U and Me
by Te
June 25, 2004

Disclaimers: Not mine.

Spoilers: None, really. Vague mentions up through
TT #11 or so.

Summary: Kon bitches, Tim moans.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: Completely pointless porn.

Acknowledgments: To Jack and LC for audiencing
and encouragement.


"Man, I don't see why you don't have your own
Bat-jet or something."

Tim flexes his shoulders as much as he can,
considering the fact that he's holding on to Kon's
wrist with both hands to minimize strain. "For some
reason, Batman is less than willing to trust me with
one after what happened with the car."

Kon snorts, quietly. The sound would almost
certainly be carried away by the wind if it weren't
echoed in his communicator. "Why *did* you let
Bart drive?"

Excellent question. "It seemed like a not-terrible idea
at the time."

"Yeah, well, he might not be Impulse anymore, but
he's still *Bart*."


"'Noted.' Right."

Kon flies a little faster, noticeable mostly by the way
Tim's body swings a little closer to the horizontal.
At this speed, they'll be at the Tower within
forty-five minutes.

It'll be more like five before Kon starts complaining

Tim looks down, more for the sake of doing it --
and being *able* to do it -- than for the scenery.
He hasn't been remotely afraid of heights for
quite some time, but there's nothing wrong with
acclimating himself to them as much as possible,
whenever possible.

He's used to rooftops -- Kon is used to quite a bit

In a best case scenario, Tim will have developed
the ability to discern and use landmarks from this
height, just in case. At the very least, he can't see
himself ever panicking too badly if he ever gets
dropped out of a low-flying plane.

Maybe he should find a way to train a bit higher
in the air. An oxygen tank, the cold weather
uniform --

"It's just, I don't see why Kory doesn't ever pick
you up. Or Cassie. Or, hell, *Bart*."

Because you keep complaining about it, and it
amuses -- nearly -- everyone to fuck with you.
And, by extension, with me. "Mm."

Kon sighs, and Tim waits for it.

Possibly, he could work on slowly reducing the
amount of oxygen he used. High-altitude training
could be useful for any number of things, though
he'd probably have to come up with a mechanism
to deal with the fact that Gotham is at sea-level.
Perhaps it would only be a useful skill if he
planned to immediately spend an extensive amount
of time --

"I mean, it's not like I mind hanging out with you,

It just makes you uncomfortable, for reasons
we're going to continue to not talk about. "Mm."
Tim figures he'll get at least a few more minutes
of silence out of that. He usually does.

"And it's not like I'm not *used* to you being the
most uncommunicative bastard in the *universe*."

Or not. A couple of years ago, this would be where
comments would be made about being trained by
the World's Greatest Detective -- trademark
pending -- and possibly about the relative
usefulness of that versus TTK -- trademark long
since established.

Kon's forearm flexes, probably more in restlessness
than actual discomfort. "I just... I've gotten used
to you being a *little* more company than this. I
mean, hanging out is fine, but all you're doing is

Tim's never been entirely sure how effective a
raised eyebrow really is around some people, but
the fact is that it's pretty much useless when Kon
is staring into the western distance and Tim is
mostly focused on the ground.

"Look, if you *don't* want to spend time with me,
why don't you just *make* them get you another
ride? They'll *listen* to you."

It's entirely true. It hadn't taken very long at all
to convince the remnants of Dick's old team that
treating him -- and, by extension, *his* old
team -- like anything but just slightly *less*
experienced operatives was a mistake.

"Assuming you *say* anything."

Well. All right. "You're uncomfortable --"

"Hell fucking *yeah*, I'm uncomfortable. I don't
know if I'm toting around my supposedly best
friend --"


"-- or dead weight in freaking *spandex*."

Tim takes a breath and flexes his shoulders again.
And wonders how much planning went into the
fact that they seem to be having *this*
conversation when Tim either has to hang here
and take it or find a way to survive free-fall --
assuming Kon doesn't use the TTK to keep him
still. "What I was saying -- you're uncomfortable.
Obviously so. I didn't really see a need to make
it worse. I still don't."

"I wasn't uncomfortable until --"

*That* night.

"-- you made it really *fucking* clear that *you*
were uncomfortable."

"Are we still talking about the flights?" Tim feels
Kon's forearm flex again and, after a moment,
feels Kon *looking* at him.

At the top of his head, anyway. Tim deliberately
twists enough that he can look Kon in the eye.
It's only a little uncomfortable.

"Because if we *are*, then I think the
conversation is pretty damned pointless."

If Kon was human, it's entirely possible that the
pinkness in his cheeks could be blamed on
wind-burn. But then, if Kon was human, they
wouldn't be *up* here. Kon looks away first,
and says, "Look. Okay, that night... I was --"

Tired. Not thinking. Some kind of --

"-- surprised, okay?"

Excuse. Tim blinks behind the mask, and wonders
if he should regroup.

"Christ, since when do you show up in the middle
of the night wanting to talk to *me*? Much

Kon trails off, and it gives Tim the time he needs
*not* to shift too obviously. Kon can't tell if he
tenses his *legs*. "You kissed *me*, Kon."

"Yeah, I did, and you kissed *back*."

A lot.

"Really a *lot*. And then --"

I left.

"-- you *left*, and you've --"

Been playing spot-the-heterosexual.

"-- barely said two words in a *row* to me since."

Tim licks the backs of his teeth. "True."

"*Christ*. You're so... I think if I dropped you I'd
have to worry more about the damage you'd do
to whatever poor bastard you landed on than
about *you* getting hurt."

"It would probably be messy."

"Messier than *this*? Tim, man..."

"You think they keep sending you to pick me up
because they know something."

Another flex, and it's an effort not to squeeze.

"They *do*. They know that, for whatever reason,
flying me around makes you uncomfortable. And
they're playing on it. With it."

"I... Christ. I'm not..."

Freaking out about making out with me?

"I'm not some kind of lame-ass. Okay, I admit it, I
*was* kind of wigged about making out with
you. But I'm not anymore."

Prove it. "Mm."

"I'm just wigged about how it's... how you --
we... fuck."

"What do you want to do about it?"

"Dude, *I* don't know. You *are* my best friend,
dammit. I just --"

Want to pretend it never happened?

"-- want us to act like it."


"Yeah, 'oh.' Dammit --" And they're not flying
anymore. Or... they're in the air, but stopped, and
Kon yanks Tim up to face him and... lets go.

Tim blinks at the sensation of being held up by
nothing and makes a mental note to make sure
it happens as little as humanly possible in the

"Tim, man... if I promise to stop being an asshole,
will you at least..."

He can't really make a guess about how that
sentence is supposed to end. He hasn't really
been doing all that well with the guesses, frankly.

Kon smiles ruefully. At him, and then at the
ground. "What would you do if I kissed you

Wish I wasn't kissing back. Wish I could... "I'm...
not sure."


The lie is right there, just waiting for him to tell
it. He thinks he could've managed it if Kon wasn't
looking at him again. "What would you do if I
kissed you back?"

"Make out with you in mid-air, I'm thinking."

"It wasn't a... fluke."

"Not for me," Kon says, and tugs on the side of
Tim's cape until it's covering him again. "But
you knew that. Didn't you?"

"I thought I did."

"Go with that," and Kon pulls him *in* by the
cape, dragging him across absolutely nothing
until they're close enough that Tim can feel Kon's
breath on his face. Close enough to kiss.

He lasts a second, another, and then Kon's
cupping his face and tilting his head back and --
pulling back.

Tim thinks he'll say something, though he isn't
sure what. Something about making a mistake,
something about --

Nothing, no words, just Kon's tongue in his
mouth and the sound of his own moan. He's
close enough to faintly hear an echo of it from
 Kon's communicator, or feel it. Imagine it.
He's not sure. Of anything.

He can't move his *legs*, but he can move his
arms. He's not really thinking about why he
wanted to move his legs. He's just wrapping
his arms around Kon's waist and sucking Kon's
tongue and swallowing the soft sounds Kon's
making into his mouth.

And kissing back.

Right up until Kon pulls away again.

Tim takes a deep breath while he still can, as soon
as he *remembers* that he can.

"Tim," Kon says, and leans in. He doesn't kiss Tim
immediately, just... nuzzles. Soft brushes of his
shockingly soft mouth.

"How did you know it wasn't a fluke for me?"

"What? So you can correct whatever 'mistake' you
made in the future?" Kon grins against his cheek
and pulls Tim in a little closer, sliding his hands up
beneath the cape and stroking Tim's back through
the tunic. "I'm not telling."

"Hm." Kon smells like the sun, or like something...
something very *warm*. Tim presses his face to
Kon's throat and breathes deeply. "You didn't

"Not a clue," he says, and tightens his hands on
Tim, just for a moment. "You can't move."

"It's true." He wonders if Kon likes to have his
throat kissed --

"Oh --"

Sucked on, bitten --

"-- Tim." And Kon grabs his ass and pulls, pressing
hard and --

He has just enough time to feel the nothing
release him before there's more and *different*
nothing. Pressing on the outsides of his thighs,
encouraging him to wrap them around Kon's
hips. Demanding.

"Tim, I..."

"You don't have to hold on. Not... for this."

"I want to," Kon breathes into his ear.


"God, you feel good. Did you always feel this
good? Did you always want to do this, Tim?"

"I -- *oh* --" He isn't sure if it's the teeth in his
earlobe or the way Kon's *rocking* against him.
The nothing is against his upper back, too, so it's
like --

It's *exactly* like being pushed up against a wall.
If he closes his eyes, he can imagine it. He just
isn't sure which wall he wants it to be.

Cold and slick like the walls in the showers? Or
just smooth like the still-fresh paint-job in their
Tower rooms? Rough like the walls of the cave in
Happy Harbor...

"Tim, do you..." Kon's hands are tight on his hips.
"God --"

"Don't stop."

"*Fuck*," and Kon hitches him up higher, pushes
him hard against the nothing-wall and kisses him
again. *Grinds* against him and moans into Tim's
mouth, rhythmic and sharp. "Christ, you feel

Tim licks Kon's mouth and slips his own hands
into the back pockets of Kon's jeans. "You're
feeling my jock, right now."

"I -- damn." Kon stops.

"Don't --"

"Doesn't that *hurt*?"

"Not enough that I want you to stop."

"But --"

Tim squeezes Kon's ass. He can't really do more
than that -- Kon's jeans are wonderfully, terribly
*tight* -- but it makes Kon *jerk* against him.
Tim grunts and gets kissed again, and again.

"I just --"


"Yeah... Jesus, Tim." And Kon doesn't so much
pull away from him as shove his hands between
them, tugging at his shorts and tights. And that's...
a very good idea.

He *can't* take his belt off -- dropping it from
this height would be a bad idea, and dangerous
to the surrounding countryside, besides -- but he
can push his tights down, get his jock out of the
way --

"Oh, Tim..."

He can't respond. Not with words. His mind is
bouncing back and forth between the feel of
Kon's soft hand and hard, impossible grip and
the fact that Kon's squeezing his dick. And --

"God, yeah. You like that --"

Tim throws his head back against nothing and

"You're getting... wet." Kon pushes his face
against Tim's throat and licks, stroking faster.
"You're making me so fucking hard --"

"Kon -- *Kon* --" His hips jerk without his
permission, and it feels so good he can't
*stop* --

"Oh fuck. You're fucking my *fist*, Tim --"

"More. I want --" And Kon makes a soft, high
noise against his throat and squeezes him again --

"Kon --"

Again. "I know. I -- Jesus --"

And the nothing moves again. Moves *him*
again, lifting him and yanking his legs from around
Kon's waist and -- shoving them over Kon's
*shoulders*. "Kon --"

"Oh God, I can *smell* you --"

And taste him. Kon can *taste* him, because
Kon's sucking him -- "*Kon* --"

Tim bites his lip hard. Hard -- so wet -- he
can't --

He bucks and Kon *groans* around him and sucks
harder, *licks* him and squeezes his ass and pulls
him *in*. Tim can hear himself moaning high in
his throat, hear himself *whining*, but it's nothing
to the heat --

And so *tight*, and he can see -- fucking *birds*
flying, and he couldn't get away if he tried. If he
could *make* himself try. He can't think, he can't
remember how to *breathe*, and Kon's moving
him, making Tim fuck his mouth, and Tim digs
his heels into Kon's back and tries and fails to
get a grip on Kon's hair.

He's never felt clumsy with the gauntlets before.

He's never --

*In* --

So deep, right into Kon's *throat*, and his mouth
falls open on a yell and he's going to have bruises
on his ass from Kon's fingers, and he's going to
come, just like this, and --

"Kon --"

It's all he can get out before it hits, before he can't
do anything but whimper and spill down Kon's
throat. Kon's hands spasm and *flex* on his ass
and hold him.

Hold him still, *keep* him there until he's biting
back more whimpers.

And then Kon pulls him off and sets him down on
nothing again. A strangely *unsteady* nothing...
that's only strange because Tim can't think
enough, yet, to be able to describe the feeling.
He knows *why*.

He cups Kon through the jeans and feels the
nothingness shudder beneath his feet.

"Oh fuck, *Tim*..." Kon pushes against his palm
and licks his lips. He's hard and *hot* through
the jeans, and...

One of them really needs to think. "Are we going
to die if I jerk you off?"

Kon groans and Tim throws his other arm over
Kon's shoulder just in time to feel the
nothingness shudder *again*. "I -- just. Hold on.
To me."

So they can plummet *together*. It's probably a
bad sign that the idea and attendant images are
so oddly appealing. He's going to blame it on the
fact that when he kisses Kon he can taste his
own come, and on the fact that Kon just sucked
him *off*, in the *sky*, and kissing is an
excellent way to avoid talking.

He needs to do it more often, and shove his hand
into Kon's pants more often, because it makes
Kon whimper and clutch at Tim's cape, pulling
hard enough that it's difficult to swallow under
the armor.

Difficult to breathe.

"Kon, tell me... tell me how you like it."

"Just -- hard and fast. I need it, Tim, I need you --
oh God, your fucking *glove* --"

The texture or the light armor in the fingers? He
*had* been considering taking it off and tucking
it in his belt -- he wants to feel Kon so badly his
palms have a nagging, phantom *ache* -- but.

"Tim -- oh *fuck* --"

And Kon shifts his grip to lock around Tim's waist
just in time for whatever was beneath Tim's feet
to completely disappear. "Oh."

"Sorry, I -- oh fuck don't *stop* --"

"I won't." It's awkward. They're a little too close
for him to get the twist in his wrist that *he*
likes, but Kon is panting against his shoulder --

"I want it -- oh God I want it --"

"I want it, too," he says. "I want you to come --"

The pain is fast and shocking, and he swallows
back a yell before it can get out. Kon's biting his
shoulder hard enough that it hurts even through
the cape *and* the tunic, and Tim's going to
have bruises there, too.

"Kon --"

"Fuck, sorry, I can't --"

"You're going to make me hard again."

And Kon shouts and squeezes him and it's enough
of a cue to shift his grip. The gauntlets are
waterproof, of course, but Tim can still feel the
*heat*. He wants...

He has an image of himself yanking up Kon's t-shirt
and sliding the gauntlet all along his abs, up to his

Or just reaching between his legs to slick and
squeeze Kon's sac. Tim licks his lips, and does it
again when Kon shifts enough to pant hot and
humid against Tim's cheek. He needs to fix his

He needs to get kissed again, and Kon strokes
his way down Tim's arm and wraps a hand
around Tim's wrist before --

Nothingness beneath his feet. Not quite as solid
as it was before, but it's enough for Tim to be
comfortable with backing away again. A little.

Just enough for Kon to drag his hand up between
them and --

Lick it.


Kon opens his eyes and watches Tim through the
splay of his own fingers. And keeps licking.

Tim can't decide whether it would be better or
*not* if he didn't have the gauntlet on. He can't
look away. Not even when Kon eventually lets
go, and Tim can slip his hand back beneath his
cape and tighten it into a fist.

And fix his clothes.

And tighten it into a fist again.

Kon looks like he'd rather do it himself. Or
something else entirely.

"Fuck, Tim."


"I should've done that *before*."

Yes. "Your bed lacks the element of danger."

Kon snorts. "Not the one in *Smallville*. I'm
pretty sure Clark's parents have a shotgun."

"Could be interesting."

Kon cocks his head at him and grabs Tim's cape
again. The tug is a light one, which mean it
only moves Tim a *little*. "You like it wild."

I like it with you. "Sometimes."

Kon tugs again, and slips his hands beneath
the cape, cupping Tim's hips and pressing his
thumbs into the hollows. "Tim..."

"We should --"

"I know." Kon sighs. "We have to get to the

"I..." He doesn't have to say it. After all, Kon's
absolutely right. "I was going to say 'find
someplace to land.'"

Kon blinks, and tightens his hold on Tim's hips.

There's something undeniably pleasant about
the fact that he's not the only one who can
make a wrong assumption, and Tim lets himself
smirk. A little.

Kon grins at him. "It's not like they expect *me*
to be on time."

"Arguably, the fact that *I'll* be late is their
fault --"

"-- for sticking me on pick-up detail."

"Mm." Tim covers Kon's hands with his own.
"Keep complaining about it."

"Absolutely," Kon says, and gives Tim's hips a
squeeze before wrapping his arm around Tim's

"Still no hand-holding?"

"Dude, shut up."