Archive of Our Own

Tonight, you're mine completely

"Fuck, Tim," comes the groan in his ear, punctuated by a sharp thrust.

They're in his room at Mount Justice—the way they always are when they do this—after training. Kon was practically shaking with adrenaline by the time he had finished because Tim had been teasing him, he knew he had. He'd done it on purpose. The way he arched his back, letting his shirt ride up and expose the dimples at the base of his spine, as he sparred with Bart. The way he hummed in pleasure as their friend tapped out, signaling his victory. (Kon always liked it when Tim showed his strength.) The way he all but moaned around his water bottle, sucking up the cold liquid as a reprieve from the intense workout. Yeah, he had been laying it on thick. And it worked; he got what he wanted. 

Tim's brought back to the present by a particularly rough brush against his prostate, dragging a moan out of him.

"Yeah, keep making those pretty noises for me, birdie," Kon smirks at him.

"Fuck off," he replies, but pushes his hips down to meet Conner's.

"Yeah? Want me to shut you up, then?"

He doesn't even have time to think of a response before the other boy's lips crash into his in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. It's the hottest thing Tim's ever experienced. 

This is Tim's favorite part about their little situation—the banter. See, because they've been friends for so long, they know exactly how to rile the other up. Before, it had meant harsh words aimed where it hurt, but now? Now, it meant sneaking off to fuck to ease the fire burning in both of them.

Conner slightly pulls back from his mouth to suck on his tongue, and Tim's gone. He moans unabashedly, arching his back up off the cheap bed.

"You're all talk, huh," Kon kisses down his neck, sucking and licking and driving Tim crazy. "Putting on a show for me out there, but losing all of it the second I get you in this room."

"Kon," he huffs. 

"No?" the boy cocks his head. "Then tell me you weren't trying to get me all hot and bothered, earlier."

"I wasn't," he lies, though even he knows it's weak.

"Yeah, okay," he smirks, smug in the way of his that specifically pisses Tim off.

"I wasn't," he repeats, thrusting his hips up.

"Then what were you trying to do, then?"

"I was trying," he lets out a shaking breath, holding back a moan. "to. fucking. win."

Tim flips them over so he's straddling Kon's hips, just the way he was with Bart in training, and the pressure is so good. He thinks he hears a whimper escape Kon's mouth.

"Just sounds like you're jealous, to me."

That would do it. 

"Jealous?" Yep. "Of who? Bart?"

Tim hums affirmatively as he rocks his hips, grinding that big, thick cock against his walls.

Kon laughs, perplexed. "You think I'm jealous of Bart?"

"I mean," a smirk of his own overtakes Tim's lips. "You were pretty red in the face, watching us."

Indignant mutters spill from Conner's mouth, unintelligible. 

"What was that?" he has to fight the urge to smirk even more.

"I'm not fucking jealous," Kon all but spits out the word.

"Sure," Tim mocks, and he knows he's being mean. But sometimes being mean is the only way he gets to see Kon like this.

"Who's got you in his bed right now, riding his cock and moaning like a slut? 'Cause it doesn't look like Bart to me."

"Fuck, Kon," his words only add to Tim's arousal, drawing him closer and closer to orgasm. 

"Yeah, that's right, say my name, baby," Kon grabs his hips, taking control of the pace once again. Tim pointedly ignores the petname—Kon only starts using them when he's close, it's not personal—and the pang it causes in his heart.

"Kon," he complies, and it's like he didn't have control of the reaction. Even though he knows better, he thinks he'd do anything Conner Kent asked if he called him "baby" when he did it.

Which is why, when Kon growls "You're fucking mine" in his ear, fingers digging into the flesh of his ass to bounce him on his cock, he can't help it. He cums hard, splashing between their sweat-slick bodies. Conner tries to slow down, to pull out, but that won't do. He needs Kon to cum, to cum from fucking him.

"Keep going," he groans, voice thready.

"You sure?" he asks, and Tim hates that tone of voice. It's a tone Kon sometimes gets before or during or after sex that makes it sound like he cares. It's cruel. 

"Mm-hm," he throws his head back. "Wan'ya to cum. Inside."

"Fuck," Kon exhales, and Tim feels the thrusts in and out start up again. The thought that Kon is so strong he can lift Tim up like he weighs nothing and use him as his personal fleshlight has him moaning, arousal stirring up once more from deep in his abdomen. "Fuck, Tim."

The rush of hot liquid fills Tim up, and it's bittersweet in every sense of the word. He loves this, the pleasure they bring each other, the way they're connected, the feeling of being filled. But he knows he only has minutes before Kon's pulling out of him, before they're cleaning up and going their separate ways. Like always.

He savors it.

And he knows he'll be jerking off to the memory of Kon being so possessive—even if it was just banter, it was fucking hot—every time he's horny for the foreseeable future. He knows he's pathetic.

But before Conner is supposed to get up off him, according to the pre-written script in his head, he's whispering low in Tim's ear, "I know you wanna go again."

"Mm?" 

"I can feel you around me, y'know," he smirks, pressing a kiss to Tim's jaw. "And I can hear it."

"Yeah?" Tim's resigned himself to one-syllable answers as to not show how breathless he is. He doesn't think it's working. 

"Yeah," Kon kisses his earlobe, then grazes the soft skin with his teeth. It's maddening.

"Then make me cum again, Superboy."

Kon pulls out of him, and Tim's not proud of how he whines. The slow trickle of cum leaking out of his ass would make him infinitely more turned-on if he weren't so empty. Luckily, though, two of Conner's fingers find his rim and circle it. The sound he lets out is somewhere between a desperate sob and a moan, and he hopes Kon doesn't hear it for what it is. The fingers trace the path of Kon's cum before scooping it up and pressing it back into Tim's hole.

"Kon," he whispers, and it's like a prayer.

"Hold on, baby," Kon murmurs, gentle fingers rubbing against his used walls, and Tim's too far gone to even think about that one. It feels like no time has passed before he's empty again, and he's fed up.

"Conner."

"Woah, you're needy tonight, huh," he chuckles, and it's so, so mean. Tim's dick twitches. "Don't worry, honey, I won't make you wait."

Kon's shuffling his body down the bed with a fervor that would've made Tim laugh, if it weren't for their current situation, and then he's kissing around his fingers. His fingers inside Tim's ass. 

"Hnng?" he questions.

"I'm gonna make you cum again, like you wanted," he says through a particularly wet kiss. "Robin."

"Fuck, hurry up, then."

And he does. The two digits that were fucking into him just so are removed, replaced by Kon's dexterous tongue. It should feel like less—because it is—but it's so much more. The wet heat of Conner's tongue licking into him, of those spit-slick lips occasionally sucking, of the vibrations from his pleased little hums, it's all so much. Something about it feels so intimate, so different from their usual push-and-pull. Kon is taking his time, and it's making Tim fall apart. It's too much. It's not enough. It's just what he needs.

Tim doesn't have control over what's coming out of his mouth, all "more" and "fuck" and "god, yes, Kon, don't stop." In a sudden motion, Conner pulls Tim impossibly closer to his mouth, shoving his tongue all the way in, and Tim nearly screams. 

"FUCK, Conner!" he shouts, heart fast as a hummingbird and breaths uneven. He's close. He's been close since Kon started eating him out. 

"Mmh," the boy responds, sounding much too pleased with himself as he redoubles his efforts, strong hands kneading into the supple skin of his ass. 

"Oh my god," Tim exhales, and he's orgasming for the second time. This time is much more intense, the waves carry on longer than they did before. Kon continues sucking, kissing, licking him through it until Tim's reaching an uncoordinated hand back, tugging at his hair. "Fuck, 's too much."

Conner's lips quirk up as he comes back to Tim's level, bright blue eyes meeting Tim's half-lidded ones. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," he says, deadpan. Conner laughs, head falling into Tim's neck, and he wishes he could bottle the sound, stash it away for only himself.

He feels himself drifting off already, and he hates it. Hates it, because he wants to drink up every moment he can when Kon is in his bed, when he's soft and somewhat sweet from the sex. But that isn't the way things go. His eyes close without his approval, and he's consumed in slumber.

When Tim wakes up some time later, he's in a clean, cold, empty bed, and he's mad at himself for thinking things were different this time.

You give your love so sweetly

Tim was pissed. Shockingly not because of his arrangement with Kon, but because of Bruce. 

He'd been practically grounded, Robin "privileges" taken away from him. He scoffs at the memory of the fight, of Bruce becoming too level-headed the more Tim yelled. He just wanted to be trusted, was that too much to ask for?

Clearly so, because when he stomped out of the Batcave, a harsh "I'm sleeping at Mount Justice," thrown at Bruce, he's followed all the way up to his room, and Bruce watches him pack an overnight bag to make sure he doesn't bring any Robin gear. By the time he put his toothbrush in the backpack, he's shaking with anger. 

"Satisfied?" he spits out, and doesn't wait for a response. He leaves.

As he sits on the edge of his bed—not even a fraction as comfortable as his bed at the Manor, but he has a point to make, goddamnit—he finally allows the tears to fall.

"Fuck," he sniffs, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It's not enough to hurt, but the pressure is grounding. Before he can fully succumb to his self-pity, though, a gentle knock sounds from his door.

"Come in," he calls, fighting the waver in his voice. As if his situation couldn't get any worse, Conner Kent walks in his room.

"Hey," Kon gives a small smile. He's in his pajamas, a worn Superboy shirt hanging off his collarbone and solid red lounge pants riding low on his hips. His face is pink in the way it is when he's been asleep. He looks soft. 

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" he looks at the boy, pretending he doesn't want to burrow into his warm, Kryptonian side and never leave.

Kon just shakes his head, small smile on his face, even though it's clear Tim huffing and puffing his way into their base most definitely did wake him up. He sits in Tim's desk chair, turning it so he can face him.

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No," Tim says, and Conner nods. It's not accusatory, not pushing, but he knows Tim's lying. Tim lets out a sigh. "It's just-"

He can't find the words. He was so mad, but now he just feels defeated. And Kon's big, earnest eyes are making him want to spill out every thought he's having, explain what he's feeling. The Conner in his head would come over to him, kiss his forehead, then cuddle into him until they both fall asleep, all anger and spite forgotten. Fuck.

"Bruce benched me," he finally gets out. Tears sting his waterline, threatening to fall. "Said I was taking unnecessary risks."

"How long?" Tim knows the real question Kon wants to ask is: were you? But he doesn't, because he knows that would make him feel worse. Tim appreciates it.

"I don't know," he mutters, indignant. "Was too mad to really listen."

Conner hums, thoughtful, getting up from the chair to sit on the bed right next to Tim. The mattress dips under the force of his weight, and he memorizes it. They sit in silence for a moment, and it's clear even through Tim's blurry vision that Kon is choosing his next words carefully.

"Do you ever think about... not being Robin, anymore?"

Tim blinks. He gives a slight twitch of his eyebrows, and Kon's continuing.

"I mean, it just seems like you've kind-of, I don't know, grown out of it?" he shrugs, and his eyes feel like they're looking into Tim's soul. "Maybe it's time to spread your wings and learn to fly as someone else. Or, at least, make your own name. ... Something new. Something that's yours."

Sometimes, as of late, it's easy for Tim forget that Kon has been his best friend for years, that they've been living their lives together since way before his mess of feelings overtook what they had. Have. But Kon knows him, and he always knows what to say. And that was... actually really sound advice.

"Nice metaphor, Kelly Clarkson," he says weakly, and Kon snorts. A smile tugs at his lips against his will. "But thanks. I'll... I'll think about it."

"You'll always be my Robin, though," Kon smiles at him, and when did their faces get so close? "No matter what."

"Yeah?" Tim's eyes drop down to Kon's lips for a split second, and he doesn't know who's leaning in but suddenly they're kissing.

It's slow, gentle. Almost caring. One of Kon's big hands comes up to rest against Tim's cheek, thumb moving in light, steady strokes. Something churns in his gut that's not arousal, and as much as he hates to, he pulls back.

"Not tonight," Tim looks down. He can't bring himself to look Kon in the eyes, see the disappointment. Of course this is how he thought the night would go. It's the only thing Tim's good for anymore. "I'm sorry."

"Hey, it's okay," Kon softly whispers, and the gentle passes of his thumb across Tim's cheekbone become more deliberate, more reassuring, in a way. "I'm not really in the mood either."

Tim feels like his thoughts hit a wall as he tries to dissect that, so he doesn't. But he feels guilty for thinking Kon would be so much of an asshole as to only use him for sex. They were still friends, at least.

"Can you just-" he starts, before cutting himself off. What was he going to say, stay? Leave? Never leave? Love him? Kiss him again? He doesn't know.

"Want me to..." Conner trails off, gesturing to the door, and something desperate is clawing its way into Tim's words.

"No," he blurts. "No. Just... hold me?"

He sounds pathetic even to his own ears. Fuck. Here comes the rejection, the confirmation that yes, Kon has boundaries with Tim that strictly forbid any romance, anything that crosses the line of friends with benefits, that—

"Yeah, sure, Rob," the other boy breathes out, and it's only seconds before he's laying down with warm arms enveloping him. He shifts his head off the pillow and onto Kon's chest. It's bold, and Tim knows he'll regret doing it when he wakes up alone, head on the pillow once more. There's a hitch in Kon's breath, but he settles in nonetheless. Kon's hand, the one that was on his cheek, comes up to card through his hair. His eyes are heavy, he realizes, and they sting from crying. He doesn't have a choice, he closes them. And as his breaths even out, subconsciously matching the rise and fall of Kon's chest, the Conner in his head places a kiss on his forehead. The spot tingles as if it's actually happened, and Tim smiles.

In the morning, he wakes slowly, hand reaching up to rub his bleary eyes. He's alone. He runs a hand over the other side of the bed, the way he always does—hoping his senses have made a mistake, that Kon is right there—and finds it bare. However, it's not as cold as it should be. As it usually is. Had Kon... stayed with him? 

"Pfft," Tim scoffs at his own foolishness. Yeah, right. Even though he hears someone clanging in the kitchen, he figures Cassie or Bart must've stopped by for a morning workout, or something. He re-packs his backpack, changing into new clothes. He has to face Bruce sometime, and there's no time like the present, right?

Tim runs a hand across his face. He lets himself stand there for one second, then two, then three. He straightens his spine, regaining his composure (as if he had any to begin with), and walks out the door. He doesn't look at who's in the kitchen as he passes by, doesn't want to confirm what he already knows. He just leaves.

Tonight, the light of love is in your eyes
But will you love me tomorrow?

They're laying side by side in Conner's bed. Usually, they keep things confined to Tim's room. There's something colder, something more methodical about it. Maybe because of the fact that it belongs to Tim. He's always figured Kon was too warm for him, too bright. It's easier to leave, when it's Tim's. Something about Conner makes you want to slow time down, get stuck in his honey trap of radiant smiles and bronzed skin. Kon's room was dangerous. 

He also definitely felt more comfortable in a space that belonged to him, so after they're done doing whatever it is they've done—this time, it's just a hot and heavy makeout session until they both became too desperate to do anything but grind down on each other—he would flop down on the bed, basking in that post-orgasmic high.

It was like a battle—Tim needed to retreat for the good of his troops, he knows, but there's something so tempting about staying to fight it out. To try and gain ground. To try and win. 

He never does.

Today is not an exception. 

He allows himself one lengthy look-over of Kon's body, the gorgeous expanse of him sprawled out on the bed, the sharp (but not harsh, never harsh) contrast of his warm, tan skin against crisp and cool white sheets. As his eyes savor the end of their trail, Kon's open. Their eyes meet, blue on blue, and something is there. A tenderness, perhaps. Kon pulls the side of his mouth up into a small smile, one that means he's not going to say anything, just smile, and Tim has to leave before he does something stupid. He tears his eyes away from the boy as he pushes himself up off the bed, muttering a half-thought-out excuse about his clothes being dirty. 

Maybe Tim leaves because he's scared of getting hurt, or maybe it's because he knows that tomorrow, when they're out saving the world with Bart and Cassie, none of the tenderness he sees in Kon's gaze will be there. They'll just be Tim and Kon, Robin and Superboy. Friends. Nothing more. And that's a harrowing thought, so he just looks away, shutting his eyes tight as he walks out the door.

Is this a lasting treasure
Or just a moment's pleasure?

They'd just finished a mission briefing, and it was rough. Tim had been leading the charge, as he always did, but Kon was challenging him on what felt like every step of the plan. He'd explain what they were supposed to do, how they'd split the team up, and Kon would oppose it. Suggest a different idea. An idea that didn't make any fucking sense. The ideas that Tim proposed were the best plan of action. That's why he made the plans for Young Justice. They worked. And, frankly, Kon was pissing him off. So much that he didn't even want to fuck the smirk off his face. And that was saying something—it took a lot for Tim to not want to fuck Kon. 

As the meeting comes to a close, Tim can tell the others are weary to leave on such a poor note. He locks eyes with Cassie, signaling that it's fine. He'll just go back to the Manor and blow off some steam in the Bat-gym. That'll make him feel better. 

Before he can leave the base, though, he's cornered. 

"Fuck do you want," he tosses at Kon, who scoffs at him. 

"What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" he asks, bewildered. "What's wrong with you?"

"I'm not the one planning missions that take unnecessary risks, Robin."

"Yeah, 'cause your ideas are so perfect, Superboy," he mocks. He's so mad.

"God, Tim, you're so fucking frustrating," Kon exhales, and then he's snatching Tim closer, smashing their lips together. It's not sweet, it's not gentle. It's a fight.

Tim grabs a fistful of Kon's hair and pulls. Kon moans, tongue going slack in his mouth, allowing Tim to gain control of the kiss. It's sloppy, it's rough. It's perfect.

"Do you ever," Kon pulls back to let out a breathy moan, but Tim chases his mouth. "Let other—ah, fuck—people take charge?"

Tim just grunts, too enraged by the words to immediately grant him a response and instead bites roughly at Conner's bottom lip. He wishes he could draw blood, mark him up. But he can't, so he has to compensate.

"No," he finally grunts out in response, harshly shoving the boy back. "Get on your knees and fucking suck my dick."

Kon's pupils dilate until there's only a sliver of blue visible. "What?"

"You heard me."

Tim has half a mind to think that he might've gone too far, but before he can say anything Kon is dropping to his knees, face flushed and jaw already slack just looking up at him.

"Good boy," he derides, fake pity on his face, and Kon shivers. "Well? Go on."

Trembling hands find the waistbands of his pants and boxers, and as soon as those fingers hook in, they're being pulled down. 

The sudden rush of cool air is a sharp contrast to how hot his skin feels. He doesn't know how much is from anger and how much is from arousal, he just knows it's all from Kon. And fuck, if that doesn't amplify everything.

Kon kitten licks at Tim's exposed cockhead, and he groans. After a minute of this slow, wondrous torture, he can't take it anymore. 

"Get on with it," he complains, tugging at Kon's curls.

They haven't broken eye contact once, but Conner's eyes shut at the pull of his hair. He's leaning in, mouth open, eyes closed, to swallow Tim's cock down. They both moan at the pressure, and even as he reaches the base Kon is still somehow trying to take him deeper. His eyes finally reopen, though they're half-lidded and filled with nothing but lust. Kon knows what he's doing as he lets out an obscene moan around him, not pausing for even a second as he begins sucking readily. The hand in Kon's hair tightens, making him hum in pleasure. 

"Conner," Tim pants out. The boy just hums again, vibrations adding the perfect amount of extra stimulation. But before he can even get into it, Kon is pulling off him. "Wha-"

"Fuck my face, Tim," Kon sounds wrecked, somehow winded. "Do it like you hate me. I want you to take what you need."

"Jesus," he exhales, fingers finding Kon's soft hair once more, this time with purpose.

He drags the boy closer to his cock, and Kon sticks his tongue out. It should look silly, but the only thing it does is send a hot wave of need coursing through him.

"Fuck, Kon," he takes in a sharp breath as that hot, wet mouth engulfs him again. 

He remembers the words from not even two minutes ago, and uses the hand nestled in Kon's hair to set a steady pace, fucking his dick deep into Kon's throat. Tim can't even describe the sounds coming from the other boy, just that they're absolutely, totally, one hundred percent driving him mad.

"God, you sound like a fuckin' pornstar," he laughs breathily. "Can't even get you to shut up from this, 'cause you like it too much."

Kon garbles out something that sounds like the word "fuck," but he can't be sure, and reaches a hand of his own up to grasp the one in his hair. He wants Tim to pull harder.

"You're gonna be the death of me, Kon," he says, too truthfully. He yanks Conner's hair, turning every aspect of this rougher, but he doesn't care because the boy is making the hottest (and loudest) sounds.

Tim sees him snake a hand into his own pants, zipper magically undone, and he tuts meanly.

"Uh-uh," he scolds. "Over the boxers. Behave for me."

Conner eagerly nods, though it's only slightly possible due to the cock filling his mouth. The corner of Tim's mouth quirks up. 

He sucks Tim with single-minded passion, never once letting up even as he continues to pull his hair, guiding him up and down. Kon's using his tongue, curling it to lick and slurp around the underside of his leaking cock. Tim's closer than he wants to be, yet the pleasure is too sensational for him to have any say in the matter.

"Conner," he moans, and the boy keens. "Conner! Fuck, I'm gonna cum."

He moves to pull Kon off him—he's still courteous enough to not choke him by doing it down his throat—but is suddenly halted. Kon has planted himself on the floor, staying put. Tim tries again but realizes he can't move Kon's head. And fuck, the thought that Conner lets Tim move him all the time? That he gives up control, doesn't show his true Kryptonian strength, in favor of Tim pushing him around? It's too much, and with a deliberate bob of Kon's head he's cumming. The boy pulls himself back, the little shit, until he's just sucking on the sensitive tip, cum coating his tongue instead of his throat, and Tim's eyes roll to the back of his head. Kon's are half-lidded, looking blissed out as he continues happily lapping at the tip, swallowing everything Tim gives him.

"Y'did such a good job, Konnie," he slurs, barely audible, but he knows Kon can hear him. "Lots of improvement from the mission brief." 

"Mmph!" Kon makes a particularly needy sound as the last of Tim's orgasm passes, and he's shuddering, taking Tim down to the hilt again. As Tim looks back down at him, confused by the sensation, he realizes Kon's cumming. In his pants. From sucking him off. Fuck.

It's the hottest thing he's ever seen.

Kon stays there for a while, breathing loudly as he comes down from the feeling. When he pulls off, it's with a small kiss to the tip, and Tim's breath hitches. 

"Still mad at me?" he grins.

"Oh my god, shut up," Tim rolls his eyes, unfurling his hand still wrapped in Conner's hair to gently push his forehead. Kon lets himself be moved. 

"I'm pretty cooled off, myself," he continues, watching Tim pull his pants back on and zip them up with a sparkle in his eyes.

"I'm sure you are," he teases back, patting Kon's cheek. 

He laughs and stands up, finally. Something in the air shifts as they make eye contact, Tim slightly looking up into those gorgeous eyes crinkled in a smile. Kon looks down at his mouth, then back at his eyes. 

"See you tomorrow," he says, smile not leaving his face as he leans in to peck Tim on the lips, short and sweet. "Bye!"

Tim watches him walk away.

They don't do... that, and it's cruel to experience it even once. He knows he's stupid for loving Conner, for wanting anything more than what they already have, but he can't help it. Something romantic inside him thinks he was made to love Kon, even if he never got any love back. Even if the only thing he ever got from him was sex. If the kisses didn't mean anything, no matter how much they made his heart flip in his chest. It could be enough, if Tim willed it to be.

And he'd take it.

Can I believe the magic of your sighs?
Will you still love me tomorrow?

Tim doesn't know why, but they're in Kon's room again. He wasn't complaining—Kon's bed was somehow much more comfortable than Tim's was, even though he's pretty sure they're all supposed to be the same—but he didn't understand the sudden change of scenery. What they had before worked just fine, and better yet it was constant. Now, every time they fuck, Tim has to wonder whose room they're sneaking up into, and he doesn't like the added variable. But it's fine. He doesn't want to bring it up and risk ending the arrangement altogether.

Especially after today. Sure, sex with Kon was always hot, but it wasn't often that Tim was the one tiring him out, so that definitely brought it up a few notches. At least in Tim's book. Because—well, here's the thing. Kon got desperate when he wasn't in control. He'd whine and beg and plead for Tim, so pliant he's putty in his hands. And Tim liked that. He liked that a lot. He always knew he liked to bring other people pleasure, but with Kon? Making Conner Kent cum was damn-near better than orgasming himself, because he made him feel like he was needed. 

And, woah. 

But, regardless of that, Tim had the Kryptonian pinned down on the bed, hips straining from the desire to thrust up into his tight, already cum-slick hole, begging to cum for a fifth time (goddamn alien stamina). Tim had been riding him for almost two hours with no release himself, but Kon needed this. So, Tim would give it to him. And what a sight he was—flushed pink down to his glorious pecs and all sprawled out on his own bed, though Tim was the one calling the shots. His lips were bitten red and shiny with spit, wetness only growing as the tears pouring down his face (that had started some time between his third and fourth orgasm) met that plush cupid's bow.

Conner's breath hitched as Tim changed his angle, now more of a slam than the bouncing from before. Tim knew he would have trouble walking for at least a few hours after this, but he didn't care. Not when Kon looked at him like that.

"Talk to me," that whiny, almost pathetic voice whispered, and Tim knew what he wanted. What he needed.

"Fuck, Kon, you're so big," he groans out, not entirely of his own accord. Conner's head falls back in a needy moan, eyes squeezing shut to stop the flow of tears. "Your cock feels so—mmph—so good inside me."

"Tim," Kon's voice was little more than an exhale, but it was still enough for Tim to hear.

"You always fuck me so well," he continued. "Even when you're not doing anything, when you're just laying there looking pretty."

"Hnng," he whines.

"You're so good, Conner. So good."

Tim didn't know what it was about the words of praise that got Kon going, but he wasn't opposed to it. Definitely not. It was sexy, watching him fall apart from just a little bit of reassurance. And, it was one of the few ways he could show the true extent of his feelings, his appreciation. 

He knew by the tell-tale pulse of Kon's cock inside him that he was close, and Tim was, too. 

"C'mon, cum with me, make me cum," his pace grew restless, one step away from frantic. "Fill me up, Kon. C'mon. Make me feel it."

That must've hit the nail on the head, because all of a sudden Kon's arching his back off the mattress, sheets clinging to his hot, sticky skin as he cums for the fifth time that night. Tim rides him through it, his own spend spurting onto those delicious pectoral muscles. He should stop his assault on Kon's dick, he knows, but that white-hot pressure against his prostate is so good, even as it nears the point of overstimulation. Especially then.

"Fuck, Kon," he sighed, all but collapsing into the boy. He can't help the way he's still rocking his hips back and forth to feel that sweet, sweet pressure. "It feels so good."

"Jesus Christ, Tim," Kon chuckles, hand running over his eyes, and Tim smiles to himself. It turns into a smirk, though, as he catches sight of the white streaks across Kon's chest. He leans his head down, maintaining eye contact as he licks his cum off the broad muscle. Kon groans. He keeps some of it in his mouth even as he continues to lick because then he's lifting his head back up, capturing Kon's wet lips in a filthy kiss. And it is, undeniably, filthy. He hears the wet noises coming from the smacking of their tongues, the suction of their lips, and he'd be right to feel embarrassed, but they're past that point. They've transcended it, even.

"Fuck, I can't go again. But you—that—I wish I could," Kon says, eyes earnest. Too earnest.

"Mm," Tim hums, pleased, finally lifting himself up off him. He halfheartedly grabs the small towel on the nightstand and wipes himself down, but ultimately settles for laying on his stomach a while.

Kon's on his back still, hands up by his head and he looks so comfortable. Like he's... about to fall asleep.

He is.

His breaths are becoming softer, more even. Kon never falls asleep after sex, so Tim is genuinely proud that he's worn the boy out enough to warrant this reaction. It's surprisingly sweet.

Kon's sighing, a high, happy sound, on every other breath out as he continues to drift off. It's cute.

Tim has to go.

He can't do this to himself.

He haphazardly tugs some clothes back on, and then he's gone—but not without granting himself a longing stare at Kon's figure, naked and wonderful and tucked so sweetly underneath the covers. He wishes he had the privilege of kissing those soft cheeks, brushing the stray curls away from his eyes. But he doesn't. And he won't.

So he leaves.

Tonight with words unspoken
You say that I'm the only one
But will my heart be broken
When the night (when the night)
Meets the mor- (meets the morning sun)

The next time Tim finds himself in bed with Conner is more than a week later. They've seen each other, sure, but never alone or in a context where they'd be able to sneak off. Tim can hardly stand the feeling of being next to him without touching, without intertwining the very soul inside him with Kon's. No one else knows what they're doing; it's their little secret. And he's crushed under the weight of that when they're in a room together, surrounded by other people. When they sit next to each other during team game night and have to pretend they weren't coming undone beneath one another just a few days before. It's torture. 

But it's also exhilarating.

Which is why, he thinks, they're rolling around Tim's bed now, trading messy, open-mouthed kisses.

"Mm, Tim," Conner mumbles, low and pleased, into the soft skin of his neck. He's making his way down Tim's throat, sucking and biting—though not hard enough to leave a mark, much to Tim's dismay—then soothing with passes of his hot, wet tongue. "Y'smell so good."

A puff of air leaves Tim's nose, something that wouldn't count as a laugh if it came from anyone other than him. 

"What?" Kon pulls back for a few seconds, affronted. "You do."

"Okay," Tim smiles at the boy's antics as that mouth moves to his collarbone, now. He puts his hands on the knees bracketing either side of his waist, running his hands up the corded muscle of Kon's thighs. Kon hums appreciatively, moving one of his own hands to snake its way up Tim's shirt. Those warm fingers trace and tease over his cool skin, feather-light. "Mmph, Kon, take it off."

He listens. Gently tugging the fabric off Tim's head and arms, Kon presses burning kisses up his stomach until he's at Tim's mouth again, their tongues tangling together.

That sneaky hand fumbles its way to the zipper of his pants, pausing there to ask a silent question, and Tim's nodding into the kiss, small "mm-hm" leaving his mouth and entering Kon's.

Then his jeans are being tugged down the full length of his legs by something that's not hands, because he feels two familiar hands gripping his waist, and oh. Kon is using his tactile telekinesis to take his pants off so he can use his own hands to feel Tim up. Oh. 

"Conner," he moans. 

"Yeah, you liked that?" Kon smirks against his lips, and it makes him feel wild. They make out for a few more minutes—or maybe it's hours, Tim can't tell—before Tim is pulling back, though not without a fight. It's like Conner can't breathe if the air isn't coming from Tim's mouth, with the way he's chasing Tim's lips as he draws himself away.

"Your turn," Tim manages to say before being recaptured in a heady kiss.

Kon does break away from him after a moment, though, and there's a gleam in his eyes. The gleam he gets before doing something to drive Tim crazy.

He shifts in his spot on top of Tim, granting him a split second of pleasure as their crotches grind together, before clambering off him to stand up, moving to the foot of the bed. He's in Tim's direct line of sight. Tim doesn't know what's going to happen. 

But once he slowly bends down to peel his own socks off, Tim realizes.

Kon is giving him a strip tease.

Something catches in his throat and he feels like he can't look away from the boy in front of him. He doesn't want to miss a single second of this.

So, he watches.

Kon has his arms above his head, tugging his shirt off in the way he always does, though this time instead of swift and sexy it's slow as molasses and maddening.

Tim nearly gasps at each inch of skin that's revealed. Those perfect, carved-from-marble abs flex as Kon continues lifting his shirt up painfully slowly. His bronze skin, always evenly tanned due to his trips near the sun to recharge, is completely unmarked. No scars, no scrapes, no bruises. No hickies, no scratch marks (though not for a lack of trying on Tim's part). He knows no one would be able to mark him up, but Tim always checks. Just to make sure. 

As Conner's pecs come into view, Tim's pretty sure he does actually gasp. They bounce slightly as his shirt is completely pulled off and Tim wants to put his mouth on that muscle, swirl his tongue over hardening nipples and make Kon burn with desire, get him to whine in that way he does—all "please, Tim," and "c'mon, more," and "stop teasing me." 

His dick throbs in his boxers, achingly hard, but he doesn't try to relieve it. He just wants to watch.

His eyes are dragged to Kon's unreasonably large biceps and he tries to gulp, but his throat is too dry. So he just chokes, suspiciously sounding like a half-moan, and watches the big, bulging muscle move as Kon undoes the button of his pants. Twitch as he slowly tugs the zipper down. Flex and harden as he reaches for the waistband of his pants. 

Of course, Conner can't do anything halfway, and has to point out Tim's obvious lack of control over the situation. 

"Enjoying the show?" he teases, though it's airy and sounds like... like he's turned on by Tim watching him undress, too.

Tim tries to come up with something witty to throw back at him, he swears he does, but all that comes out of his mouth is a needy "Yeah."

Tim sees Kon's throat bob in a swallow as he moves to continue, hooking his thumbs in between his boxers and pants to finally, finally tug down. Because he's going so slow, though, Tim sees the way Conner's pants catch moving over his bulge, pausing the path for a few seconds, and his mouth waters. It's no secret to him that Kon is big, but seeing his pants get stuck going over it? Oh, Tim is about ready to pounce to get that inside him. Kon's dragging his pants down the rest of the way, but Tim only has eyes for the prominent tent in his boxers. Kon starts to walk back closer to the bed, presumably to crawl on top of Tim and resume their makeout session, but Tim tuts out:

"I think you're forgetting something."

"Tim," Kon whines, and he sounds scandalized. Which is funny, coming from the guy who just put on a strip show. 

"Go on, then," he adds, trying to come off as unaffected. One look at his face—or down his body—quickly disproves that, though.

Kon listens. Of course he does. All previous teasing is lost, replaced with urgency as he all but rips his underwear off and in the blink of an eye, he's saddling himself over Tim, rock-hard cock straining against his stomach between them. 

"Your turn," he whispers Tim's words from before back at him, TTK hands removing Tim's boxers and gripping at his ass during the motion. His eyes are fixed on Tim's drooling cock as he breaths out, mesmerized: "Someone's excited."

"That's bold, 'cause 'm pretty sure y'could cut diamond with that thing," Tim retorts, nodding his head down at Kon, though he's panting with need. 

"Mhm," Kon just hums, not wanting to waste time with a response, and wraps his arms around Tim, connecting their lips in an all-consuming kiss. Their tongues move against each other like they were made to do only this. Wet, smacking sounds that would gross him out otherwise echo around the room and the only thing he feels is Kon, Kon, Kon. 

There are invisible fingers—or maybe they're tendrils, he doesn't know, he only knows that it feels amazing—moving around his rim, opening him up with lube that came from god-knows-where. The slick glide has Tim hot all over, arching his back to press himself closer into Kon's body. 

"Conner," he sighs.

"I know, honey, I'll give you more," Kon mumbles back into his mouth, sucking on his bottom lip before going back to devouring him.

And suddenly the TTK fingers feel doubled from what they were before, pushing against his walls as they continue stretching him so nicely. Tim's mouth opens in a gasp at the pressure, and Kon takes advantage of the situation by beginning to suck on his tongue. His hips jerk forward, sliding both of their untouched cocks along one another, making Tim cry out and Kon exhale a shaky "fuck." Before he can decide whether to shift back against those fingers or rut up against him, there's something warm and wet enveloping his cock, pressing it against Kon's. Did he-

"Conner Kon-El Kent—is that a telekinetic fleshlight?"

"Nice middle name, birdie," Kon chuckles, though he's grabbing desperately at Tim's sides, kneading the skin there.

"Oh, fuck you," Tim laughs, breathy, but attacks the boy's lips once again, their tongues clashing together. They both groan as the invisible force around their dicks starts moving, a steady up and down, squeezing them just enough. Their leaking tips press against one another, causing a fresh new wave of arousal to course through him, and after a few more minutes of that wonderful, torturous stimulation, he moans:

"Fuck me."

"Yeah?" Kon infers, even though it's not a question. He knows the answer, and he's trying to rile Tim up. It won't work.

"Conner," Tim narrows his eyes at him, though he doubts he's very intimidating when his eyes were already half-lidded, pupils blown until barely any blue was left.

"Yeah, alright," he acquiesces, and the mystery fingers are leaving his ass, he and Kon aren't being jerked off together anymore. It's only seconds, though, before Conner's sublimely thick cock is pushing its way into his waiting hole, covered in lube. Was it TTK lube or regular lube just put on at superspeed? Tim doesn't think twice about it because he's throwing his head back, baring his throat for Kon to attach himself to once more. "Fuck, Tim. You're so tight."

As if to make a point, he slightly lifts his hips to push Kon in the rest of the way, hitting deep inside him.

"Tim."

"C'mon, Kon, I said fuck me," Tim says, and he's sure he looks wild—hair mussed against the pillow, lips slick with a mixture of his and Kon's saliva, cheeks definitely flushed. He gently twists a hand in Conner's hair to pull him into a kiss, and the second their lips meet he's getting what he asked for. Kon pulls out halfway before pushing back in, the glide so, so good. 

Their lips are smacking together in an unorganized kiss, messy and wet and absolutely electrifying because it's Tim and Kon, and everything is ten times better when it's them.

Tim's making utterly debauched sounds that Kon just swallows up, hands gripping his ass squeezing a bit tighter. His hand that isn't tangled in Kon's hair is running up and down his back, blunt nails slightly raking at that invulnerable skin. It pains him greatly that there won't be any marks left on him, nothing to prove that Tim was there. He scrapes harder against the skin as Kon picks up the pace of his thrusts to make up for it. Show Kon who he belongs to, even if there's no physical proof left behind after the fact. 

"Mmph, baby, you tryna mark me up?" Conner all but mewls into the kiss. Tim just kisses him harder in response, hoping it conveys what he means it to. Or, maybe he doesn't hope that. He doesn't know. All he knows is that he wants to say back: Yes. I love you. Keep calling me that. Mean it. Kiss me, fuck me, love me. Never stop. Never leave. He doesn't have to, because Kon is encouraging him with a: "You're gonna have to try harder than that, pretty bird."

And, so, Tim's pressing his nails into his trap muscles with a force that would've had anyone else hissing in pain, but Kon just groans, high and needy. Tim wishes he could see crescent-shaped indents when they're laying down later, coming down from the aftershocks—or maybe the exhibitionist part of him wants everyone to see them, when Kon inevitably takes his shirt off during training—but he guesses he'll just have to settle for living in this moment. He doesn't know when it happened, but one of them pulled back from the kiss and now they're just looking at each other.

Tim sees Kon's face as he pounds into him, and he can tell that, even with all he powers he could tune into, he's keenly watching Tim to make sure he feels good. And that has Tim letting out an embarrassing sound, something caught between a moan and a whimper. Kon fucks into him harder, deeper, looking gorgeous above him, like the powerful being he is—and all Tim's.

"Kon, ungh, right there," his eyebrows are knitted up in an expression of pure bliss, and he feels so dirty making eye contact right now, but it's much too sexy for him to break it. Even if he feels his sanity slipping away.

"You look so good underneath me, baby," Kon grunts as he thrusts particularly hard. "Like you should just stay there, forever."

And for a split second, when Tim's looking deep into his eyes, he can pretend that everything is how it should be. That the look in Kon's eyes is love, that he's consciously calling Tim those sweet pet names, that he isn't going to leave after this.

He can't look away.

I'd like to know that your love
Is love I can be sure of
So tell me now, and I won't ask again
Will you still love me tomorrow?