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U and Me

by Te

[Story Headers]

U and Me
by Te
June 25, 2004

Disclaimers: Not mine.

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

Summary: Kon bitches, Tim moans.

Ratings Note: NC-17.

Author's Note: Completely pointless porn.

Acknowledgments: To Jack and LC for audiencing and encouragement.


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

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

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

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

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


"'Noted.' Right."

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

It'll be more like five before Kon starts complaining again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kon sighs, and Tim waits for it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Assuming you say anything."

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

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


"-- or dead weight in freaking spandex."

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

"I wasn't uncomfortable until --"

That night.

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

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

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

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

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

Tired. Not thinking. Some kind of --

"-- surprised, okay?"

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

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

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

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

A lot.

"Really a lot. And then --"

I left.

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

Been playing spot-the-heterosexual.

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

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

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

"It would probably be messy."

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

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

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

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

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

Freaking out about making out with me?

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

Prove it. "Mm."

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

"What do you want to do about it?"

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

Want to pretend it never happened?

"-- want us to act like it."


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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

"I thought I did."

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

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

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

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

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

And kissing back.

Right up until Kon pulls away again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh --"

Sucked on, bitten --

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

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

"Tim, I..."

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

"Don't stop."

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

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

"I -- damn." Kon stops.

"Don't --"

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"Not enough that I want you to stop."

"But --"

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

"I just --"


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

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

"Oh, Tim..."

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

"God, yeah. You like that --"

Tim throws his head back against nothing and groans.

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

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

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

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

"Kon --"

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

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

"Oh God, I can smell you --"

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

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

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

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

He's never felt clumsy with the gauntlets before.

He's never --

In --

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

"Kon --"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Difficult to breathe.

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

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

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

"Tim -- oh fuck --"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kon --"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lick it.


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

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

And fix his clothes.

And tighten it into a fist again.

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

"Fuck, Tim."


"I should've done that before."

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

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

"Could be interesting."

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

I like it with you. "Sometimes."

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

"We should --"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Still no hand-holding?"

"Dude, shut up."


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Fandom:  Teen Titans
Title:  U and Me
Author:  Te   [email]   [website]
Details:  Standalone  |  NC-17  |  *slash*  |  18k  |  06/26/04
Characters:  Tim, Kon
Pairings:  Tim/Kon
Summary:  Kon bitches, Tim moans.

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