always with the Dick jokes (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
irrelevant) wrote2010-11-17 12:23 pm
irrelevant) wrote2010-11-17 12:23 pm
Entry tags:
[fic] Non-Public Displays of Affection (DCU)
Non-Public Displays of Affection
DCU | Tim Drake/Kon-el | NC-17 | ~4700 words
notes: As always, the Tim/Kon is for Meg. This story is part of the Four Times Red Robin Didn’t Hug Superboy universe, but it also works fine as a standalone. You don’t need to have read that fic to read this one.
summary: It’s all about the shirt.
The thing about Tim is, there isn’t one.
There’s a lot more than one.
Tim’s always got to be better (or weirder) than everybody else, which means there's always a bunch of Tim things going on, and for better or weirder, all of them have off the charts freak-out factors.
Kon has a kind of ranking system for them, a sliding scale of freak-out worthy items starting with ‘blank eyeholes’ and moving up through ‘that ass’ all the way to ‘oh shit, kryptonite’.
It’s pretty fucked up how well it works, too, seeing as how it’s Kon’s system.
He came up with and started using it back when he first met Tim, because a) it was the only real way to keep a handle on the freakage, and b) other than the freakage, Tim was the only common denominator involved. Which was, yeah, not much help, and also sort of freak-out worthy in itself.
Which is why Kon has stuck to his scale. It may not seem like much, but at least it’s reliable.
Seriously, some of the stuff on it has been there as long as Kon’s known Tim. Kon thinks of it as the static category; static as in never changing because that shit is never going to stop being whack. Everything else is subject to how used to it Kon gets. Like the lenses on Tim’s mask/cowl/whatever. The white ones used to freak Kon out, but he got used to them. Took a few years, but it happened.
These days Tim is all about the red lenses, which according to him are some kind of battish thermal imaging thing. They’re creepy as fuck, but Kon knows he’ll get used to them because Tim likes them and Kon likes Tim, and he got used to the white ones, so.
Bart would probably say familiarity breeds contempt or toss off some fancy quote from a person who died a million years ago or a book nobody else is ever going to read. Kon just figures you can get used to almost anything if you’ve got enough incentive. If Tim suddenly decided to start acting and dressing like the fabulous Mr. Sarcastic all the time, and also wearing bug-eye contacts, he’d still be enough incentive.
Actually, bug eyes would be kind of cool, but the fact that Tim’s probably got contacts like that somewhere is beside the point. The point is, the freaky-eyehole rule applies pretty much across the board to the subject-to-change category. And currently, the freaky-eyehole Tim thing of the moment is the way he likes to sleep in Kon’s t-shirts.
He says it’s because they’re bigger than his own and therefore more comfortable to sleep in. Kon might even believe that if he hadn’t once come out of the bathroom in time to see Tim roll over onto Kon’s side of the bed, stick his face in Kon’s pillow and breathe deep. But Kon did see, and then he saw Tim’s panicky can-I-kill-him-and-get-away-with-it look when Tim raised his head and saw Kon seeing. So he’s going to pass up the t-shirt comfort factor decoy and go with Tim really, really liking the way he smells.
Not that he feels any need to complain about Tim liking the way he smells. Hell no. He’s happy to let Tim’s little scent fetish go unmocked, because hey, Super pheromones. Tim obviously can’t help himself. Kon doesn’t want him to help himself, because mind-blowing sex is never not awesome, and if the Super pheromones are part of the deal, Kon is very down with it.
And you know, it’s pretty cool when your boyfriend likes your BO so much he wants to sleep in your dirty clothes. Or it would be if it wasn’t Kon’s dirty S-shield t-shirts Tim was sleeping in.
Because one of those other Tim things, magnitude of just under ‘that ass’? That would be how extremely hot he looks in the S-shield.
And okay, Tim looks hot all the time, this is true. He even looks hot in his Condom Man suit, and yeah, never telling him that because he'd go around with that hot little smirk twice as much as he already does and that… would be a bad idea?
Kon's having a hard time figuring out exactly why it would be a bad idea, but he suspects it has something to do with Tim being hot enough already. Any more hot and Kon will be in serious trouble, possibly with kryptonite attachments. Because Tim’s really not down with the PDAs. Especially not tongue-down-his-throat, hands-in-his-pants PDAs. So it's probably a good thing that the only time Tim wears Kon's S-shield t-shirts is in bed.
In fact, if you want to get technical about it (shut up, Bart) he only wears them when he’s in bed, asleep.
Most nights Kon’s here, he accepts this as a gift from whichever nonspecific deity likes him best, and enjoys being able to stare at Tim (and maybe apply a little TTK to the shirt in one or two advantageous viewing areas) without Tim catching him out and smirking some more.
But man, sometimes? Looking is just not enough. Not when Tim’s sprawled out on his back with the sheets kicked off and Kon’s S-shield riding up. Not when he’s not wearing anything but Kon’s S-shield and a few inches of sheet around his ankles, and everything in between is one hundred percent organic Tim.
If Kon was anyone but who he is, he wouldn’t be having this problem. He wouldn’t be able to see Tim at all because Tim always closes the blinds at night. He says open blinds at night are an invitation to trouble. And it’s not like he can’t take care of himself, but Kon knows he likes to keep that kind of stuff separate from his apartment. He likes to keep it out of the space where he’s Tim instead of the five hundred people he becomes the second he steps out the door.
Kon gets that better than most people ever will. He also gets to see Tim naked all the time in all kinds of light, so it’s not like he’s got anything to complain about. But there’s something about Tim in the S-shield and nothing else, and since Kon only gets him that way when he’s asleep, having adjustable vision is an excellent thing.
It took him a while to figure out how to do this. It was something he had to learn as opposed to having it happen to him, which, considering the fallout from x-ray vision and whoa, I almost fried my best friend with a laser eye-beam, is an even more excellent thing. Anyway, even with Clark explaining and the Fortress giving him diagrammed exposition, learning how to consciously bend light around his corneas and lenses was almost Tim-level weird.
It still feels weird, like he’s stretching a muscle in a direction it’s not supposed to bend. But it’s so worth the effort when he gets to have this.
Because this… this is Tim’s hair tossed and turned out of its perfect, froufy Drake-Wayne waves. It’s Tim’s face squashed against the pillow, creased from sleep, his eyes tracking dreams under his closed lids.
It’s his mouth, open just enough to make Kon start thinking about what that mouth was doing to him a few hours ago, and Tim’s skin, bare from his nipples down, Kon’s scrunched up S-shield touching him the way Kon can’t. The way Kon won’t, because molesting someone when they’re asleep, even when it’s your best friend/the guy you’re doing on a regular basis? Seriously not cool.
And how awesome is it that he realizes that? Would Lex Luthor worry about molesting someone in their sleep? Would the bad/wrong implications even occur to the guy?
Kon thinks not. Obviously Clark’s goody-goody DNA is triumphing over Luthor’s evil double helices.
Still, Tim. Naked with S-shield.
Sucks to be Kon.
Unless of course Tim totally by accident happens to wake up in a bed where Kon coincidentally also happens to be awake. And the best part is, totally-by-accident TTK doesn’t count as touching.
Okay, so it kind of does, because duh, tactile. But sneaking a tendril or two of TTK up around the hem of the t-shirt, no Tim skin involved, doesn’t count. He’s not touching Tim; he’s touching the shirt. Any incidental tactility is therefore aboveboard and non-creeperish.
Even if the fabric he’s tugging at happens to rub against Tim’s nipples, hardening them into tight points Kon can see through the shirt, Kon is still not touching Tim. Even if he’s leaving TTK handprints all over the fabric, pressing down so ridges of bone and muscle press back, so that he can feel the shape of Tim sliding past under the shirt, he’s not cheating.
Pushing a few boundaries, maybe, but. Caped and Cowled Vigilantes Anonymous, anyone? Besides, he’s been mostly hard for the last half hour, so he’s not torturing anyone but himself. And maybe he’d actually be able to believe that if Tim hadn’t just opened his eyes and said in a sleep-free voice, “Conner, what are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Kon says, then wishes for a do-over. Lying to a Bat is stupid. Lying obviously to a Bat is too stupid to live, and yep, there’s the smirk. Betrayed by his genes, his hormones and his so-called best friend, Kon says, “You asshole. You played me.”
Tim raises an eyebrow, which could mean anything from Yes, and? up to and including I carry kryptonite in my utility belt and I know how to use it. Or it could mean, “There are better ways of getting my attention,” which is what Tim actually says.
And then Tim is rolling toward him, and Tim is over him, straddling him on his hands and knees. Kon’s shirt hem hangs down between them, loose on Tim because although he’s bigger than he used to be he’s never going to be able to fill out Kon’s clothes. Which Tim is wearing and Kon… isn’t. He’s not wearing anything under the sheet.
Normally, his lack of clothes wouldn’t be a bad thing. Under other circumstances, it could potentially be a very good thing. Naked Kon plus mostly naked Tim equals good thing. Except for those times when Kon’s just done something stupid, like TTK grope Tim in his sleep then lie to him about it.
Tim doesn’t like being lied to. He’s kind of a hypocrite that way. He’s also kind of scary when he finds out you’ve been lying to him, and scary Tim is greater than or equal to unpredictable Tim. Which is why Kon really wishes he had some clothes.
He’d just feel a lot safer if he had clothes. It’s smarter to be clothed when Tim is getting his scary unpredictability on, and no, brain-wise Kon’s not in the same league as Bart, but you know, Luthor. The El genes aren’t too shabby either.
The point being, Kon’s pretty fucking smart. You don’t have to be Bart smart to know that when Tim’s looking down at you through his bangs just like that, the shit is about to hit the fan.
Tim’s… really close. Really not moving. His breath is the only thing moving about him. Every time he exhales, the gust hits Kon’s chin, and Kon’s skin is invulnerable but that doesn’t mean it can’t react to things like Tim’s current level of creepy not-moving-ness. If Tim doesn’t move something besides his breath soon, Kon’s skin is going to crawl away.
It’s like playing you-move-you-lose chicken, which is almost worse than a staring contest with Tim when he’s wearing a mask. Kon’s beginning to think he’s okay with Tim taking this win if it means Tim will move so that Kon can—
“Stop,” Tim says, and Kon freezes, his hand an inch away from Tim’s hip. Tim’s mouth curves. He says “Good boy” the way Kon says it when Krypto's just done something extra awesome, and Kon must be fucked up or fucked in the head, or maybe just fucked because his dick jerks and gets the rest of the way hard.
The curve of Tim’s mouth gets twistier, smirkier, and Kon stops hoping Tim didn’t notice his dick being extra stupid and starts realizing just how fucked he is. He stops realizing and starts knowing when Tim slides a hand down between them. He wraps it around Kon’s dick and pulls hard, exactly as hard as Kon needs him to, and Kon says “Fuck!” and tries not to rip Tim’s sheets.
It feels as amazing as it did the first time Tim did this for him. Tim’s strength and calluses squeeze, scrape him just right, and he can’t stop the thin whine building in his throat. Can’t keep his hips from pushing up, shoving his dick into Tim’s perfect grip.
And then Tim stops moving again. Everywhere.
The sheets tear under Kon’s curling fingers and he doesn’t care. Tim is right there, hanging over him. His hand is still, his grip loose around Kon’s dick, and it might as well be made of kryptonite for all Kon can move. He wants to tell Tim to stop screwing with his brain and fuck his body, and he totally would, but the only sounds he can push out are these stupid whiny moans.
Tim leans down and in until his mouth is brushing Kon’s forehead. “I didn’t say you could move,” he murmurs. His mouth is as gentle on Kon’s forehead as his hand is brutal around Kon’s cock. “What do you say, Conner?” he says, and his hair falls forward over his forehead, down onto Kon’s cheek.
Kon wants to turn his head and feel Tim’s hair brush cool and smooth over his skin. He can’t move. He can’t do anything but spit out the word Tim wants, “Please. Rob, come on, please,” and he can’t say it fast enough, not for Tim or himself.
And it’s relief, so pure it hurts Kon’s brain and his eyes, twinges in his balls and the back of his throat when Tim deliberately kisses Kon’s forehead and says, “Spread your legs.”
Tim’s voice… that’s Kon’s leader talking. He’s got his orders, there’s no choice left and Jesus, he’s stupidly grateful for that. He opens his legs wide enough for Tim to kneel between them, biting down on the inside of his cheek when Tim’s deliberate slide rubs the shirt all over the parts of his dick not covered by Tim’s fingers.
“Is something wrong, Conner?” Tim asks. The way his hand’s all wrapped around Kon’s dick, almost cradling it, feels like one more scary Robin way for him to laugh at Kon. “I thought you wanted me awake.”
Kon says, “You were awake, you freaky—god!” And his head is slamming back into the pillows, the verges of his vision pulsing black orange white because Tim’s literally got him by the balls and he knows how hard he needs to squeeze to make Kon feel it.
“Not a god, freaky or otherwise,” Tim corrects, the fingers of his free hand pulsing around Kon’s sac. “And I wasn’t awake. Not at first.” Kon hears and feels something other than the sheets rip just before Tim adds, sounding like his mind’s on something else, “You’re going to owe me a new mattress.”
Kon wants to lob one of his old smartass one liners at Tim, just to let him know that while he may have Kon-el by the balls, nothing can touch the Kid. But that would be total bullshit and they both know it. He breathes instead, and tries to think past the white haze behind his eyes.
He’s had a lot of threats thrown his way over the years. By now he knows one when he hears it, and Not at first doesn’t sound like much until it’s coming at you out of Tim’s mouth. And now Tim’s using Kon’s balls like they’re reins or something, Tim knows the limits of Kon’s sensitivity, and Kon really needs to get his game plan together before Tim decides to get serious and break out the bat-shaped kryptonite handcuffs.
He knows all of this, and he still can’t make himself move. And Tim’s still smiling and his dick is tenting Kon’s shirt, telling Kon exactly how much he’s enjoying fucking with him, which for some insane reason makes Kon’s stupid dick jerk some more and start leaking pre-come all over Tim’s fingers. If Tim’s hands don’t stop blowing Kon’s mind, Kon is going to come all over the place whether Tim says he can or—
It’s totally true: sex kills brain cells.
Cassie’s right, Kon thinks as he grins up at Tim. I’m an idiot.
Without his hi-tech toys Tim can’t see in the dark, but Kon’s willing to bet he’s still got, like, bat radar. He can probably send out silent sound waves or something equally bat-like that’ll bounce off Kon’s teeth and tell him Kon is smiling.
And right on schedule, there goes the frown, followed by the look Tim used to get right before he cracked a supervillianish plot wide open. It’s a barely there, tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows, but yep, definitely some concentrated brain activity going down. Kon couldn’t have asked for a better cue, and he knows his way around a good cue.
He thinks about his current physical center and Tim’s hand, Tim’s knees and thighs pressed up against the inside of his thighs. He feels where he wants to go. And then he pushes out and it’s…
It’s either the weirdest or the hottest thing he’s ever done with his TTK. Both.
Maybe the weirdest part is how easy it is to ground his telekinetic reach in his crotch. He’s been accused of thinking with his dick before, but this? Is whacker than the stuff in the static category.
“Kon,” Tim says, and is that concern Kon’s hearing? He’s pretty sure it is. “I said-”
“Said I couldn’t touch. Look, Ma,” he smacks the bed, feeling it shake, I got you now, Rob… “No hands,” he gasps, and then he moves without moving, he pushes and opens Tim up inside.
The look on Tim’s face is perfect; there’s some surprise there, maybe a little annoyance, but the rest is blank, blissed out do-that-again-or-I’ll-have-to-hurt-you.
Kon does it again. He pushes in and strokes, Tim's muscles jump and strain, and Kon tightens his TTK around him. Tim jerks again, this time on purpose, like he’s testing Kon’s hold. He goes still when there’s no give; his chin drops and his hair is all over his face, hiding his eyes like a domino. He’s panting and his muscles are doing this rippling, clenching thing that looks and feels awesome, but his hand is still tight around Kon’s dick, still moving, and Kon’s been riding that edge way too long.
“You’re going to come,” Tim says breathlessly, looking up at Kon from under his hair. His hand speeds up and Kon grunts and grabs at the wrecked sheets and looks desperately down at Tim’s shirt-covered dick while he tries not to come all over himself and Tim’s hand.
His TTK isn’t anywhere near Tim’s dick; except for Tim’s hand around Kon’s dick, it’s the only part of Tim Kon’s not holding on to. Nothing’s touching Tim’s dick but Kon’s t-shirt, but Kon can see a darker patch of wet on the fabric and he’s betting on Tim being as close as he is.
“You first,” he says—it’s not his best comeback, but right now it’s all he’s good for.
Tim’s laugh is a soundless rush of air. “It’s not a contest,” he says, his breath hitching between words.
“You’re such a liar,” Kon says, and fuck, he sounds shakier than Tim, and it’s his own fault. Because he’s inside Tim, using his TTK like it’s an extension of his dick and fucking Tim with it, fucking up into him, rubbing and pressing and gritting his own teeth against the need to come. “I’m kicking your ass,” he says, and now look who’s lying like a lying liar.
The noise Tim makes is uneven enough to be another laugh and short enough to be a snort. “Doesn’t feel like… your foot,” he says, then he makes this kind of choking gasp because Kon's reach is spreading out, stretching him wider.
"Dude, it's super, not supersize." And man that was bad. Almost Robin-worthy, but Kon kind of needs that. Needs to turn his mouth on and his brain off, make with the self-distraction because Tim is so… he's...
“Fuck, you feel good,” Kon groans. “Like I'm really in there.”
Like it’s skin on skin, Tim’s ass clenched up around Kon’s dick, and Kon really wants-
Something. Anything has to be better than lying on his back not moving while Tim chokes on sounds Kon wishes he'd make, while he chokes Kon's dick in his hand.
Tim's hand is the only part of him not shaking. Tremors run up the strands of Kon's TTK, vibrating into Kon's skin, and Tim is shutting his eyes and biting into the inside of his cheek. He's strangling on the sound of his orgasm and coming on the back of Kon’s S-shield.
The room is still in total blackout. Tim’s eyes are still closed and his hand is a slack circle around Kon’s dick. Kon wishes he could keep his dick as still as he’s keeping Tim, but he’s never had much luck with that. It twitches and jerks in Tim’s loosened hold, begging shamelessly for attention.
Tim’s eyes snap open.
Kon watches his pupils expand and contract; they’re trying to focus, trying to see, but sometimes—sometimes not even Tim can help being human. Kon sees Tim force himself to stop trying to make his eyes do something they can’t. He gets this look on his face and Kon only has a couple of seconds to worry before Tim’s hand clamps down on his dick like a vise.
“Let go of me,” Kon hears him say through the insistent red need taking over his balls and brain, and Kon’s control over his TTK slips away like Tim’s learned how to make his voice magic.
He could have, for all Kon knows; he thinks Tim could do anything if he really wanted to. Even fly.
Kon has faith that Tim could do those things if he chose to; Tim’s just that kind of guy. Too bad all Tim seems interested in doing is sliding down between Kon’s legs and swallowing Kon’s dick.
Well, too bad if you’re a universe that needs saving.
Awesome if you’re Kon.
You, the last working part of Kon’s brain thinks, are the luckiest dumbass in any universe, anywhere. And then Tim sucks hard on Kon’s dick, he works his fingers into Kon’s crack and presses in against Kon’s asshole with his thumb, and the last working part of Kon’s brain liquefies and pours out of his dick along with his come.
For a while Kon doesn’t think. Thinking is hard when your brain isn’t solid. Instead, the rest of him knows things without really knowing how it’s able to know.
His eyes know they can’t focus because they can’t see anything except black shapes inside black space.
His skin knows it’s covered in sweat and come because it’s wet and getting kind of itchy in places.
His balls and dick know Tim’s face is still down there with them because they get the breeze of it every time Tim exhales, and his hip knows Tim’s head is lying on it because of the weight and the slide of his hair when he moves.
Kon’s brain is just starting to feel like it’s coagulating into something usable when Tim lifts his head. He looks at Kon out of blank eyes for a few seconds before slithering backward off the bed and walking into the connecting bathroom.
The door closes. The water goes on, then off. Kon tries moving a pillow with his TTK, just to see if he still can. It works, sort of, and Tim’s pillow falls off the bed.
In the bathroom, the toilet flushes. The water goes on again, briefly, then the door opens and Tim comes back over to the bed and picks his pillow up. “Playing again?” he says, and tosses something at Kon that lands on his abdomen with a wet smack.
Tim must have turned on the small nightlight in the bathroom. There’s a faint bluish glow coming from the open door, and Kon doesn’t need to do his light bending trick to see that the washrag sitting on his abs is a dark color, green or blue. It’s supersaturated and it drips on him when he picks it up. He holds it out and raises his eyebrows at Tim.
Tim makes a huffy, knock-it-off-Conner noise. “If you enjoy being covered in semen, by all means, stay that way.”
“I didn’t say that,” Kon says, swiping at drying streaks of come. “Just because I don’t feel like I have to get up right after I come and get clean, like some people…”
Tim’s mouth tightens. He finishes pulling on a pair of pajama pants, then he reaches over and takes the rag away from Kon and throws it through the bathroom doorway. Kon hears it hit the sink.
“Are you going to let me sleep this time?” Tim asks. He’s pulling a new t-shirt over his head and his voice comes out slightly muffled. “I have a meeting with Tam and the board for Neon Knights at eight-thirty, and I’d prefer not to fall asleep halfway through.” He pulls the shirt down and shakes the hair out of his face before looking at Kon.
Kon looks at the red S-shield on the shirt. “Man, how many of those do you have?”
“Four. You keep leaving them.” He straightens his pillow and slides back in under the covers.
Kon turns on his side and props himself up on his hand and looks down at Tim, who’s flat on his back with his eyes closed.
“You could bring them with you to the Tower next time you come,” Kon says, and watches Tim’s frown lines get deeper.
“I could.” Even if he sounds like it’s the last thing he wants to do.
Kon laughs. “Forget it, I’ve got plenty. You know,” he says, twitching at the covers with his TTK, pulling them straight then bunching them up again, “it’s too bad all your stuff’s too small for me. I’d look pretty awesome in a Bat cape.”
“Hmn,” Tim replies. He lays his hand flat on the sheet Kon’s trying to rumple, and Kon immediately stops trying. “Would Superman loan you one of his capes?”
“Sure,” Kon says. Because right now he’s more interested in looking at Tim than listening to him, it takes about half a minute for his self preservation instincts to make him suspicious enough to add, “Why?”
“Because,” Tim says, sounding half asleep and clinical at the same time, “I’m going to fuck you in the cave while you’re wearing it. I know you don’t need much sleep anymore, but if you stay quiet for the next four hours, I’ll even borrow one of Dick’s uniforms.”
Ten minutes ago, Kon was sure he wasn’t getting it up again for a week. He was wrong. “I hate you so fucking much,” he tells Tim happily.
“I know,” Tim says, turning onto his side. “Now shut up.” He doesn’t speak or move again, no matter how much Kon squirms around or TTK nudges the bed, and his breathing evens out quickly.
Kon listens to him breathe and decides he needs a new t-shirt. He needs it to say I boned Red Robin until he passed out while he was wearing my other t-shirt, so now I have to wear this one.
Bart probably knows how to silk-screen. Maybe Kon will ask him about it tomorrow at the Tower. Or maybe Kon will follow Tim’s advice and shut up about the whole thing.
Yawning a little, Kon thinks that Tim telling him to shut up is anyone else’s ironclad declaration of intent. Kon thinks he’s good with that.
He thinks he’ll talk to Bart about silk-screening after the cave.
DCU | Tim Drake/Kon-el | NC-17 | ~4700 words
notes: As always, the Tim/Kon is for Meg. This story is part of the Four Times Red Robin Didn’t Hug Superboy universe, but it also works fine as a standalone. You don’t need to have read that fic to read this one.
summary: It’s all about the shirt.
The thing about Tim is, there isn’t one.
There’s a lot more than one.
Tim’s always got to be better (or weirder) than everybody else, which means there's always a bunch of Tim things going on, and for better or weirder, all of them have off the charts freak-out factors.
Kon has a kind of ranking system for them, a sliding scale of freak-out worthy items starting with ‘blank eyeholes’ and moving up through ‘that ass’ all the way to ‘oh shit, kryptonite’.
It’s pretty fucked up how well it works, too, seeing as how it’s Kon’s system.
He came up with and started using it back when he first met Tim, because a) it was the only real way to keep a handle on the freakage, and b) other than the freakage, Tim was the only common denominator involved. Which was, yeah, not much help, and also sort of freak-out worthy in itself.
Which is why Kon has stuck to his scale. It may not seem like much, but at least it’s reliable.
Seriously, some of the stuff on it has been there as long as Kon’s known Tim. Kon thinks of it as the static category; static as in never changing because that shit is never going to stop being whack. Everything else is subject to how used to it Kon gets. Like the lenses on Tim’s mask/cowl/whatever. The white ones used to freak Kon out, but he got used to them. Took a few years, but it happened.
These days Tim is all about the red lenses, which according to him are some kind of battish thermal imaging thing. They’re creepy as fuck, but Kon knows he’ll get used to them because Tim likes them and Kon likes Tim, and he got used to the white ones, so.
Bart would probably say familiarity breeds contempt or toss off some fancy quote from a person who died a million years ago or a book nobody else is ever going to read. Kon just figures you can get used to almost anything if you’ve got enough incentive. If Tim suddenly decided to start acting and dressing like the fabulous Mr. Sarcastic all the time, and also wearing bug-eye contacts, he’d still be enough incentive.
Actually, bug eyes would be kind of cool, but the fact that Tim’s probably got contacts like that somewhere is beside the point. The point is, the freaky-eyehole rule applies pretty much across the board to the subject-to-change category. And currently, the freaky-eyehole Tim thing of the moment is the way he likes to sleep in Kon’s t-shirts.
He says it’s because they’re bigger than his own and therefore more comfortable to sleep in. Kon might even believe that if he hadn’t once come out of the bathroom in time to see Tim roll over onto Kon’s side of the bed, stick his face in Kon’s pillow and breathe deep. But Kon did see, and then he saw Tim’s panicky can-I-kill-him-and-get-away-with-it look when Tim raised his head and saw Kon seeing. So he’s going to pass up the t-shirt comfort factor decoy and go with Tim really, really liking the way he smells.
Not that he feels any need to complain about Tim liking the way he smells. Hell no. He’s happy to let Tim’s little scent fetish go unmocked, because hey, Super pheromones. Tim obviously can’t help himself. Kon doesn’t want him to help himself, because mind-blowing sex is never not awesome, and if the Super pheromones are part of the deal, Kon is very down with it.
And you know, it’s pretty cool when your boyfriend likes your BO so much he wants to sleep in your dirty clothes. Or it would be if it wasn’t Kon’s dirty S-shield t-shirts Tim was sleeping in.
Because one of those other Tim things, magnitude of just under ‘that ass’? That would be how extremely hot he looks in the S-shield.
And okay, Tim looks hot all the time, this is true. He even looks hot in his Condom Man suit, and yeah, never telling him that because he'd go around with that hot little smirk twice as much as he already does and that… would be a bad idea?
Kon's having a hard time figuring out exactly why it would be a bad idea, but he suspects it has something to do with Tim being hot enough already. Any more hot and Kon will be in serious trouble, possibly with kryptonite attachments. Because Tim’s really not down with the PDAs. Especially not tongue-down-his-throat, hands-in-his-pants PDAs. So it's probably a good thing that the only time Tim wears Kon's S-shield t-shirts is in bed.
In fact, if you want to get technical about it (shut up, Bart) he only wears them when he’s in bed, asleep.
Most nights Kon’s here, he accepts this as a gift from whichever nonspecific deity likes him best, and enjoys being able to stare at Tim (and maybe apply a little TTK to the shirt in one or two advantageous viewing areas) without Tim catching him out and smirking some more.
But man, sometimes? Looking is just not enough. Not when Tim’s sprawled out on his back with the sheets kicked off and Kon’s S-shield riding up. Not when he’s not wearing anything but Kon’s S-shield and a few inches of sheet around his ankles, and everything in between is one hundred percent organic Tim.
If Kon was anyone but who he is, he wouldn’t be having this problem. He wouldn’t be able to see Tim at all because Tim always closes the blinds at night. He says open blinds at night are an invitation to trouble. And it’s not like he can’t take care of himself, but Kon knows he likes to keep that kind of stuff separate from his apartment. He likes to keep it out of the space where he’s Tim instead of the five hundred people he becomes the second he steps out the door.
Kon gets that better than most people ever will. He also gets to see Tim naked all the time in all kinds of light, so it’s not like he’s got anything to complain about. But there’s something about Tim in the S-shield and nothing else, and since Kon only gets him that way when he’s asleep, having adjustable vision is an excellent thing.
It took him a while to figure out how to do this. It was something he had to learn as opposed to having it happen to him, which, considering the fallout from x-ray vision and whoa, I almost fried my best friend with a laser eye-beam, is an even more excellent thing. Anyway, even with Clark explaining and the Fortress giving him diagrammed exposition, learning how to consciously bend light around his corneas and lenses was almost Tim-level weird.
It still feels weird, like he’s stretching a muscle in a direction it’s not supposed to bend. But it’s so worth the effort when he gets to have this.
Because this… this is Tim’s hair tossed and turned out of its perfect, froufy Drake-Wayne waves. It’s Tim’s face squashed against the pillow, creased from sleep, his eyes tracking dreams under his closed lids.
It’s his mouth, open just enough to make Kon start thinking about what that mouth was doing to him a few hours ago, and Tim’s skin, bare from his nipples down, Kon’s scrunched up S-shield touching him the way Kon can’t. The way Kon won’t, because molesting someone when they’re asleep, even when it’s your best friend/the guy you’re doing on a regular basis? Seriously not cool.
And how awesome is it that he realizes that? Would Lex Luthor worry about molesting someone in their sleep? Would the bad/wrong implications even occur to the guy?
Kon thinks not. Obviously Clark’s goody-goody DNA is triumphing over Luthor’s evil double helices.
Still, Tim. Naked with S-shield.
Sucks to be Kon.
Unless of course Tim totally by accident happens to wake up in a bed where Kon coincidentally also happens to be awake. And the best part is, totally-by-accident TTK doesn’t count as touching.
Okay, so it kind of does, because duh, tactile. But sneaking a tendril or two of TTK up around the hem of the t-shirt, no Tim skin involved, doesn’t count. He’s not touching Tim; he’s touching the shirt. Any incidental tactility is therefore aboveboard and non-creeperish.
Even if the fabric he’s tugging at happens to rub against Tim’s nipples, hardening them into tight points Kon can see through the shirt, Kon is still not touching Tim. Even if he’s leaving TTK handprints all over the fabric, pressing down so ridges of bone and muscle press back, so that he can feel the shape of Tim sliding past under the shirt, he’s not cheating.
Pushing a few boundaries, maybe, but. Caped and Cowled Vigilantes Anonymous, anyone? Besides, he’s been mostly hard for the last half hour, so he’s not torturing anyone but himself. And maybe he’d actually be able to believe that if Tim hadn’t just opened his eyes and said in a sleep-free voice, “Conner, what are you doing?”
“Nothing,” Kon says, then wishes for a do-over. Lying to a Bat is stupid. Lying obviously to a Bat is too stupid to live, and yep, there’s the smirk. Betrayed by his genes, his hormones and his so-called best friend, Kon says, “You asshole. You played me.”
Tim raises an eyebrow, which could mean anything from Yes, and? up to and including I carry kryptonite in my utility belt and I know how to use it. Or it could mean, “There are better ways of getting my attention,” which is what Tim actually says.
And then Tim is rolling toward him, and Tim is over him, straddling him on his hands and knees. Kon’s shirt hem hangs down between them, loose on Tim because although he’s bigger than he used to be he’s never going to be able to fill out Kon’s clothes. Which Tim is wearing and Kon… isn’t. He’s not wearing anything under the sheet.
Normally, his lack of clothes wouldn’t be a bad thing. Under other circumstances, it could potentially be a very good thing. Naked Kon plus mostly naked Tim equals good thing. Except for those times when Kon’s just done something stupid, like TTK grope Tim in his sleep then lie to him about it.
Tim doesn’t like being lied to. He’s kind of a hypocrite that way. He’s also kind of scary when he finds out you’ve been lying to him, and scary Tim is greater than or equal to unpredictable Tim. Which is why Kon really wishes he had some clothes.
He’d just feel a lot safer if he had clothes. It’s smarter to be clothed when Tim is getting his scary unpredictability on, and no, brain-wise Kon’s not in the same league as Bart, but you know, Luthor. The El genes aren’t too shabby either.
The point being, Kon’s pretty fucking smart. You don’t have to be Bart smart to know that when Tim’s looking down at you through his bangs just like that, the shit is about to hit the fan.
Tim’s… really close. Really not moving. His breath is the only thing moving about him. Every time he exhales, the gust hits Kon’s chin, and Kon’s skin is invulnerable but that doesn’t mean it can’t react to things like Tim’s current level of creepy not-moving-ness. If Tim doesn’t move something besides his breath soon, Kon’s skin is going to crawl away.
It’s like playing you-move-you-lose chicken, which is almost worse than a staring contest with Tim when he’s wearing a mask. Kon’s beginning to think he’s okay with Tim taking this win if it means Tim will move so that Kon can—
“Stop,” Tim says, and Kon freezes, his hand an inch away from Tim’s hip. Tim’s mouth curves. He says “Good boy” the way Kon says it when Krypto's just done something extra awesome, and Kon must be fucked up or fucked in the head, or maybe just fucked because his dick jerks and gets the rest of the way hard.
The curve of Tim’s mouth gets twistier, smirkier, and Kon stops hoping Tim didn’t notice his dick being extra stupid and starts realizing just how fucked he is. He stops realizing and starts knowing when Tim slides a hand down between them. He wraps it around Kon’s dick and pulls hard, exactly as hard as Kon needs him to, and Kon says “Fuck!” and tries not to rip Tim’s sheets.
It feels as amazing as it did the first time Tim did this for him. Tim’s strength and calluses squeeze, scrape him just right, and he can’t stop the thin whine building in his throat. Can’t keep his hips from pushing up, shoving his dick into Tim’s perfect grip.
And then Tim stops moving again. Everywhere.
The sheets tear under Kon’s curling fingers and he doesn’t care. Tim is right there, hanging over him. His hand is still, his grip loose around Kon’s dick, and it might as well be made of kryptonite for all Kon can move. He wants to tell Tim to stop screwing with his brain and fuck his body, and he totally would, but the only sounds he can push out are these stupid whiny moans.
Tim leans down and in until his mouth is brushing Kon’s forehead. “I didn’t say you could move,” he murmurs. His mouth is as gentle on Kon’s forehead as his hand is brutal around Kon’s cock. “What do you say, Conner?” he says, and his hair falls forward over his forehead, down onto Kon’s cheek.
Kon wants to turn his head and feel Tim’s hair brush cool and smooth over his skin. He can’t move. He can’t do anything but spit out the word Tim wants, “Please. Rob, come on, please,” and he can’t say it fast enough, not for Tim or himself.
And it’s relief, so pure it hurts Kon’s brain and his eyes, twinges in his balls and the back of his throat when Tim deliberately kisses Kon’s forehead and says, “Spread your legs.”
Tim’s voice… that’s Kon’s leader talking. He’s got his orders, there’s no choice left and Jesus, he’s stupidly grateful for that. He opens his legs wide enough for Tim to kneel between them, biting down on the inside of his cheek when Tim’s deliberate slide rubs the shirt all over the parts of his dick not covered by Tim’s fingers.
“Is something wrong, Conner?” Tim asks. The way his hand’s all wrapped around Kon’s dick, almost cradling it, feels like one more scary Robin way for him to laugh at Kon. “I thought you wanted me awake.”
Kon says, “You were awake, you freaky—god!” And his head is slamming back into the pillows, the verges of his vision pulsing black orange white because Tim’s literally got him by the balls and he knows how hard he needs to squeeze to make Kon feel it.
“Not a god, freaky or otherwise,” Tim corrects, the fingers of his free hand pulsing around Kon’s sac. “And I wasn’t awake. Not at first.” Kon hears and feels something other than the sheets rip just before Tim adds, sounding like his mind’s on something else, “You’re going to owe me a new mattress.”
Kon wants to lob one of his old smartass one liners at Tim, just to let him know that while he may have Kon-el by the balls, nothing can touch the Kid. But that would be total bullshit and they both know it. He breathes instead, and tries to think past the white haze behind his eyes.
He’s had a lot of threats thrown his way over the years. By now he knows one when he hears it, and Not at first doesn’t sound like much until it’s coming at you out of Tim’s mouth. And now Tim’s using Kon’s balls like they’re reins or something, Tim knows the limits of Kon’s sensitivity, and Kon really needs to get his game plan together before Tim decides to get serious and break out the bat-shaped kryptonite handcuffs.
He knows all of this, and he still can’t make himself move. And Tim’s still smiling and his dick is tenting Kon’s shirt, telling Kon exactly how much he’s enjoying fucking with him, which for some insane reason makes Kon’s stupid dick jerk some more and start leaking pre-come all over Tim’s fingers. If Tim’s hands don’t stop blowing Kon’s mind, Kon is going to come all over the place whether Tim says he can or—
It’s totally true: sex kills brain cells.
Cassie’s right, Kon thinks as he grins up at Tim. I’m an idiot.
Without his hi-tech toys Tim can’t see in the dark, but Kon’s willing to bet he’s still got, like, bat radar. He can probably send out silent sound waves or something equally bat-like that’ll bounce off Kon’s teeth and tell him Kon is smiling.
And right on schedule, there goes the frown, followed by the look Tim used to get right before he cracked a supervillianish plot wide open. It’s a barely there, tiny wrinkle between his eyebrows, but yep, definitely some concentrated brain activity going down. Kon couldn’t have asked for a better cue, and he knows his way around a good cue.
He thinks about his current physical center and Tim’s hand, Tim’s knees and thighs pressed up against the inside of his thighs. He feels where he wants to go. And then he pushes out and it’s…
It’s either the weirdest or the hottest thing he’s ever done with his TTK. Both.
Maybe the weirdest part is how easy it is to ground his telekinetic reach in his crotch. He’s been accused of thinking with his dick before, but this? Is whacker than the stuff in the static category.
“Kon,” Tim says, and is that concern Kon’s hearing? He’s pretty sure it is. “I said-”
“Said I couldn’t touch. Look, Ma,” he smacks the bed, feeling it shake, I got you now, Rob… “No hands,” he gasps, and then he moves without moving, he pushes and opens Tim up inside.
The look on Tim’s face is perfect; there’s some surprise there, maybe a little annoyance, but the rest is blank, blissed out do-that-again-or-I’ll-have-to-hurt-you.
Kon does it again. He pushes in and strokes, Tim's muscles jump and strain, and Kon tightens his TTK around him. Tim jerks again, this time on purpose, like he’s testing Kon’s hold. He goes still when there’s no give; his chin drops and his hair is all over his face, hiding his eyes like a domino. He’s panting and his muscles are doing this rippling, clenching thing that looks and feels awesome, but his hand is still tight around Kon’s dick, still moving, and Kon’s been riding that edge way too long.
“You’re going to come,” Tim says breathlessly, looking up at Kon from under his hair. His hand speeds up and Kon grunts and grabs at the wrecked sheets and looks desperately down at Tim’s shirt-covered dick while he tries not to come all over himself and Tim’s hand.
His TTK isn’t anywhere near Tim’s dick; except for Tim’s hand around Kon’s dick, it’s the only part of Tim Kon’s not holding on to. Nothing’s touching Tim’s dick but Kon’s t-shirt, but Kon can see a darker patch of wet on the fabric and he’s betting on Tim being as close as he is.
“You first,” he says—it’s not his best comeback, but right now it’s all he’s good for.
Tim’s laugh is a soundless rush of air. “It’s not a contest,” he says, his breath hitching between words.
“You’re such a liar,” Kon says, and fuck, he sounds shakier than Tim, and it’s his own fault. Because he’s inside Tim, using his TTK like it’s an extension of his dick and fucking Tim with it, fucking up into him, rubbing and pressing and gritting his own teeth against the need to come. “I’m kicking your ass,” he says, and now look who’s lying like a lying liar.
The noise Tim makes is uneven enough to be another laugh and short enough to be a snort. “Doesn’t feel like… your foot,” he says, then he makes this kind of choking gasp because Kon's reach is spreading out, stretching him wider.
"Dude, it's super, not supersize." And man that was bad. Almost Robin-worthy, but Kon kind of needs that. Needs to turn his mouth on and his brain off, make with the self-distraction because Tim is so… he's...
“Fuck, you feel good,” Kon groans. “Like I'm really in there.”
Like it’s skin on skin, Tim’s ass clenched up around Kon’s dick, and Kon really wants-
Something. Anything has to be better than lying on his back not moving while Tim chokes on sounds Kon wishes he'd make, while he chokes Kon's dick in his hand.
Tim's hand is the only part of him not shaking. Tremors run up the strands of Kon's TTK, vibrating into Kon's skin, and Tim is shutting his eyes and biting into the inside of his cheek. He's strangling on the sound of his orgasm and coming on the back of Kon’s S-shield.
The room is still in total blackout. Tim’s eyes are still closed and his hand is a slack circle around Kon’s dick. Kon wishes he could keep his dick as still as he’s keeping Tim, but he’s never had much luck with that. It twitches and jerks in Tim’s loosened hold, begging shamelessly for attention.
Tim’s eyes snap open.
Kon watches his pupils expand and contract; they’re trying to focus, trying to see, but sometimes—sometimes not even Tim can help being human. Kon sees Tim force himself to stop trying to make his eyes do something they can’t. He gets this look on his face and Kon only has a couple of seconds to worry before Tim’s hand clamps down on his dick like a vise.
“Let go of me,” Kon hears him say through the insistent red need taking over his balls and brain, and Kon’s control over his TTK slips away like Tim’s learned how to make his voice magic.
He could have, for all Kon knows; he thinks Tim could do anything if he really wanted to. Even fly.
Kon has faith that Tim could do those things if he chose to; Tim’s just that kind of guy. Too bad all Tim seems interested in doing is sliding down between Kon’s legs and swallowing Kon’s dick.
Well, too bad if you’re a universe that needs saving.
Awesome if you’re Kon.
You, the last working part of Kon’s brain thinks, are the luckiest dumbass in any universe, anywhere. And then Tim sucks hard on Kon’s dick, he works his fingers into Kon’s crack and presses in against Kon’s asshole with his thumb, and the last working part of Kon’s brain liquefies and pours out of his dick along with his come.
For a while Kon doesn’t think. Thinking is hard when your brain isn’t solid. Instead, the rest of him knows things without really knowing how it’s able to know.
His eyes know they can’t focus because they can’t see anything except black shapes inside black space.
His skin knows it’s covered in sweat and come because it’s wet and getting kind of itchy in places.
His balls and dick know Tim’s face is still down there with them because they get the breeze of it every time Tim exhales, and his hip knows Tim’s head is lying on it because of the weight and the slide of his hair when he moves.
Kon’s brain is just starting to feel like it’s coagulating into something usable when Tim lifts his head. He looks at Kon out of blank eyes for a few seconds before slithering backward off the bed and walking into the connecting bathroom.
The door closes. The water goes on, then off. Kon tries moving a pillow with his TTK, just to see if he still can. It works, sort of, and Tim’s pillow falls off the bed.
In the bathroom, the toilet flushes. The water goes on again, briefly, then the door opens and Tim comes back over to the bed and picks his pillow up. “Playing again?” he says, and tosses something at Kon that lands on his abdomen with a wet smack.
Tim must have turned on the small nightlight in the bathroom. There’s a faint bluish glow coming from the open door, and Kon doesn’t need to do his light bending trick to see that the washrag sitting on his abs is a dark color, green or blue. It’s supersaturated and it drips on him when he picks it up. He holds it out and raises his eyebrows at Tim.
Tim makes a huffy, knock-it-off-Conner noise. “If you enjoy being covered in semen, by all means, stay that way.”
“I didn’t say that,” Kon says, swiping at drying streaks of come. “Just because I don’t feel like I have to get up right after I come and get clean, like some people…”
Tim’s mouth tightens. He finishes pulling on a pair of pajama pants, then he reaches over and takes the rag away from Kon and throws it through the bathroom doorway. Kon hears it hit the sink.
“Are you going to let me sleep this time?” Tim asks. He’s pulling a new t-shirt over his head and his voice comes out slightly muffled. “I have a meeting with Tam and the board for Neon Knights at eight-thirty, and I’d prefer not to fall asleep halfway through.” He pulls the shirt down and shakes the hair out of his face before looking at Kon.
Kon looks at the red S-shield on the shirt. “Man, how many of those do you have?”
“Four. You keep leaving them.” He straightens his pillow and slides back in under the covers.
Kon turns on his side and props himself up on his hand and looks down at Tim, who’s flat on his back with his eyes closed.
“You could bring them with you to the Tower next time you come,” Kon says, and watches Tim’s frown lines get deeper.
“I could.” Even if he sounds like it’s the last thing he wants to do.
Kon laughs. “Forget it, I’ve got plenty. You know,” he says, twitching at the covers with his TTK, pulling them straight then bunching them up again, “it’s too bad all your stuff’s too small for me. I’d look pretty awesome in a Bat cape.”
“Hmn,” Tim replies. He lays his hand flat on the sheet Kon’s trying to rumple, and Kon immediately stops trying. “Would Superman loan you one of his capes?”
“Sure,” Kon says. Because right now he’s more interested in looking at Tim than listening to him, it takes about half a minute for his self preservation instincts to make him suspicious enough to add, “Why?”
“Because,” Tim says, sounding half asleep and clinical at the same time, “I’m going to fuck you in the cave while you’re wearing it. I know you don’t need much sleep anymore, but if you stay quiet for the next four hours, I’ll even borrow one of Dick’s uniforms.”
Ten minutes ago, Kon was sure he wasn’t getting it up again for a week. He was wrong. “I hate you so fucking much,” he tells Tim happily.
“I know,” Tim says, turning onto his side. “Now shut up.” He doesn’t speak or move again, no matter how much Kon squirms around or TTK nudges the bed, and his breathing evens out quickly.
Kon listens to him breathe and decides he needs a new t-shirt. He needs it to say I boned Red Robin until he passed out while he was wearing my other t-shirt, so now I have to wear this one.
Bart probably knows how to silk-screen. Maybe Kon will ask him about it tomorrow at the Tower. Or maybe Kon will follow Tim’s advice and shut up about the whole thing.
Yawning a little, Kon thinks that Tim telling him to shut up is anyone else’s ironclad declaration of intent. Kon thinks he’s good with that.
He thinks he’ll talk to Bart about silk-screening after the cave.