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As a whirlwind

by Te

[Story Headers]

As a whirlwind
by Te
February 10, 2004

Disclaimers: I want them I want them I -- ::smacks self::

Spoilers: None, really. Post Teen Titans #7.

Summary: Tim attempts to put things in perspective.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: I had a lingering porn image. Minotaur said I didn't have to bother with a plot...

Acknowledgments: To Liv and Jack for audiencing and encouragement.

Feedback: Gives me a warm fuzzy. teland@teland.com

*

Once you decide on a course of action, there's just no percentage in being wishy-washy about it.

Which is not to say you shouldn't always be open to changing your mind, should such a change prove logical, but, in general, if you are going to do something, you might as well just do it. No matter what.

And decisiveness has its rewards, now and again.

Tim grins to himself and signs on. This 'buddy' filter has exactly one name on it, other than his own, and Kon doesn't make him wait long.

Supes93: Finally, dude. You haven't been on in days.

CallMeAl06: Two.

Supes93: Still more than one. ;-) What are you up to tonight?

CallMeAl06: Pretty much nothing. It's my night off.

Supes93: Oh, yeah...?

Kon isn't stupid. Not by a long road. Tim grins a little more.

CallMeAl06: I can't get to Smallville. You, however...

Supes93: I'm there. Just tell me where there is. An address. Co-ordinates. Map. Something. Come on, man.

CallMeAl06: My house. Tim's new friend from school -- a certain Conner Kent -- is picking him up. They're going to hang out, maybe see a movie.

Supes93: Maybe have a lot of sex.

CallMeAl06: grin Somehow, I don't think I'll be mentioning that possibility to my Dad.

Supes93: Whoa. Remind me to never have that conversation with Mr. Kent.

CallMeAl06: Uh-huh. I'm ready to go now, you know.

Kon doesn't bother saying good-bye, just signs off. And he's not as fast as Bart, but he's fast enough. Tim shuts down his computer and throws on a jacket, double-checking to make sure he has everything he needs.

Which isn't much, really. His wallet, his keys, and a few things from that belt -- just in case.

Dana smiles at him when he gets down to the kitchen. "I take it you're not planning on eating before you leave?"

"Nah, Conner and I will probably grab some pizza or something."

"Okay. And you'll be home --"

"By eleven, I know, it's a school night." He gives her his best responsible-teenager grin. "Where's Dad?"

She winks at him. "In the living room, pretending to read the paper, and also pretending not to be absolutely thrilled that you've already made friends at your new school. He was worried, you know."

It's not an effort to smile sheepishly. 'Make comfortably casual, non-question asking friends at the new school' is still firmly on his to-do list. "I'm okay."

Dana ruffles his hair. "You always are. Parents worry anyway. It's what... we do."

He doesn't miss the slight hesitation, and that's another thing on the to-do list: Reassure the stepmother that she's not intruding, or whatever else she might be anxious about. Tim's actually just fine with having Dana right where she is -- distracting his father -- and besides, she's nice. He does an internal check of his expression and makes it a little softer. "Yeah, I know."

He'd hug her, but the fact that he's been thinking about Kon makes the prospect problematic at best.

Thankfully, he's already long since established himself as being reserved, and the situation is conveniently awkward. He ducks his head. "I, uh..."

"Go on, your friend will be here soon."

"See you!"

He checks his watch. Two minutes down, leaving another two-to-three for his father, assuming Kon doesn't run into any supervillains or Superman doesn't decide to drop in for a heart-to-heart.

No way around either prospect, unfortunately.

He slips into the living room and settles on the couch. Waits for it.

"So this... Conner, was it? Is he in many of your classes?"

"Hunh? Oh, just English." His worst subject. "He's on the football team."

His father looks at him over the Times. "Not your usual choice of friend...?"

He shrugs easily. "Jocks in public school aren't the same as the jocks at Brentwood, as far as I can tell." Which is entirely true.

"You know, I always thought you should try going out for a team. Maybe swimming. Sports are a good way to connect with your classmates."

Sometimes Tim wonders if he should've
manufactured some nice, normal teenaged-style angst, just to keep his father from going on these periodic fishing expeditions into his psyche. "Daaad, they make those guys get up at, like, four."

His father chuckles. "Sunrise never hurt anyone, son. Give it some thought."

"I will."

A grunt, and his father turns back to the paper. Tim knows he's still not actually reading it, but the ruse helps eat up the clock.

Maybe he could get Nightwing to distract Superman on these little... date nights. It's exactly the sort of thing Dick would think was a good idea. Just one more reason why Bruce's attitude is annoying, really, because he would probably get a kick out of thwarting Superman, too.

Maybe he could put it to him that way the next time they tried and failed to have a reasonable conversation on the subject.

"What movie are you planning to see?"

"Oh, we haven't decided yet. There isn't much good playing right now, you know? We'll probably wind up hanging out at the arcade or something." There. Nice and vague.

"Well, remember that it's a school night."

"I will."

"And try to avoid wandering into war zones."

Tim blinks. His Dad just made a joke. About No Man's Land. He tries to keep the wariness off his face. "I'll... uh... make an effort?"

His father gives him a wry look over the newspaper, and it's... more than a little difficult to read. "I trust you, son. I just wonder, sometimes..." He shakes his head. "Well, we can talk about it later."

Tim nods slowly. Clearly, something else for his to-do list.

It's silent for a while, save for the noises Dana's making in the kitchen, and interminably awkward. And Tim thinks that could be the point. They don't know him -- they can't know him.

All he can do is try to make sure that they don't realize how little they know about him, but... it's entirely possible he's fucking up with that. Or maybe it's just one of those things parents are good at.

And really, who could he ask? Even Oracle... the only question was when Jim Gordon had figured it out. Maybe... maybe when he's eighteen and out of the house he'll be able to tell them some part of it.

If he's lucky, they'll just think he's delusional and try for a lengthy, involuntary commitment.

"So, what time --"

The doorbell rings and Tim doesn't quite manage to jump off the couch.

His father just chuckles, though. Eager, thoughtless teenager, right. To that end, he yanks the door open much too hard and grins like an idiot. "Hey, man!"

Kon blinks at him for a second before recovering. "Uh... hey. Tim."

He does his best to beam gratitude, eagerness, and the general sense of stress at Kon before looking back over his shoulder. "Well, we gotta --"

"Don't be silly, Tim." His father is folding the paper. "Why don't you invite your friend in for a minute?"

'Stress' is rapidly becoming 'dread,' especially when Dana walks in from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. He's aware that he's technically blocking the door, but he can't make himself stop.

"Now, Jack, the boys have plans." She tips him another wink. "You go on. Remember to be back --"

"By eleven okay, bye!"

Kon waves at his stepmother. "Bye, Mrs. Drake!"

Tim closes the door behind them and forces himself to walk.

"Uh... Tim?"

"We can't fly anywhere until we're out of sight."

"It isn't -- you just seem a little... wired?"

"A little." They turn the corner and Tim leads them behind the house Bruce bought solely so Tim would have a place in his neighborhood to stash things he couldn't hide at his parents'.

"Here?"

"Yeah."

Kon wraps his arm around Tim's waist, and it just... kicks something off. Turns something on. It's hard to describe, even just to himself. He puts his palm against Kon's chest, warm, almost hot even through the t-shirt.

"One sec."

"What's up?"

Tim shoves him against the back wall of the house and kisses him. There isn't even a pause; Kon melts right into it, licking Tim's tongue into his mouth and tightening his arm around his waist.

Kon groans and cups Tim's ass with his other hand, squeezing and pulling him in, lifting him just enough for them to grind against each other.

This is -- it doesn't feel anything like getting the suit on, even his memories of the first time. He doesn't get a hard-on for being Robin. And yet... it's exactly the same. The same rush, the same sense of rightness, of doing precisely what he should be doing.

It should be ridiculous to feel this way when he's humping Superboy against a wall. Maybe it would be, if it wasn't so obvious that Kon... feels it, too. He pushes away, making his motions small enough that Kon's hold on him doesn't break so much as slide into a different configuration.

"This why you're wired?"

It's tempting to let him think that. "Not entirely."

Kon squeezes his waist a little. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Not right now." He can feel himself smiling.

Wider when Kon digs his thumbs in and rubs hard circles into the hollows of Tim's hips through his jeans. "So..."

"Mm."

"Is this where... uh. I mean are we supposed to be breaking in or something?"

And Tim has a key, actually, but... not here. Bruce Wayne bought this house and Batman owns it, and while having sex with Kon here wouldn't be the same as doing it in the Batcave... he shakes his head. "I found another place. About a mile and half that way." He points southeast.

Kon nods and pulls him close again, leaning down to kiss him before lifting off. Tim's had time to get used to the feeling of being carried by a flyer, the way your stomach drops and air abruptly becomes more solid and oxygen more important. He hasn't had -- enough -- time to get used to the kisses.

Kon pulls moans out of him effortlessly, making Tim need to see him enjoying them. The fact that he does -- obviously, vocally, physically -- makes it easier.

Not actually easy, though. It's a distraction on top of the pleasure; the effort he expends to hold on to himself, to keep control, something that makes him lose his other senses.

He'd told Kon that he hadn't been paying attention to anything else when he'd kissed him the first time. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, because there's such a thing as too much truth. He isn't sure whether it scares him more that Kon knew what he was talking about, or that Tim isn't sure whether he had.

Because Batman had taught him how to pay attention to everything around him, but he hadn't needed to explain to him why it was important to do so.

Kon takes the world away.

He comes back to himself with one leg bent up and around Kon's thigh and both hands balled into fists in Kon's shirt. With Kon whimpering into his mouth, clear and open and sweet and tempting -- lose himself.

Sometimes he's not entirely sure who he is, and Kon makes him wonder why that matters. He pulls out of the kiss, gasping against Kon's throat and forcing himself to focus on where they are. Kon has taken them high enough that no one would be able to, necessarily, recognize the two boys making out in the sky, but he can still tell where he is with a little effort.

"Are we close?"

Too, he doesn't say. "Hang east a little bit."

This was another part of dealing with flyers. Tim has spent a lot of time flying over Gotham on his own power, but the angle from here is different. Finding your way is less about the angles and gargoyles than it is about the shapes, colors, and sizes.

He'd done very careful measurements accordingly. "There. The one with the white vents."

They touch down and Kon slips his hands into the back pockets of Tim's jeans and nuzzles his throat.

"I planned on doing this inside, you know."

"Anywhere." Kon squeezes and sucks a kiss beneath the collar of Tim's jacket before moving back to his mouth.

He means it. Anywhere. Kon doesn't lie, but he does exaggerate -- but he isn't doing it right now. Tim's pulse rate hasn't been normal since Kon rang the doorbell, and the only thing that would steady it right now is the kind of Bat-taught meditation that makes Tim wonder if 'achieve nirvana' should be somewhere on his to-do list.

There's a useless, needy voice in his head that suggests other kinds of heaven. His body is...

He tells himself that its instinct, that he's spent years honing and training his instincts to something like animal perfection, and training himself to trust them. That the fact that this feels so easy and natural and addictive is just proof that he should go with it. That, perhaps, it would be dangerous to resist it, because after all, doesn't he work with the poster child for the ill effects of sublimation?

And it is instinct, but it has nothing to do with the carefully developed senses that tell him when the bullets are about to start flying, or which gargoyles will probably crumble if they get hit with a grapple. This is body-lust and irrational hunger, an injury foundation on which to add the insult of his... feelings.

"Kon."

"I love the way you say my name."

He ducks the next kiss, mainly by telling his body to pretend it's being attacked and react accordingly. It's a tactic with limited effectiveness, but it works this time. Kon's mouth settles by his ear, hot, damp breath making Tim shudder.

Which makes Kon hold him tighter. Tim wants to know if Kon's trying to comfort him, or if he just wants to feel the shudders better against his own skin. Both? He wants to know what Kon thinks he's doing, because this is...

Tim doesn't take risks. Not really. Risks are all about thoughtlessness and willful ignorance. He knows exactly how much he calculates, and if he sometimes regrets that he can't be as spontaneous as Dick, he also knows how much Dick pays for that spontaneity. Every day.

This is a risk, and it doesn't even have the kindness to be about their ages, or their identities, or even their mentors. It's about them, and the way Kon waits for him to make the next move, to give the next direction -- because he knows Tim won't make him wait long, or ask for anything he doesn't want to give.

It's the way Tim knows Kon's absolutely right.

I want you, he doesn't say, because it's stupid and obvious and true, and because he knows what he'd sound like if he said it out loud.

It's what he sounds like in the dreams and fantasies he'd had before Kon had kissed him. It's what he'll sound like as soon as Kon starts touching him again. It was so much easier when this was something that wouldn't ever happen, when it was just an idle fantasy to get him off when he couldn't sleep.

He curls his fingers over Kon's shoulders and pushes as he takes a step back. Kon's grin is dazed, almost drunk-looking, and he reaches up between them to press on Tim's mouth with his thumb, wiping spit away.

"I was thinking about you last night. About those sounds you make... you have no idea how many times I jerked off waiting for you to sign on."

The image is startlingly vivid. Kon in Superman's little farmhouse bedroom, sprawled in his chair with his pants around his thighs and his hand around his dick, stroking himself hard and slow.

"That turns you on?"

Tim raises an eyebrow.

"See, I can tell because you had an expression for about three tenths of a second."

Tim snorts. "I have facial expressions."

"Not like that." And Kon's deadly serious. "At least, not enough." He presses a little harder against Tim's lip and adjusts himself in his jeans with his other hand. "You turn me on so much I can't think."

"I know the feeling."

"I'm beginning to actually believe that."

Tim swallows around the sharply acid ball of feeling at the back of his throat.

"So... get us inside or wherever we're going or let me make you come right here."

Tim doesn't have words for that, and doesn't bother pretending otherwise. He takes a step back and turns, feeling Kon's eyes on him and wishing a little for his cape. The access door isn't so much locked as wedged back vaguely into the frame.

Kon catches it easily and sets it against the wall, and Tim heads down the rickety stairs to the equally rickety catwalk.

"Don't lean on the railing; it's mostly rusted through."

"Got it. Uh... Tim?"

"Some low level dealers were using this place as a squat until last night."

"You and Batman?"

"Yeah."

Kon snickers. "And you, of course, immediately thought 'hey, great place to get laid.'"

Tim smirks back over his shoulder. "Got a problem with that?"

"Not even *remotely."

Tim stops where the railing has broken off entirely and reaches out. Kon slips next to him, wraps his arm around Tim's waist and flies them down into the warehouse proper. The place is a wreck, but since most of the windows are broken, there isn't much of a smell.

Tim stops in front of one of the few stacks of old crates -- full of moldering ledgers -- they hadn't knocked over during the fight and turns, setting his back against it.

"Now?"

In answer, he reaches for his belt, more than a little surprised that Kon doesn't just pounce. He bends his head so he can watch Kon through the fall of his hair and works his jeans open. Kon is...

It's not a leer, or not entirely. He's paying attention. Maybe memorizing the way it looks when Tim's stripping for him. It's just another thing to make Tim breathe harder. He lets his pants fall and pushes down his boxers, and Kon's swallow is audible. Just as goading as this place, and his own nakedness.

"You want me, Kon?" And he rolls his jacket off his shoulders but doesn't get it all the way off his arms before Kon is on him, pushing him back against the crates with one hand on his chest and cupping Tim's balls with the other. Tim lets his head fall back and gasps to keep from groaning.

"You -- I can't believe --" Kon bites his own lip and shakes his head, hand sliding up over his chest and brushing a nipple not-hard-enough before he cups Tim's shoulder and pushes, holding him back against the crate.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, and it comes out more seriously than he wants it to.

"I know. I just --" And Kon leans in and kisses him, squeezing and rolling his balls in his palm and moaning like Tim's the one doing the touching.

He knows that feeling, too.

It's a long, slow fondle. It's a tease, though Tim isn't sure Kon's really aware of that. He spreads his legs wider reflexively and jumps a little when he realizes that his jeans won't let him do it as much as he wants to.

Kon fucks his mouth with his tongue just as slowly and it makes Tim grab and scratch at the crates until he remembers that he doesn't, actually, want splinters beneath his fingernails. He grabs at Kon instead, and it makes Kon move, finally, giving Tim's balls one last squeeze before he wraps his fingers around Tim's dick.

He doesn't even see the whimper coming before it spills into Kon's mouth, but it makes Kon stroke, and that's... It's so good. Impossibly good, even though it's slow. Maybe because it's slow. Control he doesn't have and can't even fake.

And then Kon stops kissing him, leaning back and staring at him. At his mouth and into his eyes and at his working hand and back again.

Tim bites his lip and turns away, eyes rolling back in his head at the feel of Kon's thumb circling the head of his dick, again and again until he has to choose between bleeding and opening his mouth.

He opens his mouth, and the moan comes out low and loud and desperate.

"God, Tim..." And Kon starts to stroke faster, and Tim's body wants him to know how hard Kon's hands are, how warm and strong and big they are, and how good it feels to whimper and curse and buck.

"Kon --" It's more of a gasp than a word.

"Look at me."

"Oh God --"

"Please."

He can't say no to that. He can't even hesitate, rolling his head on his neck and staring into Kon's eyes. "Kon."

And Kon shoves him back harder against the crates and jerks him fast and hard, hard enough that every up-stroke makes him grunt, and Tim can feel himself flushing -- blushing -- and he can smell his own sweat and Kon licks his lips and doesn't stop.

Won't stop, and the thought makes him whimper and arch, and his orgasm hits him before he can get into a better position, twisting his hips up and out and generally trying to make his spine feel optional.

He bends his knees and locks them until he has something like balance back, and Kon helps him back upright. And doesn't move his hand.

"Kon?"

"Christ. Christ, Tim, I almost came in my pants." He slides his hand off, making Tim jerk and shudder.

And brings his hand to his mouth, sniffing at his slick fingers before very deliberately looking Tim in the eye and... licking them.

Sucking them, and suddenly Tim can't remember why he was waiting to do this. Why he was even trying.

He reaches for Kon's jeans and opens them, hands shaking too much to do it anything but awkwardly, even after he tries to will them into submission. He yanks them down roughly -- probably too roughly for anyone who wasn't a superhero, but Kon just moans and thrusts toward him.

And Tim drops to his knees, not letting himself hear Kon's gasp as much as he wants to, as much as he needs to, because he needs the few shreds of control he has left more.

"Tim, you --"

"Let me," he says, and wraps his hand around the base of Kon's dick.

"God, anything you want."

Kon starts to shake as soon as the head is in Tim's mouth, hands cupping Tim's face more gently than he's ever touched him before. He can't decide if it's the feel or the taste that makes him moan, but moaning makes Kon cry out and it's... it's like freedom. Every sound Tim makes will make it that much better for Kon.

It's the perfect excuse to groan about it, about the slick pressure on his tongue and the stretch of his lips. About how much he's wanted this, even when Kon was just the frighteningly attractive superhero Tim kept getting stuck with, as opposed to his friend. The one he wants to protect, as opposed to everyone he has to.

There's nothing here to protect Kon from, except maybe himself, and that's not going to happen. There's something comforting about the simple fact of it, some small way to put it all into perspective: the way Tim's pumping Kon's dick into his mouth and tugging on his smooth, sweaty hip. The way Tim sounds like Bart with a sundae, slurping and humming like he can't get enough.

He can't.

"Tim --"

Kon's voice is high with desperation, loud, and even when he tightens his hold on Tim's face his hands don't stop shaking.

"Oh God, Tim, that's so hot --"

His hips jerk, and it's not really a thrust until Tim digs his fingers in to Kon's hip and whimpers. It's not the sound he wanted to make, but he had wanted to make a sound, and it works. Encouragement.

"Oh fuck oh fuck you're so good, so hot, please don't stop --"

He's hot all over, sweat prickling his skin, making him itch and squirm, making him hard again, or maybe that's just the jerky slide of Kon's dick into his mouth, off-rhythm and maddening. His mouth feels used, like maybe it was always supposed to be used like this.

Tim can't concentrate on making noise, so every sound is as raw and helpless as he feels, and the fact that Kon's still trying to control himself is something between horrible and hilarious.

Tim takes his hand off Kon's dick and settles it on his other hip, instead. Kon pushes his hair off his forehead, slow and not gentle, and Tim knows what he wants. He looks up and gets lost.

Kon's face is flushed and his expression...

He almost looks sad, like this is hurting him, and it makes something seize up inside him, makes him dig his short nails into Kon's hips and slide his lips back from his teeth --

"Oh God --"

And the first real thrust almost makes him gag --

"Oh God I can't stop --"

But he's ready for the next, gasping on a swallow, and he can't keep his eyes open. It's so good, it's so real, it's all over him and he can't get away. Kon's hands holding him still and Kon's dick rocking into his throat once, again, and Tim can feel him shuddering, feel him trying to pull back without hurting him, and he doesn't know whether to hold on or let go.

And Kon comes in his mouth, and it's almost too much, too fast, because his body needs to swallow and his body wants to groan. Slick, he thinks, hot, and then Kon grabs his shoulders and pushes, rocking Tim back on his heels and stumbling back, tripping on his loose jeans and hitting the floor.

Kon's mouth is open, but the only sounds coming out are gasps. Tim can't look away, can't stop licking his lips until all he tastes is his own spit.

"Tim..."

And Kon crawls back to him, wrapping his fists around Tim's biceps and holding on and kissing him, hard and seeking, pushing them until Tim's on his back, floor cold and gritty and irrelevant under his ass.

"Tim," and Kon kisses him again, stroking his arms, stroking up under Tim's shirts.

"I'm here --"

"I know," and Kon sounds almost angry, touching and petting him like he can't make himself stop.

He thinks he's going to come again. "Kon --"

"Sometimes I just... you make me feel -- and I have to see --"

"I know," and he moves to wrap an arm around Kon, but Kon catches it and pushes it back against the floor. "Kon?"

"I just... wait a second, okay?"

Tim nods, and forces himself not to turn into Kon's mouth. Kon's breathing hot and damp against Tim's jaw, pressing his lips there over and over and rubbing his thumb against Tim's wrist.

"I have to see it, you know? I know you do, because sometimes it seems like you know everything."

"I don't." He can't keep himself from moving under him.

"Am I hurting you? Should I --"

"No, stay."

Kon moans against his face and ducks his head, whispering against Tim's throat. "Good, because I don't want to move. I want to keep you right here..."

"Kon --" And he can't remember what he wanted to say, because Kon's sucking on his throat, licking his throat, and Tim's dick is wedged against Kon's stomach and leaking. "Oh --" He bites his lip.

"Yeah. You..." Kon licks him harder, a wavering line to his ear. "I thought about you sucking me, but I couldn't even imagine it. Just the picture in my mind would make me come so hard..."

He pushes against Kon's hold on his wrist, he can't not, and Kon squeezes him.

"I love how turned on you get. I love seeing it on your face. How much you want this."

Tim hears himself make a high sound in his throat and there's not enough room for him to thrust against Kon and he can't stop doing it anyway. Because Kon knows him.

"God, Tim, I need you --" And Kon pulls back just enough to find his mouth, kissing him hard and fucking in with his tongue, stroking Tim's wrist and moaning.

Their eyes are open.

"That's the look. That's the one --"

"Kon --"

And he finally lets go, but before Tim can grab him, he's moving, sliding down Tim's body and pushing his shirts up and kissing his navel like it's just another mouth for a long, hot second before moving lower.

Tim's dick brushes Kon's cheek and the stubble makes him jerk. "Please --"

Kon gasps like he's been gut-punched and grabs Tim's dick, stroking it harder. A half-second pause and then he's putting it in his mouth, wrapping his lips around the head and sucking hard and clumsily, harder for a second when Tim shouts. And pulls off.

"Please, Kon, please --"

"I don't know what I'm doing and I really don't care. I just -- put your hands on my head?"

He can't -- he has to -- He slides his hands over the soft fuzz of Kon's hair and holds on. And pulls him back in.

"Oh God --" And Kon takes him deeper this time, squeezing the base and licking him, sucking him.

Sucking him so hard and it almost hurts, it does hurt a little and Tim spreads his legs and digs his fingers into Kon's scalp to keep from shoving his fist into his mouth. The sounds aren't even moans anymore, just one gasped-out cry after another. He can't hold them back, and every one digs him deeper, splays him out for Kon to see.

For Kon to have. So close. Too close and too much and Tim comes sobbing, too wrung out to push Kon off or even warn him.

Kon coughs and groans and groans again and crawls back up his body, kissing him slick and wet. Tim tastes himself in Kon's mouth and tries to remember where his mind is.

"Jesus, Tim. I think I want to do that every day."

He gives up and holds on, licking his come out of Kon's mouth and letting Kon roll them over until Tim's sprawled over his body.

"This, too," he says, cupping Tim's face and stroking his cheekbone.

Language is impossible, but Kon's eyes are on his own and Tim knows he's maybe saying enough just by looking.

"You feel..." And Kon shakes his head and grins. "So how long before someone tracks us down?"

"I don't know."

Kon nods slowly and slides his other hand around to cup Tim's ass, stroking and squeezing. "I still can't believe you weren't going to tell me this."

"It didn't seem... important."

"Yeah, why don't you let me help make those decisions from now on? Think of it as a team-building exercise."

Tim grins. "I'll think about it."

"Yeah, for a year. Come down here, man."

Tim does, deliberately resting his weight on Kon's body, his cheek on Kon's chest. He's warm and solid and half-hard under him, and Tim thinks about having this in a bed. It's on the other to-do list.

Kon strokes his hair. "This is..."

Dangerous, addictive, so good. Bruce had miscalculated. He should've told Tim off for something entirely different than thinking with his dick, and then maybe he would've been right enough to listen to. Tim listens to Kon's heart beat and closes his eyes.

"You feel it, too."

It's not a question, and he doesn't bother answering.

Kon laughs a little, and pushes his thumb against the back of his neck, making him shiver. "It must really fuck with your weird little head."

"Mm."

"I think it's supposed to."

"You could be right."

"That's the thing about you, man. You're all fucked-up about this -- I can tell -- but you're doing it anyway."

"I want to."

Kon strokes his back with his other hand, absently possessive. "Go with that."

Once, early in his training, Bruce had reminded Tim to trust his instincts, and to trust his when he wasn't sure, just as if Bruce was this solid, almost entirely infallible thing instead of someone who needed a partner less because Gotham is a mess than because he is.

It was still good advice.

You made the best decision you could, and then you went with it.

Kon is open and honest and young in a way Tim barely remembers. And Kon is... his. He slides his palm up Kon's chest and cups his shoulder.

And squeezes.

end.

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Fandom:  Other (Teen Titans)
Title:  As a whirlwind
Series Name:  Connection
Author:  Te   [email]   [website]
Details:  Series  |  NC-17  |  *slash*  |  30k  |  02/11/04
Characters:  Tim, Kon
Pairings:  Tim/Kon
Summary:  Tim attempts to put things in perspective.
Sequel to:  Misdirection

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