweat* the death-traps.
They happen all the time, and he's Robin. Deathtraps are
lame, and crazy, and eminently escapable. So sayeth the
Bat, and -- he kinda sorta definitely needs air here, or
he'll get to find out how much sweating people do
from beyond the grave.
Maybe Etrigan will visit and *rhyme* at him, and -- air. He
Okay, now that was *freaky*. The tentacles uncoil from
around his face so quickly they whip his *head* back and
forth, and -- doesn't matter. *Air*.
Air and... and the tip of one tentacle is kind of waving in
front of his face.
He gets squeezed, and... yeah. It's really *just* his face
that's free now, and the next squeeze makes all the air
he'd carefully hoarded gust out of his mouth with a
whoofing sound. *Christ* --
The tentacle is waving at him again. In front of... of his
*mouth*. Hm. Okay...
Tim takes a deep breath and blows out just a *little*,
aiming it at the shiny waving tip-thing.
And he's thinking good, important thoughts about carbon
dioxide and aliens and how the air in here is perfectly
breathable -- if a *little* strange, what with the faint
smell of ocean and not-normal --
He totally *was* thinking that, and Bruce would be proud,
but right now all he's thinking is -- he's thinking the word
At least, that's the sound he *would've* made, if he
could've, because that -- that thing is in his *mouth* now.
Probably the freakiest thing is -- is.
There are a lot of freaky things, like how it's slick and
warm and stroking -- *examining* -- his teeth, *shoving*
at them --
The thing is, he is never going to forgive Bruce for
glaring at him in the sushi restaurant until he ate the
damned squid, because the tentacle in his mouth
doesn't *just* taste good, he has a *context* for it.
He's pretty much going to have to *kill* Bruce, because
all he wants right now is some wasabi and maybe a little
soy, and --
And that really isn't all he wants at all.
There's... *stuff* sliding out of his mouth -- he can't *close*
it -- and down his chin, and it's warm and -- and *warm*
and he's trying *not* to swallow, but he can't even really --
The back of his throat isn't numb so much as not really
*responding* to the part of his brain which is saying
'*choke*' and it's *in* him. It's.
He'd really, *really* like to look this thing in the eye,
because right now he has some *questions* which
could really use some answers.
And just as soon as he a) gets the tentacle out of his
*mouth*, and b) figures out exactly where the thing's
eyes *are*, he'll get right to it. Right --
That was a thrust.
That was *absolutely* a thrust, and he probably can't
blame Bruce for all the time he's spent web-surfing on
the Bat-computers -- you have the world's best spam
and spyware blockers, you *take* advantage -- but he
wants to, anyway. He really, really didn't need the
context for *this*.
Because it's all just a bit too... too *something*.
And that's... no, that's it. He *is* having trouble thinking,
and and --
He's not having any problems *feeling*, and he doesn't
know why --
He hears himself make a noise, and the surprise is really
that he *could*, considering the whole thorough
mouth-fuck *thing* but -- he's breathing and --
And telepathic communication isn't exactly *new*, but
*this* is. Because there are the words, but there's
also a whole flood of stuff that *isn't* words, or maybe
just stuff *he* doesn't have words for, and it's making
his *brain* buzz, or maybe that's just the tentacle
-- because he thinks maybe, just maybe, this has been
going on since he walked in here and figured out that
he couldn't walk *out* again --
no tangle. alone. you tangle
-- tangle. Tangle? He *is* tangled, and --
yes yes yes yes
-- and the world takes a turn for the *turning*, spinning
him down and down and *in* until he's smacks face-first
against the globe of the... *thing* --
tangle tangle now tangle now
He can't breathe and he can't move, but he's *being*
moved, his arms and legs *spread*, and he *is* flexible,
Swallowing, hard and helpless, because the tentacle in
his mouth is... it's *coming*, or maybe just *feeding*
him, and it's *exactly* like that time with his Dad's flask,
only the burn is on his *skin* as opposed to in his throat,
and he doesn't think he could puke if he tried.
His palms are flat to the globe, and his ankles are, too,
and he's --
It's making him *rub* it. And pet it. And --
The tentacle beast wants to be groped.
That's... that's *new*. Tangle means... tangle means he's
rock hard in his jock --
Tangle means his jock is somewhere *else*, along with
his tights, and he's rock hard and humping --
Tangle means --
It's a question. It's a *question*, and he doesn't want to
think about an answer, he really doesn't --
sex tangle now now
Oh fuck -- *fuck* --
*Tentacle*-fuck, in him -- pushing -- wet and --
*Shoving* him against itself, *reaching* in him --
So -- so *thick* --
new tangle now good in in tangle
He's clawing at it now, but it doesn't seem to care. No,
it doesn't *mind* --
It. It *likes* it, and -- fuck -- *fuck* --
And he's going to have to help it learn distinctions
between 'command' and 'exclamation,' and he's going
to -- he going to --
The world changes colors around him -- no. In front
of him. Coming all over the...
Coming all over it made it flash from purple to black to
red to -- he can't keep up now, it's --
-- fucking him harder now, shoving down his throat and up
his *ass*. Coiling around his legs -- his arms and his
*waist* and making him --
Okay, it's less about making him thrust at this point
than about *helping* him, and he's just going to have
good friend tangle tangle
Have to *repress* that, sometime... sometime after it
wraps around his *dick* and --
-- coils around his *balls* and *squeezes* --
More. It wants --
more now more
He can't yet, he --
Fucking him *faster*, tugging on his tongue and in --
Fuck -- oh *God* --
Question. Another -- another *question* --
Strange sound, new -- it's him. He's making a humming
sound, or a --
He's groaning and *coughing* and humming --
godtangle what tangle
Fucking him, fucking his *mind* --
His mouth his ass his -- his *ears* --
find godtangle find now
N -- no -- no god --
bat bat bat tangle
Every image -- every fantasy and wet dream and
*nightmare*. Bruce on him, over him --
Batman *in* him, forcing him, making him --
Need it -- need --
He screams, choking and *biting*, and the tentacles *flex*
in him and around him, stroking him, *milking* him --
-- and they don't stop.
No words now. No words or images, just -- just the *feel*.
He's being pulled somewhere (inside) else, being...
*Given* this, and his (her) sisters are coiled around him,
pulling and (tangling) and the world is dark (nothing) and
it's the best of all, the best of --
She isn't alone, and she'll never be alone, because her
sisters will tangle until she's nothing at all, until she's
everything and every --
Never cold, never -- alone --
It takes a long time before Tim has any thought beyond
'ow' and also 'gih.'
The next thoughts are mainly about air, and how it's a
wonderful thing. These go for a while, gradually being
replaced with something about a mattress, and also
"I know you're awake."
Definitely Bruce. "Shows what you know. I'm *actually*
still fucking stoned."
Tim uses the standard few seconds of non-committal-grunt
time to work on opening his eyes. They're... kinda sticky,
actually, and his lashes feel as clumped and heavy as that
time with Babs' mascara and the custard.
Possibly that was just a hallucination.
Possibly. "Where's Sgutha?"
"Is that the creature's name?"
Tim yawns, sits up, stretches -- flops back down.
Bruce leans over him. "You might want to take it easy."
Tim sticks his tongue out. He smells... he smells like sushi,
"I asked --"
"It's either her name or her god's name. Tough call."
He doesn't, actually, have anything in particular to do with
this stretch of non-committal-grunt time, so he focuses on
convincing himself that he still has toes. He does. He's not
sure about the *knees* --
"The creature -- she -- is resting."
Gooood tangle. Heh. "What --"
"Clark used his heat-vision."
Tim winces. "Is she --"
"According to Clark, she's fine."
Hmm. Well, that's... hm. Tim rubs at the bed. The sheets
feel pretty familiar, actually.
"You're in the plane," Bruce says, and turns up the lights
Tim winces, again, and... yep, plane. "Are we --"
"Still in the fortress. But, for *some* reason, I felt it might
be a good idea to examine you with human instruments,
Heh. But... too? Tim frowns. "How long was I out of it?"
Bruce raises an eyebrow. "I think a better question would
be how long you spent *inside* the creature."
"So Clark's birthday party was good?"
Bruce crosses his legs and smirks at him with his eyes. "The
only supervillain to show up was Metallo, so... yes."
Bruce would probably think of that expression as a 'smile.'
"Cool," Tim says, and works on sitting upright again.
Bruce doesn't say anything, but Tim can *feel* him
watching, so he only groans enough for extra Alfred-cocoa
when they get home. It's a complicated equation, but
focusing on it is just a bit better than focusing on the whole
tentacle porn thing.
Still, though... "I should go talk to Sgutha."
"I didn't bring the hazmat suits, unfortunately."
"Well, I *was* thinking of staying *behind* the force-field
this time, Bruce, but that was just poor planning on your
"Hm," Bruce says, and crosses his arms over his chest.
"Do I have to say 'I told you so?'"
Tim slides -- carefully -- off the gurney and onto his feet,
and strips off the Bat-hospital-johnny. "Only if you *want*
me to elope with Sgutha."
The look on Bruce's face is really, really *similar* to "I
just bit into a sourball filled with acid."
Tim smiles. "Shower?"
"Out of the plane, up the stairs, and to your right. The
*opposite* direction from Clark's little... menagerie."
Tim grabs a robe from the fully-stocked closest of 'Alfred
is here in *spirit*' and nods. "I don't know, Bruce..."
He grins back over his shoulder. "I kinda think it's more
of a *petting* zoo."
"You're not allowed to visit Dick anymore."
Tim snickers, and heads for the showers.