Disclaimers: All belongs to DC.
Spoilers: Takes place sometime after TT #21, but the
only real spoilers are for "War Games."
Summary: Kon's gonna stop this. Really.
Ratings Note: Adults only. (Okay, this no-MPAA thing is
going to kill me. How can it be adults-only if it's about
teenagers? How come I didn't care about this when I
was blithely tossing around NC-17 right and left? My
Author's Note: Sheila asked me for hand-job porn
recs. I immediately felt the need to write hand-job
Acknowledgments: To Livia and LC for audiencing.
He's totally going to stop. Right now, or at least as soon as
he actually gets the chance to *talk* to Tim.
He's *going* to stop, because it started out random and
brain-breaking and became fucked-*up* and brain-breaking,
and it's still fucked-up, even though it's less brain-breaking.
He can't blame the fact that he failed another History quiz
on Tim, after all. He failed because he spent the better part
of a weekend chasing down super-villains and he'd
completely bailed on the homework he could've done that
Thursday and anyway, he's going to stop.
He's dating *Cassie*, and Tim is...
Well, he's not dating anyone, anymore, and that's fucked-up,
too, because they could've at least talked about it, he
could've at least *told* Kon that oh, by the way, it wasn't
*just* his Dad who'd gotten brutally murdered in the past
few weeks ("I'd like you to meet --"), and by the way, I only
*look* like I'm sane right now, which you can totally tell by
the fact that I'm crawling into your bed in the middle of the
night ("It's just me") and touching you even though I don't
fucking *do* that ("quiet") and when you strip me out of my
uniform because you can't *fucking* ("Kon -- *Kon* --")
help yourself, I'm going to bite my lip so hard it bleeds
And he's going to stop.
Because this is three weekends and two *Wednesdays*, and
where the fuck did Tim get a *plane* when he had to
fucking sneak a *car* out of Gotham?
Because this is --
The thing is? Maybe it's already over. And he doesn't think
that because Tim had said anything the last time ("Kon, I --
Kon..."), because he totally and completely *hadn't*. And
not because they'd done anything different (it's not a word,
it's not a moan, it's a sigh, and it's familiar now because it's
the sound Tim makes when Tim touches him, cups him and
squeezes), either. But because it's completely fucking
*random*, and maybe Tim's just...
Maybe he's *done*. He wasn't done at three, but three is
kind of an obvious number, anyway, so maybe it's five.
Maybe this is the night when Kon's actually going to be
alone for the whole night in the Tower, even though he's not
going to sleep so much as sit up right here and *wait*.
Because Tim was finished after the last time, hot breath on
Kon's cheek and he'd smelled like toothpaste, enough so
that Kon thought --
He'd thought Tim would kiss him, because that's what you
*do*. You brush your teeth right before you go see your...
*whatever*, because you don't want them to fucking
*wince* when you kiss them.
And Kon is going to stop, even though he's lying in his own
bed alone, even though it has the damned *nerve* to feel
*cold*, even though he's thinking about kissing Tim now
like he hasn't really done in years, even though he knows it
won't be like the way he used to imagine it, when Tim's
mouth looked like the softest thing on him, when every time
Tim actually looked surprised, Kon had popped wood.
Because Tim's mouth (slack, loose, open) would get just as
round as anyone else's, and even though Kon still couldn't
see his *eyes*, it would suddenly be really easy to imagine
that the expression on Tim's face when they suddenly found
themselves in another dimension or maybe Hell was just the
same as his own.
And that everything else would be the same, too, including
how he'd react to ("Please touch me.") being touched. But
Because he never would've thought Tim would just (give it
up, he's giving it *up*) throw his head back and *grunt*
when Kon lost his shit and used the TK to shove him up
against a wall, that he *wouldn't* glare or -- or *fight*.
And it's the fourth time here, only it hasn't happened yet.
But it's the first time he's completely awake -- as opposed
to passed out or just fucking *wiped* -- and it's.
It feels like some kind of superstitious *thing* to push his
right hand under the sheet, like one of the things Bart had
rattled off from that book of folklore and whatever. Step
on a crack, crack Tim's tunic open like a shell and just lick
him all over this time. Jerk himself off, break Tim's...
God, break him *open*, and he's too hard already, too slick
and too far gone, and his door is still closed (just like the
first time, and the second, and all of them, because
maybe... maybe.), but he's gonna come anyway. Just like
He's gonna leave a Titan-sized come stain on the sheet,
even though he's ending this, even though he moans out
loud when the door opens and Tim just fucking *stands*
Watching him like...
Kon doesn't fucking *know*. The sheet's still up, and there's
nothing to see -- even if that's what Tim is doing, and he
can't *tell*, because he can't see Tim's eyes --
He can see Tim's *brain*, and fuck, he doesn't know if he
wants to be grateful for the fact that he can't control the
X-ray vision yet or not. At least he's not going to come all
that fast anymore.
He doesn't get to see Tim moving to him, or crawling onto
the bed (again, *again*, and Kon can feel the mattress dip
and he can hear the quiet scratch of Tim's uniform against
the sheets), because his eyes are still squeezed shut. He
just feels it, all over, even though Tim is barely even
straddling him. Not touching him.
"Kon," he says, just like he always does when it's like this.
Like it's more than just his damned name. Like it's a
It *isn't*. And he's... he --
"You didn't have to stop."
He -- *what*? "Yeah, I *did*, Tim, what the fuck is --"
"I could see the way your arm was moving."
"-- going *on* --"
And Tim sighs, just like he does when he's touching Kon,
and that makes perfect fucking sense, because Tim yanks
the sheet just far enough out of the way to *do* it --
"I could *feel* what you were doing --"
"Oh Jesus fucking --"
"Kon, I could feel it on *me*."
The hand on his shoulder *isn't* a hand, it's a gauntlet. The
one on his dick is just bare, hard and a little dry, *hard*,
because Tim always does that -- one half-second just to get
a grip, and another to get the *right* one.
Just as if the first time -- and the first time Kon had said
"oh, fuck, *harder*" -- had been *enough*.
Tim's always been a fast learner, he thinks, and he's pretty
sure it'll be the last damned coherent thought in his
*mind*, because Tim is jerking him off, and --
And he's gonna *end* this. He's. "Tim, fuck, don't --"
"It's. The rhythm you were using. I --"
"Tim. You -- you feel." There's nothing right or even smart
in cutting himself off. There's nothing that'll change if he
doesn't tell Tim how good he feels, how good it *is*.
So tight, so hard and slow, even though Tim's squeezing
his shoulder faster and faster, the way he does when he's
got a batarang in hand and can't throw it yet for whatever
reason, and thinking about weapons, *being* a weapon --
If he opened his eyes, he doesn't know what he'd see, at
So he opens them, and Tim is watching him, or maybe his
eyes are closed behind the mask, or maybe Kon's pillow is
Tim is *watching* him, and. "Kiss me," Kon hears himself
say, hears himself fucking -- fucking *beg*, and then he's
shooting pre-come all over Tim's fist because Tim's
moaning, and then he's jerking and groaning like it's his
Because Tim kisses him. And it's wrong. It's too soft and
Kon's mouth is open and Tim's mouth is *closed*. And then
it isn't, because Kon's got both hands in Tim's hair and he's
holding *on*, or maybe he's holding on because his tongue
is in Tim's mouth.
Or maybe --
Tim moans, again, and it feels like Kon's name, bounced off
the roof of his mouth and back, and Tim's still keeping the
same rhythm and Kon comes, gasping, and the *sound*
Tim makes is all wrong and fucked-up until Kon realizes
that he's *yanking* on Tim's hair.
"Sorry," he says, and *stops*, because -- fuck, he'd just
done it *again*, and --
"I need -- Jesus, Tim, I need --"
The kiss is so perfect he might as well have *told* Tim how
he likes it, that there's nothing better than being kissed so
hard and fast you can't remember how to do anything else
but kiss back, and then even that's too much, because you
don't want to fight, you want to be kissed, just like this.
Just like Tim isn't just doing it to shut him the fuck *up*.
And maybe -- no. It *shouldn't* work. It shouldn't be even
better when Tim wraps his sticky hand around Kon's wrist
and pulls until Kon's hand is on the back of his neck, when
Tim almost *falls* down to the bed beside him and doesn't
even give Kon time to *breathe* before he's kissing Kon
again, pushing up against his hip and --
"You. Fuck, you're so hard under there. You *are*," Kon
says, and he *knows* he sounds like an idiot, but Tim
whimpers against his face and pulls *away*.
And Kon has to follow him, fucking *cover* him. Pin him
so he can't move or -- or *anything* and.
What's going on. Fucking talk to me, man. Tell me what this
is. What's going *on*. "Tim," he says, and kisses him.
And it's like some kind of fighting to kiss like this, like the
world's most useless spar, because all Tim's doing is
rubbing up against him and all he's doing is trying to feel
Tim *up*, even though he'd have to *move* to really do
it, and he *knows* that, it's just that it's too much to do
*and* keep kissing *and* keep moving *and* try not to
kill Tim or maybe just have a fucking heart attack
"Kon, *Kon* --"
And he can't --
"Oh God, oh God please --"
He can't stop any of it, even though he isn't hard anymore,
even though it's actually a little uncomfortable to try to
hump Tim through his jock, because --
"Please, Kon, don't *stop* -- "
Because it doesn't feel like he's humping Tim at all. It feels
like he's *fucking* him, and that he's just in control enough
to be able to do it without losing it, that he could do this all
fucking night and still be able to watch Tim moan, listen to
-- *beg*, feel him, just like this, all over his own skin.
"You're gonna come for me --"
"P --" And Tim shudders for a second and then goes *rigid*,
enough that it's almost a little scary. The tendons stand out
in his neck and he's not making that *other* sighing noise
and his dick isn't in Kon's hand, so he can't feel for that
And he can't stop trying to drive Tim into the mattress with
Not until Tim grabs his shoulders and whimpers.
And squeezes. And --
He can hear the way he's scraping at the sheets with his
fingers more than he can feel it, because the only thing he
can really *feel* right now is the way Tim's still under him,
and the way Kon's not *fucking* him.
Tim strokes his way down Kon's right arm, slow and almost
hesitant, and the gauntlet feels like just something else Kon
isn't fucking, and he's.
He's not stopping this.
And maybe there's something fucked-up -- or even
*petty* -- about lying down on top of him and getting
*comfortable* there -- Tim's gonna want to bail, sooner or
later. He does it, anyway.
Let him *tell* Kon to move.
"I... my cape."
It's choking Tim, a little. It has to be. It probably was the
whole *time*, but. Kon keeps his face buried in the pillow
next to Tim's ear, and waits.
After four breaths which aren't as deep as they could be if
the cape wasn't choking him and Kon wasn't on top of him
(he knows, he's listened), Kon can feel Tim moving,
slightly. Kon doesn't actually *press* him down against the
bed any harder, but he can't make himself want to move,
Tim's bare hand on his shoulder, a light touch. Tim's palm
is damp, his fingertips aren't, and it only lasts a second
before it's not on him at all.
And then Tim breathes again, a deeper one, and. "You
unhooked your cape. You." He doesn't know what else he
wants to say.
"Yes," Tim says, and doesn't say anything else, at all.
Kon closes his eyes and tries to convince himself it