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Ante

by Te

[Story Headers]

Ante
by Te
March 7, 2004

Disclaimers: All belongs to DC. I'm just the fangirl.

Spoilers: Oh... really just none. The fact that the Titans exist.

Summary: Tim works and plays.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: I wanted to write some gratuitous porn. I did. :D

Acknowledgments: Thanks to Pearl-o and Weirdness Magnet for keeping me company.

*

Kon makes a terrible stalker.

When he walks, his boots clump and thud along the floor -- whether it's carpeted or not. When he flies, anything loose tumbles and flaps in his wake.

The cologne he's wearing this weekend is nice -- which almost certainly means someone else picked it out for him, as Kon's tastes don't run toward the subtle -- but it announces him as clearly as everything else. The intangibles of his presence, the feel of him as he moves into a room and takes over a large percentage of it, solely by existing.

Perhaps it's the smile.

"There you are," Kon says.

"I --" and that's all Tim has time to say before Kon pushes him against the nearest wall -- they only fly four or five yards -- and kisses him, hard and thoroughly.

"Mmm," Kon says into his mouth, and as soon as he lands them there's a thigh between Tim's own. Kon's hands in Tim's hair seem trapped in a confusing -- and very, very pleasant -- tangle of 'muss' and 'pet.'

Tim kisses him back, of course. But... not for long. He slides his hands between them, over the hard, warm planes of Kon's chest, so obvious even with the t-shirt on, and pushes as he pulls out of the kiss.

"Still?"

"Still."

Kon rocks against him and growls, but it's a lot like being barked at by a dog who's also wagging its tail.

"Soon," Tim says, and quietly drinks in the sight of Kon licking his lips before ducking under Kon's arm and leaving.

He gets nearly two hours this time. Long enough to do a small, daylight check of the Tower's structure and outer defenses, and make a good beginning on copying several of Cyborg's more interesting files into his laptop for later perusal.

The approach is much better this time. Everything is firmly bolted down in the computer room, so Kon's flight doesn't disturb anything. There's still the scent of him, though. The presence.

The mouth on the back of Tim's neck and the hands reaching around where's he's sitting in Cyborg's chair to tug his cape open and stroke their way over the tunic in hard, possessive circles.

Tim closes his eyes and feels it, the soft wetness of Kon's mouth and the ticklish heat of his breath. But he doesn't spread his legs when one of Kon's hands slides below his waist.

"Nnnrgh," Kon says, or something like it.

"Soon," Tim says, and finishes downloading the files, skin prickling at the weight of Kon's look even more than the feel of his hands. "Not yet, though."

"I hate your work ethic, dude," Kon says, and moves his hands. Slowly.

Tim smiles to himself and listens to Kon walk out of the room. And waits.

When he's sure Kon has wandered off, he shuts down his laptop and makes his own exit.

He gets more than two hours this time -- nearly two and half -- and it would be worrying if Tim wasn't busily planting booby traps in the Tower's heating ducts. (You never really knew when such things would come in handy, and Oracle had some fascinating ideas.)

He's planting a pressure bomb when the panel three feet in front of the one he's resting on abruptly drops away and Kon's head appears.

"Dangerously accurate," Tim says, and points to the mine six inches from Kon's left ear.

"Jesus, you're creepy," Kon says, and reaches in.

Tim checks to make sure the detonator isn't active and lets himself be kissed. Kon musses his hair again, and shifts on the air until they're in a good, good position. Tim licks Kon's tongue, sucks it and lets himself groan, and Kon slides two fingertips beneath the collar of the cape.

It's hard to breathe, harder when Kon bends his fingers and his knuckles dig into Tim's throat almost painfully.

Tim gasps and pushes against it and pulls free.

"Tim."

He pushes his erection against the cold metal beneath him and doesn't bite his lip. "Soon. Put the panel back -- I need it."

"Uh, huh. Dinner in an hour."

"'kay."

Tim listens to Kon replace the screws. When the last one is in, he bangs twice, lightly, and Tim continues working.

They eat around the kitchen table, since neither Cyborg nor Beast Boy are joining them.

Kory tells Bart a long, involved story about Tamaranian dating customs -- apparently something far different and more rare than mating customs. Bart had asked about gardening. Tim's almost sure there's a connection.

Kon and Cassie are talking about... something. Definitely something.

Kon is eating with one hand and massaging Tim's inner thigh with the other. Tim thinks the flex of Kon's shoulder muscles have to be obvious. And they would be, if anyone else were at the table. Or if anyone really cared.

Tim eats, slowly and carefully, and manages not to choke when Kon slides his hand up and cups him gently. Not the first four times, anyway.

The fifth time happens when Tim is eating a roll, and he has to close his eyes for a moment and focus on not coming in his pants.

When he opens them, Cassie is giving him a questioning look.

"Just thinking," he says, and he can feel Kon looking at him.

When Cassie turns to ask Bart about The Grapes of Wrath for a report she has due, Tim looks at Kon.

'Now,' he says, as clearly and distinctly as he can with his expression, and the smallest thrust into Kon's palm.

Kon raises an eyebrow.

'Now,' he says again, and turns back to the others. "Excuse me," he says aloud, and stands carefully. The cape falls around him the way it should, even though he has to hold his plate in an awkward position to keep it closed.

He scrapes it, dumps it in the dishwasher, and heads toward his bedroom.

Kon doesn't show up for another five minutes, and Tim could compliment the subtlety, but mostly he's just glad he can stop gritting his teeth and thinking about the Mad Hatter naked.

"Why aren't you naked," Kon says, but doesn't give Tim time to answer before he's kissing him again, petting and stroking and groping him, and Tim pulls back long enough to unhook the cape and kisses Kon.

And pulls back long enough to drop the belt, and bites Kon's lip and pushes Kon's t-shirt up, rubs Kon's nipples with the carefully textured fingertips of the gauntlets.

And pulls back long enough to pull his own tunic up halfway, and then Kon yanks down Tim's shorts and tights and jockeys and jerks him once, twice -- hard --

"Kon --"

"Yeah," he says, and shoves Tim, walks them both back to the bed. Tim sits down and Kon drops to his knees and tugs Tim's tights and everything else down past his knees. "I like you like this," he says. "All messed up and slutty."

Tim smirks.

"Turn over."

He does, somewhat awkwardly considering the tangle of his clothes, and Kon grabs his ass and pushes him further up on the bed. "Kon."

"I could -- I could --"

"Yes," he says, and Kon exhales sharply and spreads him open and shoves his tongue in.

Tim winces in nothing like pain and gasps. And moans. And whimpers and fists his hands in the sheets and doesn't try, doesn't think. Kon's tongue is wet, slick. Hot and strong as the rest of him, and Tim feels himself writhing.

"Kon. Kon --"

"I'm gonna fuck you," Kon breathes against his hole.

Tim reaches for the lotion he'd left on the night table this morning and tosses it back in Kon's general direction. Kon pulls him back down to his knees and Tim holds on to the edge of the bed.

Pants as quietly as he can, and listens to Kon breathe, listens to the slick, sliding slap of Kon's fist on his own dick, and flexes at the small, high sound Kon makes. And then Kon slides two fingers in, perfunctory and rough, and Tim forces himself to focus enough to be able to mean it when he says,

"Now."

Kon pulls out and pushes in, one slow, steady push that makes Tim's eyes widen, makes him fist the blankets harder, makes him say,

"Please," even though he's getting it, even though Kon has him by the hips and is pulling him back on his dick.

"Bend -- bend your head, Tim."

He does, resting his head against the mattress, and Kon bites the back of his neck and fucks him hard.

"Made me wait," he says.

Tim groans and rubs his face against the blankets, squeezes his fists tighter.

"Knew you wanted this, wanted me to do you --"

"Hard --"

Kon bites his neck again and goes faster, harder, riding him, and the only reason Tim's not moving is that Kon's holding on. Making him take it.

He whimpers and tenses, but that just makes him feel it more. He knew it would. It always does.

"Tim --"

"Don't stop --"

"Say 'please' again," and Kon's laugh is choked and honest. "Maybe if you... if you're good oh fuck --"

And Tim flexes around Kon again and whimpers again, and over and over because Kon's slamming in, like he's trying to fuck Tim back onto the bed, or maybe just through it.

"Fight me. Say no. Tell me you don't love this, Tim --"

"I can't --"

"I know. You love it. You want it."

"Yes."

And Kon growls and grabs Tim's dick and squeezes.

"Oh fuck. Fuck, jerk me off, make me come --"

Kon gasps and shudders and comes in him, holding on tight. Tim bites the blankets to keep from screaming. And completely fails when Kon pulls out fast. But then he spins Tim around and lifts him and drops him on the bed, swallowing Tim's dick and groaning around him.

Tim grabs Kon's head and fucks his throat, squeezing his eyes shut and biting his lip.

Kon's next groan rips the orgasm out of him, makes him shout and tense and curl up on himself. Kon sucks him until Tim whimpers, and then a little more. When he pulls off, Tim can't make himself relax until Kon pushes his shoulders down. Until he crawls up on the bed and holds Tim down with his body.

Tim pants and stares at the ceiling, and Kon mouths his throat lazily.

Everything aches in the best possible way.

"Mm," Kon says.

"Yeah."

"So what did it this time? I mean, was it the hand-job under the table with everyone there? 'cause I can go with that."

Tim grins. "You slammed me against a wall."

Kon pulls back and braces himself on his elbows, glaring down at him. "That was hours ago!"

"So?"

Kon narrows his eyes. "Next time I'm not going to listen to you when you say 'stop.'"

"Mmm."

"Yeah, I'm just gonna... um. Wait. That's really fucked up, Tim. I mean, even for you."

And Kon actually looks serious, so Tim reaches up and cups his cheek. Strokes the thin skin under Kon's eye until he stops frowning. "It's just playing," he says.

Kon's smile is a little troubled. "You've got a really scary concept of the word 'game,' man."

Tim presses in hard with his thumb, just for a moment. "Maybe."

"Tim --"

"Maybe you'll like it better when it's your turn."

Kon gasps like he's been punched, and Tim can feel Kon's dick twitch between them.

Tim grins just as lazily as he can, right up until Kon leans in and kisses him again.

And then he just thinks his grin.

end.

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Fandom:  Other (Teen Titans)
Title:  Ante
Author:  Te   [email]   [website]
Details:  Standalone  |  NC-17  |  *slash*  |  10k  |  03/07/04
Characters:  Robin, Superboy
Pairings:  Robin/Superboy
Summary:  Tim works *and* plays.

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