think pink

by suzukiblu

Summary:

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?"

"It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back.

Notes:

lol look I'm here, I'm queer, and I'm not sorry for any of this.

Chapter 1

"So, uh . . ." Kon says, skeptically eyeing the softly glowing rock in his hand. Metallo, like, threw it at his head. He has no idea why. "Is this supposed to do something or . . . ?"

"It's pink," Kara says leerily, staying very firmly back. Like, unexpectedly far back, in fact.

"Yeah, I'm not actually blind, thanks," Kon says, turning the rock over and squinting at it. It continues not to do anything, aside from the glowing thing.

"No, it's pink kryptonite," she stresses.

". . . it literally doesn't hurt at all, though?" Kon says. Though he probably should've figured it was some kind of kryptonite, given that Metallo had it and had apparently thought he could hurt him with it.

Seriously, though, his gloves are fingerless and he's got it right in his hand. It should be hurting him, if it's actually kryptonite.

"Pink kryptonite doesn't work like that," Kara says, edging a little farther back. They're floating a few hundred feet in the air right now, but from the way she's acting Kon's vaguely concerned that he might be about to explode or something. "It just affects our sexual . . . urges."

"Oh," Kon says, frowning in confusion. Weird, but . . . "Is that all?"

"I don't mean like it makes you horny, Kon, I mean like it makes you homosexual," Kara hisses, looking mortified. "And don't ask how I know, alright?!"

Kon . . . blinks.

"What the literal fuck?" he asks incredulously, just staring at her. "How does that even–are you telling me Metallo went and chucked gay kryptonite at me in the middle of a fight?"

"Yes!" Kara says, still clearly mortified. "So just–just stay over there with it until somebody shows up with a lead box, okay?! The effects will stop after we get it contained."

"Alright, alright. So then do you think the dude was flirting with me or is he just a fucking idiot?" Kon jokes, balancing the kryptonite on his index finger with his TTK. "Although I really don't think he'd be my type either way. Like, nothing against cyborgs in general, obviously, just the whole thing with him being a murderous supervillain who literally runs on kryptonite seems like it'd make us totally star-crossed. I want somebody I can actually commit to, you know?"

"Sure," Kara says, still eyeing the kryptonite with serious trepidation. It's really not helping Kon feel less like a time bomb, to be honest. Is there like some other side effect that he should be worrying about right now or something? Like, is he missing something here?

"You seem kinda high-strung about this," he observes, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Look, you'd have avoided it too if you'd dealt with it before!" she says protestingly. "So stay over there and definitely keep it away from Kal, I don't know if Jimmy ever really recovered from the last time."

"Oh, well, congrats to Jimmy, I guess," Kon says, since he can't really see a downside to scoring a one-night stand with Superman. Like, a downside for somebody who isn't literally his clone, he means. The clone thing would definitely make it weird.

Just it's also Clark, though, so he'd probably be the generous type in bed. Like, the sort to really take care of somebody. Be as gentle as happened to be appropriate but also be down if his partner maybe wanted it a little rough for whatever reason. And he'd definitely be able to go all night. Again, Kon isn't gonna go there himself, it really would be too weird, but he can make a logical conclusion. Extrapolate one. Whatever.

Then again he'd be down with Power Girl absolutely destroying him whenever the fuck she wanted to and she's genetically his . . . some form of cousin or something, he guesses. His half-cousin from another reality. So really, Clark's not even that weird an option. And like, all appearances aside Kon's a binary clone anyway, not even a one-for-one match, sooooo . . .

Actually it's probably weirder that he thinks Power Girl is so unspeakably hot but comparatively Kara is just . . . fine? Like, that's a little odd, isn't it?

Maybe it's an attitude thing. Or the costume.

Might be safe to blame the costume, yeah.

It's just such a good costume. Like, Kon aspires to reach that level of costume.

But really, all that aside he still doesn't even know what the big deal about temporarily going gay is, although to be fair he's also currently talking to Supergirl and not, like . . . literally any dude whatsoever. So like, who knows how weird this stuff might actually make him under those circumstances. Maybe it like fucks with inhibitions and stuff too?

Yeah, hell if he knows. He's really only dealt with green kryptonite before. He was vaguely aware that other colors existed and apparently did different stuff, but . . . this just seems very different, put it that way.

Maybe best to avoid Jimmy Olsen for a little while, Kon decides privately. The guy probably doesn't need that.

Besides, Clark apparently got there first anyway and Kon just really doesn't want to be worrying about measuring up. Miss him with that, thanks.

. . . although maybe he'll go visit Tim later.

Eh, no, Kara made it sound like the pink K's gonna stop affecting him pretty quick once they box it up, so not much point in bothering. Though maybe he'll visit just to hang, come to think of it; they haven't seen each other in almost a whole week. Well, he hasn't seen Tim, at least–who knows how much Bat-surveillance Tim's seen him through.

Kon should maybe sweep his room for bugs again. Note to self.

Although would it be weird to just like . . . keep the pink kryptonite, maybe? Since it apparently doesn't actually hurt anyone or anything? Because that could be, well . . . just interesting, that's all. Like, Kon is open to exploring that experience. Just–as an experience.

"Actually, you're surprisingly not high-strung about this," Kara says.

"Am I?" Kon asks. "I mean, it's not that big a deal, is it?"

She stares at him.

"Kon," she says slowly. "Pink kryptonite affects your sexuality. It makes you attracted to people you're not normally attracted to. It confuses you and everyone around you and it is really freaking embarrassing to explain afterwards."

"I've been mind-controlled into shaving my head and breaking my best friend's arm," Kon says, continuing to not really see what the big deal is. "That was embarrassing. And fucking traumatic. This? This is just kinda weird."

"Only kinda?" Kara asks incredulously. "You're one of the straightest guys I know! How are you just fine with this?!"

"I mean to be fair, that's probably making some unfair generalizations about straight guys," Kon points out. Kara stares at him. "What?"

"I don't even know how to respond to that," she says.

"Sorry?" Kon says, then tucks the pink kryptonite into his jacket pocket with a shrug. He's not trying to hide it or anything; just getting kinda sick of holding it. And it's that or he either ditches it somewhere or starts tossing it around and that'd probably be . . . just, well, absolutely epically stupid of him.

Or it seems like it would be, anyway. Whatever color it is, it's still kryptonite.

"I mentioned keeping that away from Kal, right?" Kara says.

"Yeah, on that note, are they like . . . done down there yet?" Kon asks, glancing down towards the mess of the street that Clark's standing on a few hundred feet below with a whole bunch of randos from S.T.A.R. Labs, for some reason. Somebody mentioned something about neutralizing Metallo's kryptonite heart without actually killing him, but mostly it was science talk and clearly theoretical anyway so to be honest Kon'd kinda tuned it all out as "not currently relevant", and that's all he knows.

"Definitely not," Kara says.

"I'm gonna call Robin while we're killing time, then," Kon says, pulling out his phone.

"You're going to call your closest male friend," Kara says. "Right now. While you've got pink kryptonite in your pocket."

"Yup," Kon says, already pulling up Tim's contact.

"Can you not see how that might be a bad idea at the moment?" Kara asks. "Not in any way whatsoever?"

"Well I'm not calling Impulse," Kon replies reasonably. Kara stares at him again, for some reason.

Eh, whatever.

He calls Tim.

"Hey, Conner, what's up?" Tim answers distractedly, which Kon doesn't hold against him because when isn't Tim distracted, really. Dude's got too much going on in that head of his, for real. He's just glad the guy ever picks up the phone at all.

"So apparently I'm gay right now," Kon greets conversationally, figuring he should lead with that just in case he actually is about to do something embarrassing to explain. "Pink kryptonite is fucking weird, man."

". . . uh," Tim says as Kara covers her face with her hands. "What?"

"Pink kryptonite makes you gay, Kara says," Kon says. "And we're both just kind of chilling above downtown Metropolis waiting for Kal to finish up with the science-y people so we can get said pink K locked up, so I'm bored out of my mind right now and calling you to complain about it."

"You're calling me," Tim says slowly. "While you're . . . gay."

"What, is he asking to come over?" another voice asks from the phone, sounding amused. It takes Kon a second to recognize it, but–oh yeah, that's the mysterious Bernard, isn't it?

Right, Tim has a boyfriend now. Kon's never actually met him on account of being the worst at secret identities and the whole thing that is Bernard living very firmly in Gotham, land of "no outside capes allowed unless you're either a supervillain or Batman's too dead to stop you", but he's heard him over the phone a couple times now, although they've never actually personally talked. So maybe thinking about Tim while being high on pink kryptonite isn't actually, like, kosher? Or polite. Or whatever.

. . . then again, Bernard did ask.

"I don't know, maybe?" Kon says thoughtfully, considering the idea. "Are you open to me coming over?"

"Yes," Bernard says.

"Bernard," Tim says.

"Babe, I know we're pretending I don't know you're an ass-kicking vigilante and all but come on, don't make me turn down Superboy," Bernard says wryly.

"We're–wait, pretending?!" Tim sputters.

"Pretending so, so hard," Bernard confirms, sounding nothing but fond. Kon's actually a little jealous of that tone of voice, he's gotta admit. Like–it's been a bit since anybody's talked to him that way, is all. "But like, if you actually thought you were being subtle maybe you shouldn't talk about kryptonite on the phone right in front of me or put themed emojis next to all your superfriends' civilian names in your contacts list?"

"Oh my god, you do that?!" Kon asks with a gleeful cackle, immediately forgetting everything else in favor of that absolutely delightful piece of information. "You're the worst! Batman just rolled over in his grave and Oracle is absolutely losing her shit on the other end of her wiretap!"

"B's not even dead right now," Tim says in exasperation. "And if O cared she'd have already hacked my phone and changed them. And for the record plenty of people put random superhero emojis next to their friends' names, that's a totally normal thing to do!"

"Usually the random superhero emojis aren't associated with contact pics that are dead fucking ringers for said superheroes," Bernard says, sounding amused again. "Just as a thing and all."

". . . anyway so you're gay today, how's that going for you, Conner?" Tim says as Bernard laughs gleefully in the background. "Triggering any unfortunate mental health crisises or anything? Making you worry about the validity of your masculinity? Because I can safely assure you that's all bullshit and you're fine."

"Naw, I know all that, being gay is just a thing," Kon says with a shrug. "Kara's being a little weird about it but honestly it's going way better than, like, the times supervillains mind-controlled me into being into them. Like just as an overall experience, I mean."

"Wait, how many times has that come up?" Tim asks in bemusement.

"I dunno?" Kon shrugs again. "I mean you were there for the Poison Ivy incident, and then Gorgeous Gilly happened to me a while later, which was, uh, genuinely horrifying because she tried to literally marry me during all that, so . . . I think just the twice, probably? But don't quote me on that, I don't even remember what I had for breakfast."

"And how is Kara being weird, exactly?" Tim says in his very unsubtle "assessing my teammate's psychological condition" voice.

"Oh, she's mostly just avoiding me?" Kon says, as a guy who's personally not really all that concerned with his psychological condition at the moment. "Because I've got the rock in my pocket on account of not wanting to just leave it lying around somewhere and she doesn't want to get affected by it. I don't know why, I don't really get why it matters."

"I mean it matters, definitely," Bernard says. "Like it very strongly matters to a lot of people."

"Fair, but I think we're all too invulnerable to really have to worry about getting gay-bashed or anything," Kon reasons. "Like, at least not as a heat of the moment thing."

". . . god can you imagine the world we would live in if every piece of shit gay-basher had to deal with the consequences of punching fucking Superman?" Bernard says feelingly. "For real."

"Oh, pink K's temporary," Kon clarifies. "Kal's not gay anymore."

"Hold up, I'm sorry, are you saying that at some point he was?" Bernard demands in obvious delight. "Is that what you're telling me right now?"

"I guess he was into redheads?" Kon says, tilting his head. "Slightly twinky redheads, specifically. Which I don't blame him for, I'm gonna be honest."

"Well now I know that forever, thanks," Tim says dryly.

"Alternate option: he could've been into Batman," Kon points out.

"Redheads it is," Tim says. "You just . . . redhead away over there."

"I mean I thought about it, kinda," Kon admits.

"Ngh," Tim says, for some reason.

"No thinking about Batman, though?" Bernard asks with a snicker.

"Not so much," Kon says, making a face. "Did consider having some Superman thoughts but I'm apparently not that narcissistic, surprisingly enough."

"Kon!" Kara chokes.

"Tell me you've never considered having Superman thoughts and I'll tell you you're a fucking liar," Kon snorts, shooting her a dry look. "Weren't you like totally naked when you first showed up on Earth? And then he found you like that and wrapped you up in his cape all nice and gentlemanly and took you home with him?"

"He is my baby cousin and you're being affected by pink kryptonite poisoning!" Kara accuses, her face bright red.

"Wait, is it actually poisoning me?" Kon says with a frown. "I feel like you should've led with it actually poisoning me, if that's actually a thing."

"Well no, not actually, it's physically harmless," Kara says grudgingly, folding her arms. "But you're still being affected! You're having Superman thoughts, of all things!"

"He just seems like he'd be considerate," Kon says reasonably. "Like, you know. Biblically."

"Ngh," Tim says, again for no apparent reason. Bernard sounds like he might be laughing. Or choking? Or maybe both; it's unclear.

"Please don't hit on Kal," Kara says. "Especially don't hit on Kal with pink kryptonite in your pocket. I don't want to know how that situation would end up."

"Ideally with him being considerate," Kon says. Tim chokes. Kara covers her face again.

"Does pink kryptonite affect your inhibitions too or are you just always like this?" Bernard asks curiously.

"Eh, pretty sure I'm just always like this, going by the things I've definitely still not been forgiven for saying to Power Girl," Kon says, idly tapping a finger against the side of his phone case. "Like, pretty damn sure at this point."

"That is unfortunately accurate," Tim agrees resignedly.

"So you're saying it is ethically okay to have Superboy over while he's gay," Bernard says in a promisingly speculative tone. Kon grins. Just a little, but yeah–definitely he grins. Kara grimaces, because she is absolutely no fun whatsoever.

Spoilsport.

"I did not in any way say that," Tim retorts dubiously.

"I mean that's what I heard, man, and I'm the one with super-hearing in this conversation," Kon says with a wider grin. "My inhibitions are all inhibited and my personal opinions of people are all the same, I'm just currently batting for the other team."

"So your normal opinion of me is that if you were gay, you'd come over," Tim says dryly.

"Yeah?" Kon says, raising an eyebrow. "I mean, obviously."

"How is that obvious?" Tim says.

"Because I already come over every time you let me," Kon reminds him.

"Oh yeah?" Bernard says slyly. "And how often does he let you come, exactly?"

"Not often enough," Kon replies honestly, and doesn't even bite at the obvious dumb sex joke Bernard so thoughtfully set up for him even though it is frankly painful not to.

"Ngh," Tim says. Kon continues not to understand the reason for him repeatedly making that same weird little noise, but whatever, he guesses. It's Tim, maybe he's stitching his own bullet wounds again or something. Guy's a multi-tasker like that.

"You know this would probably make for a fascinating case study about sexuality, actually," Bernard says musingly. "I mean, all I intend to do is abuse the situation to get into your very tight tights, but seriously, maybe we should all be taking notes or something."

"Ugh, hell no, Rob'll go full Bat if we let him do that," Kon snorts, then smirks. "He can take pictures, though, I know he's into that."

"Ngh," Tim says yet again, accompanied by a weird random "thump". If Kon didn't know better, he'd think he'd just fallen off a chair or something.

"Aw dammit, dude, I think I actually like you as a person now," Bernard says, sniggering. "Are you keeping the kryptonite? Please keep the kryptonite. Like, just for Valentine's and Tim's birthday, that's all I ask."

"Honestly don't know if Superman's gonna let me but I do kinda wanna," Kon admits. "It seems pretty convenient, really. And definitely sounds fun."

". . . and you're sure his inhibitions and opinions aren't being influenced in any way, Kara?" Tim asks suspiciously.

"He's really just like this, yeah," Kara says resignedly. "Well admittedly Kal spontaneously developed opinions on window treatments and used the word 'smashing' in cold blood when it happened to him, but that might've just been him sucking at flirting. Because he really does suck at flirting."

"What about when it was you?" Kon asks curiously.

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara says.

"You kinda implied–"

"No one ever said it happened to me," Kara repeats, narrowing her eyes at him and doing an impressively bad job of acting like she's not blushing.

So it definitely happened to her, yeah.

"Okaaaaay, we'll pretend about that too then," Bernard says. "Well, what are your opinions on window treatments, Conner?"

"That I don't know what they are," Kon says.

"Sounds like he's in his right mind to me," Bernard says.

"He is absolutely not," Kara retorts dubiously.

"I really don't feel weird or anything, I swear," Kon tells her, since he still doesn't get the problem but also doesn't actually want to worry her either. "I don't even feel any different."

"Kon, you are hitting on your best friend and his boyfriend," Kara says. "Together. At once. Simultaneously, one might even say."

"You've met Wonder Girl and Arrowette before, right?" Kon says. "And both the Batgirls? And–"

"Oh my god, Kon," she cuts him off.

"Just saying," he says, then pauses for a moment and frowns consideringly. "Actually, question, how gay is this stuff making me, because while we're on the topic of threeways I kinda always wondered about what Starfire and Nightwing get up to together and if–"

"KON!" Kara yells, covering her ears.

"I'm just asking," he huffs.

"I don't know if it's actually possible to be gay enough to not be into Starfire," Bernard says musingly. "Like I can't imagine how it ever could be."

"Right?" Kon says.

"It's possible to not be into Starfire," Tim says. "Like, theoretically. Asexuals and aromantics both exist, for one."

"Do they?" Kon says doubtfully. "Like in general, sure, but when around specifically Starfire?"

". . . I can't technically prove you wrong due to a lack of reliable evidence but still," Tim says. "The possibility is there. If nothing else the multiverse is a thing."

"Last time I saw her she was wearing half a gold lamé bikini and I am not going to tell you which half or define how loosely I am using the term 'wearing'," Kon says.

"I said it's possible, not probable," Tim says.

"What about you, man, are you the gold lamé type?" Bernard asks with a teasing snicker. "Just while you're gay and all, of course. That's like, practically a cultural thing. Gotta be authentic to the experience, yeah?"

"That is in no way whatsoever a cultural thing, babe," Tim says dubiously.

"Please, like I've never worn freaking lamé," Kon scoffs. "I've worn collars and loincloths and leather and crop tops and enough unnecessary belts to tie up a Bat, lamé is nothing."

"Collars and . . . loincloths?" Bernard repeats, sounding confused.

"Yeah, this one time I crash-landed on a lost isle of beast-men and they kidnapped and enslaved me for a few months," Kon explains, waving a hand distractedly. "Frankly I count myself lucky they even let me have the collar, much less the loincloth."

". . . um," Bernard says.

"You, uh, never mentioned the collar part of that story before, Kon," Tim says, clearing his throat. "You very definitely never mentioned the collar part of that story before."

"Oh yeah, the prince kinda kept me as his pet for a little bit?" Kon tells him with an easy shrug. "Like he and all his buddies ganged up on me and then took me home with them, but I was kinda . . . feral, I guess? Technically? So like, collar and chain setup. But he was cool, he took real good care of me."

"Ngh," Tim says just barely faintly.

"Yeah you should definitely come over," Bernard says. "Tim, get the check. Conner, exactly how super is your super-speed?"

"You can just call me Kon," Kon says. "And . . . mach 3, last I clocked it?"

"Isn't that like two thousand miles per hour?" Bernard asks.

"Two thousand two hundred and twenty-three point three," Kon replies with a pleased smirk. "Faster than a speeding bullet. Or so they tell me."

"We'll just meet you at Tim's, how's that," Bernard says. "That work for you, Kon?"

"That works for me, Bernard," Kon confirms, smirking wider.

"Oh my god, Kon, you cannot possibly be serious right now," Kara says in exasperation, rubbing at her temples. "Just because you're temporarily gay doesn't mean you should do anything about it!"

"I mean, I'm feeling pretty serious?" Kon says, shrugging again. He still doesn't get why she's being so sensitive about this. "It's not like this is the weirdest thing I've ever done in pursuit of a good time. Like, holy hell, lemme tell you about the Ravers sometime."

"You're going to have to look Robin in the eye after this!" Kara says. "And work with him! And be a normal person in his presence! Normally!"

"I'm aware?" Kon says, vaguely bemused by her concern. Like he's never been normal around somebody he's slept with before, geez. "Tell Kal I ran off with the pink K, if he wants to lock it up in the Fortress or wherever I can bring it back tomorrow."

"Maybe Monday," Bernard says.

"Or maybe Monday," Kon amends.

"It's Thursday!" Kara sputters.

"So it's a long weekend," Bernard says.

"I'm not explaining this to Kal," Kara says. "I'm not explaining this to Batman."

"I really don't see why you'd have to," Kon says. "Rob, you cool with the long weekend thing? Not too much of an imposition?"

". . . I got the check," Tim mutters in obvious and absolute mortification.

Kon's gonna take that as a "yes".

"Cool," he says, grinning broadly. "See you soon, Boy Wonder."

He ends the call. Kara drags her hands down her face and continues to stay very far away from him and the pink kryptonite in his pocket.

"When you go back to normal and freak out and make everything weird with your best friend and your team and even your best friend’s literal boyfriend, I'm going to say so many 'I told you so's," she swears vehemently. "So don't say I didn't warn you."

"Your objection is on the record," Kon says, then tosses her a lazy salute with another grin and takes off, kryptonite and all.

Best to just scarper while Clark's distracted, yeah?

Definitely best.

Kon has, again, done weirder things in pursuit of a good time, but Clark hasn't always approved of said weird things sooooo yeah. Scarpering while the scarpering's good. Kon continues not to see the problem with having a little fun with kryptonite, for once, and doesn't really want to get lectured over it. It's basically just like a sex toy or whatever, under the circumstances.

Clark can lecture him Monday, he figures.

Chapter 2

Kon flies into Gotham as surreptitiously as possible, meaning "as thoroughly concealed by the smog and cloud cover as possible", which given the amount of smog and cloud cover usually works out pretty well for him. Today's definitely no less cloudy than usual, and he's landing in the marina in no time. Well–specifically, he's landing in a subtle little out-of-the-way corner of the marina that Tim's previously pointed out to him where his neighbors probably won't notice either a Superboy or a Wonder Girl coming down.

Probably.

Eh, it's whatever. If they notice, Kon'll handle it. Not like he's not used to lying to Gothamites about what the fuck he's doing in their city and why they shouldn't flip the Batsignal over it, after all.

Not that said lies always keep the Batsignal from getting flipped, but still. It's been like fifty-fifty.

Well, sixty-forty . . . ?

Maybe seventy-thirty.

Kon waits 'til nobody's immediately around and super-speeds his ass across the dock to Tim's houseboat. There's an unnecessary amount of security on the thing because Tim is a paranoid little freak and a half and every single Bat alive is literally made of trust issues, but he already knows there's nothing that'll clock him on the deck. Well, nothing aggressive, anyway.

This ain't his first Bat-rodeo, and all that.

He punches in the code for the lock on the door, and the code for the other lock on the door, and the code that'll keep the needles covered in neurotoxin from spraying into his face when he opens said door. They wouldn't actually hurt him, obviously, but Tim would get annoyed if he wasted them.

He seriously wonders how the guy was ever under the impression that Bernard didn't know he was a superhero, but he guesses it's possible Tim assumed his boytoy thought he was, like, somebody's evil henchman or a merc or something.

Or just literally insane. Whichever.

And it is Gotham.

The door swings open, Kon very carefully steps on the correct floorboard, and then he slips inside and heads down into the bowels of the boat, or whatever the inside of a houseboat is called. It's a little cluttered down here but not quite a mess, and Kon's been here as many times as Tim's been willing to let him come but still not nearly often enough.

He has an odd, random thought of just staying, for once, and isn't quite sure where it came from. Which–well, he's staying for the weekend at least, right? Assuming the world doesn't try to end again, anyway.

So maybe not so random.

Sometimes Kon really does want to just hang in Gotham with Tim until Batman runs him out of town, but he never pushes it that far. He doesn't want to deal with that fallout or with Tim coming up to him to tell him he's being too much or too needy or just fucking weird or . . .

Yeah. Well.

Kon cracks into Tim's fridge and steals a can of Zesti. He's a little more of a Soder guy, at least lately, but it tastes better coming out of Tim's fridge anyway. It makes him feel kind of like a normal guy who just goes over to his normal buddies' places to do normal things–whatever those are–and has normal permission to just rifle through their normal food and take whatever.

Technically Kon has permission, in the sense that Tim's never rigged the Zesti to explode in his face, but he's never actually explicitly asked. He wasn't really sure if that was one of those things that normal people ask or one of those things that normal people just do, and now it's a little late to check, so . . .

Kon's life experience has been fucking weird and wildly varied and stupidly fragmented and generally speaking he just begs forgiveness rather than ever ask permission. He's a grown-ass clone, he can do that.

Okay, he's technically only physiologically a grown-ass clone but also he's arguably over a thousand years old, or maybe more like four or five, so whatever. Being a superclone is weird and confusing and his point stands.

Kon sips his stolen Zesti and wanders around the boat, idly avoiding assorted traps and tripwires. He doesn't go into the bedroom, although it's kinda tempting to just go wait in there, possibly without the company of any of his clothes.

He wants to talk to Tim at least a bit before they go full long weekend on this situation, though, and also like . . . meet Bernard as an actual person and not just a voice over the phone or that one random disgustingly cute couple-selfie that Tim had very dorkily and shyly and grudgingly shared in the group chat the last time Bart had actually won a bet against him.

That stupid selfie was adorable. Kon had absolutely saved it and is not a weirdo who just randomly looks at it sometimes. There's a lot of stuff like that on his phone, alright, he's got a whole folder of "shit to look at when the world sucks". Most of it's Krypto being dumb and sweet or the team messing around and being silly together or stuff like that. The one disgustingly cute Tim and Bernard selfie is a mere footnote in that folder.

But it is in that folder.

Like . . . of course it is.

Kon thinks about pulling out his phone and looking at that picture again. He's aware it's a weird thought to be having right now, though, so he doesn't act on it. Kon operates on instinct a lot but he doesn't necessarily trust all his instincts, given his thoroughly fucked up socialization experience and random mind control triggers and the biological influence of a certain gene donor who shall not be named.

Kon hears a pair of accelerated heartbeats approach the boat and feels two people step onto and hurry across the deck above, one's footsteps significantly louder than the other's. He hears a lot of buttons get pushed. Then the door at the top of the stairs yanks open and he glances towards it. Either Tim or a very convincing evil doppelganger of Tim is standing framed in the doorway, looking very slightly flustered and just barely winded. Bernard is clustered up behind him and laughing, and much more winded himself.

Well, that's flattering.

"Hey there," Kon says, and grins up at them.

"We need to establish boundaries, hard no's, and safewords," Tim says immediately, absolute freak that he is. Kon is not even slightly surprised.

"God, you really do just look like that, huh," Bernard marvels, his eyebrows shooting up. He's even cuter when he's not being a cell phone pic, and especially cuter when Kon's being gay. Unsurprisingly, Kon figures. "I always assumed a whole lot of really skilled Photoshop was involved in you. Or at least a whole lot of real good makeup and real precise angles."

"He's annoyingly photogenic, actually, you don't even have to try to make him look good," Tim informs him resignedly. "So you can imagine how he looks when you do try."

"That's a terrifying thought," Bernard says approvingly.

"Safewords, huh?" Kon says as he sets aside his mostly-empty Zesti, not even pretending not to be preening under the compliments. So he's easy; at least he's self-aware. "That sounds promising."

"You were talking about some guy putting you in a collar and keeping you as a pet," Tim says flatly. "We definitely need safewords, I might get carried away."

"Promises, promises," Kon hums, tucking his hands into his jacket pockets and sauntering towards the bottom of the stairs with a wolfish grin that he may or may not have learned from an actual wolf. Like, just speaking of certain beast-men that he's known and all. "I told you, I was feral then. You know I'll be a good boy for you, Rob."

"Ohhhhh we've sure gotten ourselves into something here, huh, babe," Bernard says with a delighted grin as Tim puts a hand over his face and just sort of . . . exhales in that one specific way that he does when it's all going to shit in a fight or on a mission and he just needs to steady himself for that one second before the doors blow in.

Kon likes that, he thinks.

He really likes that, actually.

"Are you sure about this, Kon?" Tim asks evenly.

"As sure as I am that you two should come the fuck down here and let me get my hands on you already," Kon replies in a purr, grinning at them both again as he tips his sunglasses back into his hair. "I mean, I can reach you with my TTK, but that never feels quite as . . . personal, you know?"

They can always talk later, really.

"Fuck," Tim says, very carefully and very clearly. Then he stalks down the stairs like he's in a cape and Bernard shuts the door and re-rigs the security system and follows after him, and Kon doesn't even get the chance to lean forward before Tim's grabbing his hips and yanking him there.

Kon is perfectly happy to go.

"Safeword first, if you have one," Tim says. "Or we can just use traffic lights. Red means stop, yellow means proceed with caution, green means go. Is there anything we definitely shouldn't do or say?"

Kon leans down and kisses him.

Like, the other stuff is important and he'll get to it in a second–but getting to kiss Tim of all people is way more important than anything else.

Tim clearly agrees, since he digs his fingers into his hips and kisses back. Kon winds his arms around his neck and resists the urge to completely envelope him in his TTK, since that's probably one of those boundary things that they're gonna need to discuss.

Kon's never actually kissed another guy before, but it doesn't feel as weird as he might've expected it to and frankly he's already finding himself to be pretty impressed with Tim as a first contender. Like, Tim is apparently very good at kissing. He is careful and he is thorough and he is fucking dedicated to the fucking process. He knows exactly how to move his lips and exactly how much to use his tongue and exactly when to bring in his teeth and exactly how to make Kon's entire useless excuse for a brain melt out his goddamn ears with just the tiniest little well-timed nip to his lower lip. It's seriously all Kon can do just to keep up with the bastard.

Nice, he thinks with a great deal of slightly dizzying feeling, digging his fingers in against Tim's back as they press their bodies closer together and try to eat each other alive.

Very nice.

"Okay, wow," Bernard says, watching them intently and sounding a bit impressed himself. "So you two have done this before? Tim, babe, I am hurt that you never previously mentioned making time with Super-boytoy and I demand all the dirty details."

"We haven't," Tim rasps, pulling back just enough to speak and staring at Kon's mouth as he does. Kon has a weirdly hard time trying to look away from his eyes, so doesn't actually bother to try all that hard to. "Done this before, I mean."

"Well I very definitely can't tell," Bernard says. "Like, holy shit, you guys."

Kon is vaguely aware that it's talking time right now, but he just really wants to kiss Tim some more, so he leans forward just a little bit and–

"Tell me your safeword," Tim orders lowly, tightening his grip on Kon's hips again.

"Thirteen," Kon replies reflexively, because he can't ignore that tone of voice from Robin. He doesn't usually do all that much stuff that requires a safeword but, well . . . yeah. Sometimes he does, so he has one.

Honestly he'd do that kind of stuff a lot more, probably, just . . .

He just doesn't like doing it with people he doesn't know very well, he guesses. Although that's obviously not gonna be a problem right now.

There are very, very few people that Kon knows as well as he knows Tim.

"If you can't speak for some reason but you need to safeword, just tap one of us three times," Tim says. "Got it?"

"Yeah," Kon says. "What's, uh, your word?"

"We use 'clique'," Tim says. "Or traffic lights, whichever. And the taps, if we're nonverbal."

"Okay," Kon says with a careful nod as he files the information away and represses the urge to either lick his lips or just kiss Tim again after all. "Hard no's?"

"No serious injuries," Tim says. "No humiliation or degradation, no scat or watersports."

"No choking," Bernard puts in. "And no age play or blindfolds."

"What about you?" Tim asks while Kon's still processing how quick and matter-of-fact they both just answered that and how weirdly fucking hot it was. Just . . . really weirdly hot, yeah.

"No, uh . . . no medical shit," he says carefully, not quite flexing his fingers against Tim's back. "Nothing like a lab. Not gonna call anyone any variant of 'Daddy', and don't call me 'kid' or 'pup'."

"Okay," Tim agrees. "Anything you especially like or want to do?"

"I dunno," Kon says, then attempts to say "just tell me when I'm doing okay at something" but can't even slightly get the words out. That . . . well. Maybe later he can say that, he thinks to himself. Just–eventually, maybe. "I'm not the picky type, I just want us all to get off and have a good time."

"Is oral on the table?" Tim asks.

"Sure?" Kon replies with a shrug. "Although I haven't actually gone down on anyone with a cock before, I don't really know how good at it I'll be. So like . . . yeah, might need a couple tips there when it's my turn."

"Oh shit, you're like half a virgin, aren't you," Bernard says like it's a realization, and Kon blinks at him in bemusement.

"Uh, no?" he says, more than a little confused by where the guy got that idea from. "Definitely not a virgin, man, I popped my cherry the first chance I got."

"No, like–sorry, I just meant you've never sucked cock and you've probably never bottomed before," Bernard clarifies, waving a hand between them. "Although maybe I'm making some assumptions about the kind of girls you've known or what you do in the privacy of your own bedroom, so have you?"

"Oh, that," Kon realizes himself. "Yeah, no, never gotten pegged or anything like that. Or used any toys that way by myself either."

"Ngh," Tim says.

"I now very, very desperately want to change that fact," Bernard says. "Or to watch Tim change that fact. Or both of those things, either subsequently or simultaneously."

"Would that be okay, Kon?" Tim asks carefully. Kon . . . pauses, and just sort of . . . processes that idea, a bit. Somehow the idea of getting fucked that way hadn't really occurred to him as an option that might be on the table here, even with the way the conversation was just going and also the fact that it should've been an obvious possibility anyway, considering.

Well, he is kind of stupid sometimes.

"Uh," Kon says, feeling weirdly hot under the collar as he tries to picture Tim getting up between his thighs like that and not sure if his immediate internal reaction is just him being a fucking horndog and a half or something to blame on the existence of pink kryptonite. "Actually, uh. Yeah. Yes. Please?"

"Ngh," Tim says, and immediately surges in and yanks him down into another kiss. Kon has absolutely no problems with this turn of events and no desire to do anything but kiss him back.

"Your fucking suit is too fucking tight," Bernard mutters with absolutely no trace of a complaint in his voice. Kon thinks irrationally of that fond tone the guy had used with Tim before and really wants to hear it again. "I think if we actually get you hard enough to play with your presumably invulnerable dick is gonna tear right through it."

"That has almost never happened," Kon manages breathlessly, and Tim groans into his mouth.

"You're a brat and a bastard," Tim growls. Kon bites his lip and presses in closer to him, and Bernard steps around his back and presses up close to him, covering Tim's hands with his own where they're gripping Kon's hips.

Kon is perfectly aware that he likes to be sandwiched between attractive people, that fact about himself is in no way new knowledge, but fuck, he really likes that.

A lot.

"Uh–one more thing, real quick. Can I use my TTK for this or should I like . . . keep a lid on that kinda thing?" he asks quickly before his fucking useless brain can actually melt out his ears, trying not to make the question sound as vulnerable as it feels. It's not that he minds not using his TTK, just . . . it's a little weird, sometimes. Makes him feel like he's not all there and not fully safe. Makes it hard to . . . relax.

To let go.

"The TTK's fine by me, yeah," Tim says, and Kon relaxes a little after all. Okay. That'll help, even if Bernard's not cool with it touching him.

"TTK? What's that involve?" Bernard asks curiously. His fingers lace through Tim's and brush Kon's hips. They are incredibly, incredibly distracting fingers.

"Oh, uh, it's tactile telekinesis," Kon says. "So it's like . . . a contact-based telekinetic field that I can manipulate with my mind, basically. People usually tell me it feels like there's a real heavy coat around them. So it can get a little suffocating, I guess?"

". . . like how heavy a coat are we talking here?" Bernard asks, frowning consideringly.

"Uh," Kon says. "Honestly, I have no idea, my concept of 'heavy' is seriously not universal. I could show you?"

"Yeah, okay," Bernard says.

"Okay," Kon says, and very carefully wraps him up in it. Bernard . . . blinks.

Tilts his head.

Blinks again.

"Too weird?" Kon asks, repressing a reflexive wince, and Bernard just makes a strange little noise and then absolutely fucking melts against his back.

"Just follow me around and do this for the literal rest of my fucking life, please," he groans feelingly, and Tim laughs.

"Bernard has a bit of a thing for weighted blankets," he says with barely repressed amusement. "A big thing. So you're probably good to go, Kon."

"I think this is actually heavier than my good blanket," Bernard says, squeezing Tim's hands and by default Kon's hips in an impressively flustering way. "Like way heavier, oh my god. Man, you and your TTK thing had better be cuddlers once it's afterglow time or I'm gonna fucking sulk."

"We could possibly be persuaded," Kon gets out just a touch hoarsely, feeling a little weird and heated over the idea that Bernard is not only cool with the TTK but actually, like, likes it. Bernard trails his impressively flustering fingers down over the backs of Tim's knuckles; down lower over Kon's hips. Kon tries not to press into the point of contact quite that easily, but absolutely does.

Bernard pauses, then tilts his head again.

"Wait," he says, pressing his fingers in a little tighter against Kon's hips. "Is this like a sexy invitation thing or do you seriously just not wear underwear under your superhero suit?"

"No?" Kon says, glancing back over his shoulder at him. "Panty lines are a thing, dude."

". . . Kon, have you literally never worn underwear in the entire time I've known you, aside from during the jeans phase?" Tim asks in a weird voice.

"I mean . . . pretty much, yeah?" Kon says, flicking his eyes back to him. He'd kinda assumed that was a thing Tim had already noticed. World's second-greatest detective and all. "Usually didn't even then, I didn't really have any and I just kept forgetting to buy it. And like, I'm invulnerable, so chafing isn't really a thing, you know?"

"Don't you even wear a cup, though?" Bernard asks incredulously.

"Invulnerable," Kon reminds him.

"NGH," Tim says.

"You keep making that noise," Kon observes.

"Bed," Tim grits out tightly.

"Bed," Bernard agrees fervently.

Well, Kon's not gonna argue.

Chapter 3

Bernard pulls. Tim pushes. Kon goes with both of them, and they all end up in the houseboat's cramped little bedroom and tumbling down onto the bed that takes up basically all of it. There's enough room for two medium-sized people to fit in it comfortably, but there are three of them here and Kon himself is definitely no one's idea of a medium.

He really can't bring himself to mind.

Tim pulls Kon's sunglasses out of his hair and kisses the back of his neck. Bernard kisses his mouth. Kon gets a hand on both of them and wraps them up in his TTK. It feels good–he can feel them.

It feels really good, in fact.

"Nightstand?" Tim says as he passes Kon's glasses to Bernard.

"Yeah," Bernard says, and breaks away to twist around and set his glasses on the nightstand, all nice and neat. Then he starts rummaging through the drawer for something while Kon skims his hands up his stomach and over his chest curiously and Tim keeps kissing the back of Kon's neck and down between his shoulder blades, his own hands wandering all sorts of fun places.

Fuck, they should've done this years ago, Kon thinks feelingly. Tim said he knew Bernard from way back in high school, right, so they absolutely could have just christened the Justice Cave first thing.

Red Tornado admittedly might've kicked their asses for it, but still. Kon would've taken that particular hit. Getting his hands on pink kryptonite might've been an issue too but whatever, Tim's always been a plan guy and Kon's at least semi-resourceful, they could've figured something out.

And Kon definitely would've done this years ago, if he'd known this was something he could actually do.

Bernard twists back around on the bed. He has a full box of condoms and a fat tube of lube in hand and Kon wants to completely empty them both before the weekend's over.

"Good priorities," he says approvingly, then kisses Bernard again. It's not quite as effortless as kissing Tim is but since they've never saved each other's lives or co-liberated any planets or been in a war together Kon assumes that's normal and makes sense. At least, it seems like it'd make sense.

Look, he doesn't kiss all that many civilians for extended periods of time, okay?

At least not anymore.

And really Tim might also just be the kind of person who is genuinely insane enough to have gone and pre-formulated a detailed plan of how to kiss literally everyone he knows as mind-meltingly as possible, just in case. Like, that could absolutely be a thing with Tim.

Who is he kidding, there is no way whatsoever that that's not a thing with Tim. His own personal version of Batman's "take down the Justice League" plans.

On that note, the devil that Kon is speaking of is tugging at the back of his jacket.

"Kon?" Tim murmurs quietly against his ear, his breath all soft and warm against it and his voice something Kon would and has followed into hell. "Is this–?"

"Get this fucking thing off me," Kon groans, burying his face in Bernard's neck as he attempts to shrug out of his jacket without popping any seams with super-strength or just absolutely fucking shredding the thing with TTK.

Tim gets the fucking thing off him. Bernard drops the condoms and lube against the already-rumpled bed that to Kon's enhanced senses smells like him and Tim and so much sex and then cups Kon's face in his hands and kisses him again, and again, all long and lingering and so, so–

"Stay gentle with him, babe," Tim says as he leans forward to drape Kon's jacket over the headboard and runs a hand up his back, which is a lot easier to feel without all that heavy studded leather in the way. "Kon likes it a little sweet."

Kon would ask how he even fucking knows that, but it's Tim. Of course he knows that. Kon can only assume that Tim "Stalker Freak" Drake actually asking him for his safeword and hard no's was just him attempting to be polite and not-creepy about already having a full psychological breakdown of them all just chilling somewhere on the Batcomputer.

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense," Bernard muses distractedly between kisses, his fingers curling against Kon's face. "Heavy hitter, right? And the tank. You probably don't get too much 'gentle', huh."

"I guess," Kon says, barely keeping himself from squirming between them.

"We'll be gentle with you," Tim promises, low and soft as his fingers trail back down Kon's spine. Kon bites his tongue. "Would you like that, Kon? Would it make you feel good?"

"I promise you, I am feeling so fucking much right now, man," Kon near to chokes as he digs his fingers into the mattress, and Bernard laughs underneath him.

"Yeah, I'm feeling some things too, big guy," he says slyly, wagging his eyebrows at him and slipping a very unsubtle thigh up between Kon's own. Kon very badly wants to kiss him again, so he does.

Tim's fingers tug lightly at the zipper of his suit–a question, again, or maybe a request this time. Kon moans as encouragingly as he can without breaking off the kiss, and Tim pulls his zipper down and exposes the bare skin of his back beneath it.

"You really don't wear anything under this," Tim muses as he pushes the thin fabric apart. "And you still don't have any scars."

"Seriously, Photoshop fucking dreams of these kind of results," Bernard huffs wryly, pressing light little kisses that are making Kon breathless along the line of his jaw. His fingers draw down the other side of Kon's face, and Kon already wants to moan and writhe and whine for them.

He's not quite to that point yet, but he's getting there. Like–embarrassingly easily, in fact.

He'd maybe like to blame the kryptonite for that, but he knows damn well it's not the kryptonite.

It's just . . . been a while, he guesses.

Tim tugs Kon's unzipped suit down his shoulders and Bernard rubs his thigh up tighter between Kon's. Kon has to bite his tongue again or risk fucking embarrassing himself rutting back against it.

"Jesus, look at you," Bernard mutters, pressing his fingertips in lightly behind the corner of Kon's jaw. Kon hears his own heart skip a beat. He knows baseline humans can't hear that kind of thing, that neither Tim nor Bernard possibly could've noticed, but it's so fucking loud in his ears that he could almost forget that fact.

He used to not be able to hear that kind of thing either, but now it always just seems so obvious.

"Well, if you want something to look at, babe . . ." Tim trails off, and Kon moves back with his little tugs and points of pressure and ends up on his knees with his gloves and sleeves stripped off and the top of his suit shoved down low around his hips, baring his chest and stomach and leaving him naked to the waist, still straddling Bernard with Tim right behind him.

"Wow," Bernard says, just staring up at him. The only point of contact left between them is Bernard's denim-covered thigh pressing up just shy of Kon's half-hard dick and the sleek fabric of the suit covering it. Kon wants Bernard to touch him more; wants to touch him more himself. Wants Tim to take his suit off completely, when Kon's the total goddamn moron who didn't even think to take his stupid boots off before he got into this bed.

He . . . waits, instead.

He told Tim he'd be a good boy for him, and he wants to know how far Tim wants to take that.

So he waits.

Kon's jacket is still hanging over the headboard. The El crest on the back is very, very visible, and there's kryptonite in the pocket, and when Kon found out what that specific kind of kryptonite was supposed to do to him . . .

Well, when he found that out, this was the first phone call he made. The first place that he wanted to go.

And that part definitely wasn't because of the kryptonite. Not as anything more than a catalyst, anyway.

Kon wonders if it's weird that he just, like . . . wanted to do this so easily, kryptonite or not. Kara seemed weirded out, so maybe it is.

He really can't see how he could've felt any different, though.

"Kon," Tim says tightly, and Kon glances back over his shoulder at him and finds him watching him with steady, searching eyes. Tim's hands are sliding forward over his hips and down low over his stomach, and Kon wants them a lot lower than that.

But he can wait, still.

"So was it the 'being somebody's pet' thing or was it the collar and chain setup? Or was it more like a double-whammy two-for-one deal?" he asks with a faint, lazy smirk. Tim's nails curl against his stomach. He rests his forehead against Kon's back, and Kon can feel his breath against his bare skin.

"In the extremely fucked-up and possessive part of me?" Tim says. "It was you being somebody else's pet."

Experiment Thirteen was made to be a possession. A weapon for someone else to use and own–a copy of a far better person, and not even a fully autonomous copy. Not really anything all that different than a pet, in fact, at least so far as the absolute demand for obedience and the utter lack of choices it would've been allowed would've gone.

Except pets are loved, of course.

And Tim didn't just say "somebody else's weapon", now did he.

"That's fucking creepy, man," Kon says, but of course he can't do anything but grin.

"You're a fully realized individual who has accomplished countless amazing things and is going to accomplish even more," Tim murmurs softly, his nails just barely digging in against Kon's skin. They don't even begin to dent it. "You're indestructible and invulnerable and so, so strong. You belong to yourself and absolutely no one else. And I want you to do every single damn thing I tell you to for as long as you're in this bed. Got it, pet?"

"Got it," Kon agrees low and immediate, and absolutely nothing can keep back the shudder that goes up his spine when he says it.

Or more like when he hears what him saying it does to Tim's heart.

"Fucking hell," Bernard says with something close to a laugh. "You two don't half-ass your shit, huh."

"Not even slightly, no," Tim says, stroking his hands back up Kon's stomach and keeping his forehead pressed in tight against his back. "Pet. Let Bernard see you. Show him how good you look."

Kon figures that's a pretty clear order to follow.

He shifts just enough to let himself push his tangled-up suit down around his thighs, and Bernard immediately looks down at his newly exposed and already aching cock and his eyes widen. Kon bites his lip against the stupid flash of self-consciousness; fists his hands against his half-bared thighs.

Doesn't cover himself back up.

"Holy fuck," Bernard says.

"Good boy, pet," Tim murmurs, and this time it's Kon's heart that reacts. "What do you think, babe? You like my sweet boy? Think he's cute? Wanna keep him at the foot of the bed for the weekend?"

"I cannot even begin to explain how bad I want that without at least six different corkboards and a ball of string," Bernard replies all breathless and tight, looking absolutely rapt. Kon hopes he actually is. Hopes he likes what he sees. "Index cards. Thumbtacks. Maybe, like, some visual aids."

Kon's skin feels hot.

"Visual aids, huh," Tim muses, his fingers trailing up to Kon's chest.

Kon's skin feels hot.

"I mean, he did say you could take pictures," Bernard reminds Tim helpfully, and Kon kind of just . . . absorbs the way they're both talking not quite past him, but also very definitely past him. He wonders if they do this regularly. If he's the latest in a long line of guest appearances in this bed or a new and unusual experience.

It doesn't matter, really. This is just–not a game, exactly. But just for fun. Nothing else.

But he does still wonder.

That's weird, actually, isn't it? To wonder that right now?

Or even to wonder that at all, maybe.

"He did say I could take pictures," Tim agrees in a low murmur, his fingers splaying across Kon's chest and cupping his pecs, and Kon bites his lip again and completely forgets whatever useless thing he was thinking about. Tim is touching him and Bernard is admiring him and he really doesn't give a damn about anything but that. "Pet? Do you want that? Want me to take a picture of you showing yourself off all pretty like this, just like I told you to?"

"Yeah," Kon manages roughly, because he does want that. Because he thinks maybe Tim will like doing that, and he wants Tim to like–him, and this, and just–

And just still remember him later, maybe.

"Then I'm going to," Tim says, then lets go and leans back from him and gets off the bed. Kon would feel it like a loss, but Bernard's still under him and clearly invested and anyway it's not like he can't feel that Tim hasn't gone far–he hasn't even left the room, he's just rifling through his stuff for what Kon can only assume to be a camera.

Bernard puts his hands on Kon's thighs. Kon is . . . weirdly into it, for some reason. Well, he's always been an attention-starved moron, so yeah. He guesses any little bit of attention will do at this point.

It kinda has been a while, is all.

. . . it kinda has been a while, hasn't it.

Weird, he thinks absently.

"You know, I should've known you'd be stupidly well-hung but this is borderline ridiculous," Bernard remarks as he absolutely shamelessly gives Kon's cock another look-over, and Kon again gets distracted from unnecessary thoughts. "Seriously, who can you even actually fuck with that monster?"

"It helps if they're divinely empowered or just really, really good at controlling their bodies," Kon informs him wryly. "Or New Gods. Definitely helps if they're New Gods."

". . . okay so not all that many civilian notches in your specific bedpost, huh," Bernard says, raising an eyebrow and still–yeah, just as shamelessly–inspecting Kon's cock.

"I mean, not for going all the way, I guess," Kon says, trying not to think about Tana. Just . . . yeah, no. Not right now. "Does it matter?"

"Depends, I guess," Bernard says. "Tim, you could've fucking warned me, you know."

"Warned you about what?" Tim asks. Kon glances back towards him again. He's holding a camera case and looks a little puzzled.

"Tim," Bernard says patiently, patting Kon's thigh. "Please come over here and actually look at your boy's sidekick."

Tim frowns, still looking puzzled, and comes back over with the camera case in hand. He looks at Kon.

"Oh," he says, and blinks.

"So like, both a shower and a grower here, clearly," Bernard says, gesturing at Kon, who isn't sure if he's . . . not embarrassed, exactly, just . . .

He just isn't sure what to think of what they're saying, exactly? Like they don't sound put-off or bothered, which has admittedly been a thing once or twice, but they definitely aren't as delighted as Knockout was the first time she saw him hard.

Kon possibly should've realized this might be a thing–it has pretty frequently been a thing, in fact–but in his defense he's been a little . . . distracted.

So yeah, he's a fucking idiot.

"Uh . . . sorry?" he attempts lamely, really missing the much sexier mood of a minute or two ago.

"There is not a single damn reason that you should be," Bernard says firmly. "Although now I'm not even sure I wanna take my pants off because your dick is just . . . seriously, you bastard, your dick might be aesthetically perfect. And a highly intimidating goal to aspire to. I don't know, Tim, do you think if I worked real hard and believed in myself I could take it?"

"I do not, no," Tim says.

"Sorry," Kon repeats stupidly, still feeling a little awkward.

Then Bernard wraps both his hands around his flagging erection, which definitely helps.

"Fuck," Kon says, a shudder going up his spine.

"Fuck," Bernard says, giving him a little squeeze that makes him shudder even harder. "You should be illegal, seriously. Like . . . what is this, really, is this like a Kryptonian thing or is it genetic modification from weirdos in a lab with self-esteem issues or . . . ?"

"Uh," Kon says, trying not to wince. "Okay this is a total fucking mood-killer of an admission to make, but no, it's a Luthor thing."

Tim . . . pauses. Bernard tilts his head.

"Fuck off, this thing is way too pretty to be inherited from Lex Luthor," Bernard says accusingly. He's still got his hands wrapped around said "thing", though Kon's trying not to concentrate on that fact too much right now. He just doesn't want to push into that grip or do anything equally pathetic and too-easy. Like–not this easy, anyway.

Definitely not while on this particular subject, if nothing else.

"Apparently not," Kon says.

"Jesus," Bernard says, shaking his head. "Well no wonder he's up Superman's ass all the time, I don't know who else could even handle him."

"Ew," Kon says, reflexively making a face.

"Right, sorry, no talking about how bad your evil dad wants to hate-fuck your good dad when I've got my hands on your dick, that's weird shit," Bernard says. "My bad."

"They're not my dads, but if you keep calling them that you are definitely gonna kill my hard-on," Kon snorts, rolling his eyes. "And Luthor doesn't want to fuck Superman, Christ."

"Luthor literally made himself a baby with Superman," Bernard says. "On purpose and expensively. I'm sorry, dude, but he definitely wants to fuck him. He wants to fuck him so bad that the entire internet is genuinely embarrassed for him, in fact. You should see the memes. And the deepfake porn."

". . . ew," Kon groans, putting his hands over his face. Bernard snickers.

"I think we've gotten a little off-topic here," Tim says. Kon eyes him balefully through his fingers.

"You think?" he grumbles, and then Tim smiles at him and–fine, alright, Kon will forgive fucking anything for that.

Bastard.

Tim gets back on the bed with his camera case and unzips it carefully as soon as he's slipped up to the top of the bed. He leans back against the headboard as he checks the camera over.

He leans back against Kon's jacket as he checks the camera over. Which is . . . a thing Kon notices, definitely.

He wonders if Tim would wear it for him if he asked.

Fuck, there's a fucking thought.

Bernard, regrettably, takes his hands off Kon and scoots up beside Tim, settling in against the headboard with him. Kon idly considers how Bernard might look in his jacket too, but the mental image isn't quite as affecting as it was with Tim.

Well, again, never almost fucking died or went codependently crazy or grew up to be asshole supervillains together, so yeah.

Kon wants to crawl up the bed to the two of them. Wants to say something flirty and inviting or ask them to touch him or ask to touch them or . . .

He drops his hands back to his thighs and waits, instead.

Tim fiddles with his camera for another moment, then brings it up and looks at Kon through it. Kon feels exposed and restless and very, very aware of how he looks right now.

"I'll delete these if you change your mind about them later, obviously," Tim tells him.

"Really?" Kon replies with a deliberately cocky smirk as he tilts his head. "Funny, and here I was thinking I was gonna be insulted if you didn't keep 'em for your personal time."

Tim snaps a picture.

"Seriously, what did you say to Power Girl?" Bernard asks with a laugh.

"Nothing I'm suicidal enough to repeat while she's on-planet," Kon snorts, shaking his hair out of his eyes. Tim takes another picture, and then a few more. Kon isn't sure if he should be doing anything himself, but figures Tim would tell him if he were. He's not quite as into things as he was before they started getting off-topic, but being the center of Tim's attention is . . . kind of an experience, yeah, and is therefore very definitely fixing that problem. And Bernard seems to be pretty happy to be watching him again, so . . . it's fine, Kon assumes? Like, he's doing fine, he means. Tim would tell him if he wanted him to do something else.

"Hands behind your head," Tim says, which proves that assumption right pretty quick.

"Sure," Kon says, and reaches up to lace his fingers together against the back of his head. Tim keeps taking pictures. Kon resists the urge to fidget self-consciously, as if he's ever been the kind of person to be fucking self-conscious. At least, to be self-conscious about how he looks.

For fuck's sake, he looks like Superman. Specifically, a younger and sluttier and better-hung Superman. So yeah, it's kinda hard to worry too much about not providing a nice view or whatever.

Except he absolutely is worried about that right now, for some reason. Except also Tim is still taking pictures, so . . .

It's fine, Kon reminds himself. Tim will tell him what he wants him to do, and he'll do it. No big deal.

It does make it easier to relax, knowing that. Easier to get back into the mindset of a few minutes ago, especially with Tim's very focused attention and Bernard's appreciative eyes both on him.

It makes it . . . really easy, actually.

Kon may be just a little bit flustered by just how easy it actually is, in fact.

"You always take so many at once?" he asks, mostly to distract himself from that flustered feeling. It's not like he's not used to people snapping pics of him, but this feels–different.

It's Tim. Not some random stranger just doing their job or collecting a souvenir. So . . .

It feels different, yeah.

"Yeah. Improves the likelihood of getting a good shot," Tim replies, lowering his camera to give him an assessing look. "Is it too much?"

"No, no, it's just–like, it's cool, I just didn't know," Kon says, feeling a weird urge to flush or fidget under that look. Or–all of this, maybe.

"Okay," Tim says, then snaps one last shot. "Suit off, pet. You don't need that right now."

"Sure," Kon says, biting the inside of his cheek for a moment as he shifts backwards on the bed to let himself kick off his boots and suit a little easier. Tim goes back to taking pictures, and Kon feels his face flush after all.

He can't quite help grinning at Tim through it anyway, though. It feels a little embarrassing for literally no good reason, but it's also Tim giving him more undivided attention than he maybe ever has, so . . .

Yeah, Kon's not complaining. At all.

"I know a death cult or two that'd murder an entire city to look like you," Bernard says, biting his lip around a grin of his own and visibly restraining himself from doing anything else. "Just–holy fuck, man."

"Any requests?" Kon asks, grinning a little wider himself and deciding to ignore the camera to focus on Bernard instead, at least for the moment. Tim's shutter speed picks up.

"I have no idea how you think I could possibly choose," Bernard says. "Ever."

"I mean, we've got all weekend," Kon reminds him. "We could probably get through the full list of whatever options are coming to mind and then some."

"Maybe if we had a month," Bernard says, and Kon can't help grinning even wider. He likes the sound of that–the idea that Bernard has that many options just off the top of his head. It makes him feel pretty good, actually.

Really good, actually.

"I think there's an obvious place to start, babe," Tim says, giving Bernard a wryly fond look. Kon wonders what he'd have to do to get a similar look directed his way right now.

There's a lot he would do, he's pretty sure.

"Obvious how?" Bernard asks, and Tim smirks in incredibly distracting fashion. Kon is used to seeing that smirk in relation to making the bad guys regret every single life choice they've ever made, but in no way minds seeing it in this context. Actually, he's apparently really fucking into seeing it in this context, judging by the way the sight of it makes his gut burn and twist.

"I still want to see you show off, pet," Tim says, slanting his eyes towards Kon as his smirk ticks up just a little higher. "Properly."

"Oh," Bernard says, his eyebrows shooting up as his face reddens. And then he grins, and slants his eyes towards Kon too.

Kon wouldn't have needed half that much encouragement, honestly, but he's still not complaining.

"Never let it be said I missed a chance to display my best assets," he says, wrapping a hand around his cock with a wink and giving it a meaningful stroke, less concerned with what feels the best than what looks the best. Bernard laughs delightedly and Tim takes another picture.

A picture of Kon's face, specifically. And then he tilts the camera down and takes a few shots of the hand Kon has around his cock.

Kon doesn't know why Tim taking the moment to take that one quick shot of his face affects him as much as it does, but it sure as shit does affect him.

"Tim," he says, not exactly meaning to say it and not sure what to follow it up with. Tim glances at him over the top of his camera, eyes intent and . . . and . . .

And something Kon isn't sure how to define, he guesses.

"Good boy," Tim says, eyes still just as intent. "Don't stop, pet. Show us what you've got."

"Sure, man," Kon says with another easy grin, feeling just a little bit like he's on fire.

Although being on fire is generally less affecting, in his experience. Like, just from a Kryptonian hybrid perspective.

He settles back on his haunches; leans back just enough to put himself a little bit more on display and strokes his cock slow and lazy. He doesn't grip himself quite as tight as he would if he weren't showing off, and doesn't use any super-speed or TTK or anything similar.

Tim takes a few more pictures, but neither he nor Bernard does anything to return the favor. Don't either provide any kind of a show in return or reach out to touch him or even touch each other or themselves, as a show or not. Don't so much as take off their damn shirts.

Neither of them is doing anything to distract themselves from watching him, is what Kon means by that.

Fuck, that's really doing it for him.

"Hell," Bernard says, raking a hand back through his hair as he stares at Kon, biting his lip again. His eyes are very, very focused. "So like, literally no shame, huh?"

"Naw," Kon replies with a casual shrug and a crooked grin. Not about this kind of thing, anyway. "What for?"

"Myself, I could think of a few things, but in your case, fair point," Bernard says.

Kon honestly has no idea what "things" Bernard is even coming up with, considering Bernard's the guy Tim picked. Like, in what fucking universe does that guy feel like he needs to feel self-conscious about his looks or how he is in bed?

. . . alright, it's Tim, admittedly he isn't ever gonna be the guy who exclusively focuses on sex or looks when he picks a partner, so Kon guesses that could play into that somewhere. Somehow. And Bernard also wasn't born knowing he'd been custom-designed to look like a dude most of the sector wants to fuck, and some people just get weird hangups over weird things anyway.

Still. Tim picked him. And Kon, personally, would feel pretty damn good about himself if he were somebody Tim had picked. The mere fact that Tim answers the phone when he calls and lets him come over on the regular is already a significant contributor to his overall self-esteem and private list of reasons he's not just a stupid meatheaded asshole who isn't worth the "S". Tim has better taste in friends than that. Which, like–Bart and Cassie have pretty decent taste too, and so do most of his other friends, but Tim is just . . . different, he guesses.

Well, Tim's his best friend and also a weird stalker with Bat-level control/emotional issues, so yeah. Of course Tim's different.

Like, obviously he would be.

"I dunno about that, man. Like, I know I'm new to this particular sexual orientation and all, but you look pretty damn good to me," Kon says, and Bernard laughs like he thinks he's joking, and Tim just looks a little fond.

"That's sweet, pet," he says, snapping another picture. "Prove it."

"Okay," Kon says, and he's not sure how to do that but he really wants to. Which–he wants to do anything Tim tells him to right now, obviously, but–

Bernard is the guy that's made Tim so happy, and Kon . . . he wants that guy to get nice things for that, if nothing else.

And he wants that guy to like him, too.

So he looks at Bernard–just Bernard–and he thinks about what it felt like to kiss him, and the pressure of his thigh pressing up against his dick, and every single damn thing he's said and that stupid cute selfie of him and Tim, and bites his own lip around a heated grin.

"I think you should fuck me first," he mentions conversationally. "Break me in a little so Tim can get carried away when it's his turn, if he wants."

"Ngh," Tim says for the umpteenth time, and Kon feels him nearly drop his camera. Bernard's face gets even redder.

"Break you in, huh," he says, and Kon looks him up and down and just sort of lets his eyes . . . linger, kind of. Why not, right? If he can appreciate a hottie of a different flavor right now, well, then he's damn well gonna appreciate him.

And Bernard really does look good to him right now, and clearly deserves the appreciation either way.

"Yeah," Kon says, biting his lip again. "You're fucking cute, man, I wanna take a ride. Tim likes you so much, I bet you're a great time. Bet you'll make it a great time."

"You don't, uh, want Tim for your first crack at that?" Bernard asks, his face still flushed.

"I mean, yeah," Kon says, because obviously. "But he picked you, so it's the same difference. And I really did mean it about letting him get carried away."

Kon wants Tim to get carried away, he's pretty sure. Wants to see him lose a little of his self-control and feel what it feels like to have him like that. And they've got all weekend to get there, obviously, but . . .

"He can tell me what you like better if he's not distracted, too," Kon adds. "So I'll be better at it for you both."

"I am not remotely concerned about you managing to be 'better' at any of this, actually," Bernard says feelingly, making a random but expansive hand gesture. "Like not even slightly, oh my god. If nothing else, the total lack of self-consciousness about what you want and overall willingness to listen are both really good signs for what kind of fuck you're gonna be."

"Yeah?" Kon says, feeling a little flattered and a lot heated, and thinks about Bernard getting up between his thighs the same way he thought about Tim doing when the idea first came up, and . . . and really likes the thought. He doesn't even know what it'd feel like, but he thinks–he pictures either of them paying that much attention to him, either of them touching him that much, either of them so close as to be literally inside him and–and–

And he really, really likes the thought.

"Definite yeah," Bernard says firmly. Kon feels the urge to crawl up the bed to him again; to put himself right in his lap and just . . . go from there, maybe.

He wants to know how it'd feel. It'd be good, right? Like–enough people like getting fucked, obviously it'd be good. And he trusts Tim to make sure it's good, either way, and by extension trusts Bernard the same way. Tim wouldn't like the guy so much if he weren't trustworthy like that. Like–obviously he wouldn't.

Even if he would, Kon thinks it's still safe to feel like Tim wouldn't let him be a dick to him. Just . . . not after everything.

Definitely not.

"Don't forget what you're doing, pet," Tim says, and Kon remembers–right, he's supposed to be showing off here. He literally still has a hand around his dick, even, but it just didn't seem as important as the conversation. As proving that he likes how Bernard looks and that he thinks he's . . . that he . . .

He isn't exactly sure how that thought wants to end, but he wants Bernard to like him.

He really, really wants that.

And he wants Tim to get carried away with him, too.

"Yeah," Kon murmurs just a little bit breathlessly, and strokes his cock again; grips it a little tighter and squeezes the head on the upstroke, sliding the pad of his thumb across his slit. Tim snaps another picture.

Kon really does hope Tim keeps the pictures.

Hopes Tim uses the pictures.

That's . . . yeah. He definitely wants that. Like–more than he would've even expected to, probably. He wouldn't have minded Tim jacking off to the thought of him before this, he knows–would've teased him over it if he'd known, but been flattered and smug for sure–but Tim jacking off to the memory of him . . .

He's a little more into that, for obvious reasons.

Way, way more into that, actually.

"Tim," he says, and strokes himself a little tighter. "Am I . . ."

"You're doing perfect, pet," Tim promises, and Kon can't repress a little shudder. "You look so pretty like this. Doesn't he look pretty, Bernard?"

"He looks like the kind of wet dream that would've mortified our sex ed teacher," Bernard says, and Kon half-chokes on a laugh. Fuck, this guy is fun, isn't he. "Oh, you're laughing, but you never met Mr. Alvarez. He could not have handled you, man. He would've been vaporized in your mere presence. Dude couldn't even handle us playing superhero-edition 'fuck, marry, kill'."

"In Gotham?" Kon asks with a grin. "Yeah, no fucking wonder, man."

"Nightwing swept for 'marry', obviously," Bernard informs him. "Personally had to say Batgirl for the sake of my sexuality crisis, but he had my hand in marriage in my heart."

"Same, but with Robin," Tim agrees.

". . . honey," Bernard says. "That is the kinkiest thing I've ever heard you say, oh my god, do you have a secret clone from your superhero antics that you're holding out on me about the existence of?"

"The Robin before me, Bernard," Tim says, flushing slightly. Kon considers how Jason grew up and decides that Tim absolutely had the right idea there. Like, he invested early and got rewarded. "Superboy and Impulse are the ones who have clones. I just have, like, Nightwing and some occasionally murderous co-workers who moonlight as siblings."

"Too bad," Kon says, biting his lip again. "I'd have been up for a foursome."

"Ngh," Tim says.

"Oh my god, I want to put my dick in you so badly," Bernard groans, covering his face with his hands.

"Not yet," Tim says. "It'll be easier for him to take you if he comes first. He'll be more relaxed."

"Factually, I know that," Bernard says, then gestures pointedly at Kon. "But also look at him, babe."

Tim takes another picture. Kon feels hot.

"I'm looking," Tim says, tilting his camera to focus in on Kon's face again. Kon actually blushes a little at that, which is fucking ridiculous of him but apparently happening anyway. "Pet. Be a good boy and make yourself feel good for me."

"Okay," Kon says roughly, and it is way, way too easy to listen. He worries a little less about how he looks and a little more about how he feels, and strokes himself with brutal, efficient–

"Pet," Tim says gently, giving Kon a look over the top of his camera. "Be sweeter than that with yourself."

Kon nearly bites his tongue.

He should say something back to that, probably. Flirt or make a joke or at least just acknowledge the instruction. Instead he makes a very stupid-sounding noise and stutters mid-stroke of his cock.

Tim smiles at him past the camera. Snaps another pic.

Kon wants so bad to crawl up the bed to him, but Tim hasn't told him to do that. Tim just told him to make himself feel good.

And to be–sweet with himself for it.

He doesn't know if he knows how to do that right, but he really, really wants Tim to tell him he's doing "perfect" again, so he's sure as shit gonna do his damnedest to figure it out.

"Yeah, sure," he manages just a little bit belatedly, and tries to think–what does he like, when he's getting . . . "sweet" from a partner? He almost never bothers taking his time with himself, but . . .

His hands are too big to really remind him of Cassie's or Tana's, and Knockout was never once any kind of "sweet". Greta's hands were cold and barely corporeal the time they slept together and also she wasn't exactly at her most emotionally stable at the time, and Cissie's and Anita's are both calloused where his own really aren't. He never did much with Roxy, but she wasn't usually especially affectionate or prone to taking her time either–just urgent and eager and excitable. Steph's hands are warm, but also a lot more calloused than his own, and also tend towards eager impatience.

Cass's hands aren't anything like his either, all scars and callouses and probably the smallest of every partner he's considered so far except for maybe Greta's, but for "sweet" . . .

Cass was always sweet to him, he thinks, and touches himself a bit more like she did, the handful of times they fell in together. Softens his grip on his cock and minimizes the reflexive rough efficiency of his strokes; spends a little more time on working himself up before really committing. Thinks of carefully sculpted clouds, and the first breath of air after drowning, and being touched by someone he knew for a fact knew how to hurt him even past his powers, but wasn't ever going to.

And puts his free hand on the side of his neck, and just sort of . . . slides it up a little, and sort of . . . pets himself. Just a little. Not in a sexy way or a stimulating one, just . . .

Tim told him to be sweet with himself. And he always likes it when somebody touches him just to touch him, without even necessarily wanting anything out of it. Which–they're literally all in bed together and about to have an actual sexcapade of a long weekend, obviously, but it's still something he likes.

So like, why wouldn't he do it, if that's what Tim wants?

"That's better," Tim hums approvingly, taking a few more pictures, and Kon feels warm and restless and just wants him. Not even in a way that he can pin down to a specific desire; just in any way he can get him. As long as it's Tim and Tim's giving a fuck, he thinks he'd be fine with just about anything.

Honestly, it feels like he'd be fine with any anything, if it was Tim wanting it from him.

He knows that's not true. Knows there's things even Tim could do that'd upset him or put him off or just be weird and uncomfortable.

But it doesn't feel that way.

"More of that, pet," Tim instructs, and Kon listens. Curls his fingers against his pulse and around his cock and bites back a noise that wants to be a little too close to a whine, and just–tries to be sweet to himself, at least as best as he knows how.

It feels–

"Jesus, you listen so good," Bernard says, watching him appreciatively and making him feel even warmer. "How am I ever supposed to watch you two work together on the news again without getting stupidly horny about it? Are Young Justice mission reports just my new porn now?"

"You'd get too distracted coming up with new superhero conspiracy theories to get off," Tim says wryly, his mouth quirking up at the corner as he takes another picture.

"Normally I would agree with you but normally you haven't brought home the literal dictionary definition of 'good boy' and put him at the foot of the bed," Bernard says. "Like all my current superhero conspiracy theories are related to exciting new forays into kink and how cute I think your Super-boytoy would look trying to keep himself in handcuffs."

"'Keep' myself in handcuffs?" Kon asks a little stupidly, tightening his grip on his cock without exactly meaning to.

"I mean I assume you could snap any pair we had access to like it was tinsel so you'd have to really be behaving to keep yourself from doing that," Bernard says reasonably, and Kon feels his face flush hotly. Handcuffs are, like, Kink 101, but just the way Bernard phrases the idea is . . .

He could do that, he thinks. He could–behave like that.

If Tim wanted him to, anyway.

Hell, maybe even if just Bernard did, at this point.

"Not yet, babe. That'd be too mean for his first time getting fucked," Tim says, and Kon has to bite back another would-be whine.

"Yeah, good point," Bernard agrees with a nod, his eyes trailing consideringly along Kon's wrists. Kon feels warmer and warmer; has to force himself to stay sweet with himself and not get impatient. "And even if it weren't, I really want him to be able to hold onto us for that."

Kon does not succeed in biting back the whine this time.

"Me too," Tim says, his eyes just barely glittering. "That'll be really cute."

"Tim," Kon half-chokes, unable to hold back a shudder either. He wants to wrap them both up in his TTK and hold onto them right now, but doesn't know if that's something he's allowed to do when they're not directly touching him and doesn't quite have the words to ask. He can feel them passively, at least, but it doesn't feel like enough. Doesn't feel like holding on.

And he has never in his entire fucking life found being called "cute" hot, but right now it is just really, really doing it for him.

"You're doing so good, pet," Tim says all soothing and approving, and Kon feels kind of like he's on fire again. He keeps his TTK to himself–barely–and flattens his palm against his neck, sliding it down to grip his shoulder. Keeps the hand around his cock steady and slow. Stays–sweet.

As sweet as he can figure out how to, at least.

"This is actually going to kill me, Tim," Bernard says. "Like, full disclosure, your boy's gonna get off and I'm gonna die. Sorry about that, but if you wanted me to live, maybe you two should've been worse at this. You seriously never even kissed him before today?"

"He'd have done this for me if I'd never even kissed him at all," Tim says, taking a few more pictures. "Wouldn't you, pet."

"Yeah, I would've," Kon breathes as he leans in just a little closer towards the two of them, because–yeah, he would have. He'd do a lot of things for Tim, and that . . . yeah. He'd definitely have done that.

Especially if Tim had kissed him for doing it.

"See?" Tim says, glancing to Bernard, who just laughs roughly and rakes a hand through his hair again.

"Jesus," he says. "Yeah, of course he would've. You guys've already been doing this for years anyway."

Kon thinks about every time he's ever risked his life on Tim's orders and thinks about the idea that Tim ever once thought about anything like this any single one of those times. That Tim maybe remembered those times later, maybe thought of him this way, and maybe touched himself to any of that like Kon's touching himself right now.

Fuck, okay, now he feels like he's on fire.

"Tim," he says pleadingly, not even sure what he's asking for. Tim smiles at him and snaps another picture, and Kon immediately feels less like he's on fire and more like his own heat vision's about to burn him out from the inside out. Just–fuck. Fuck.

He wants to come and he wants Tim close enough to be inside him and he wants–

"If you're saying his name like this when he isn't even touching you, I cannot wait to hear how you're gonna say it once he's actually inside you," Bernard muses, and Kon makes a strangled noise and digs his fingers into his collarbone as his dick spits precome.

"Fuck, man," he chokes. No wonder Tim likes this guy.

"Ngh," Tim says, visibly tightening his grip on his camera. Kon can't quite hold back another shudder; can't quite keep himself from leaning towards them a little more. If Tim kissed him right now, he's pretty sure he'd just come for it.

He's pretty close to it either way, so it's not like it'd be hard.

"His cock is literally my favorite, so you can look forward to that," Bernard informs Kon, and Tim exhales roughly, and Kon just keeps touching himself and tries to imagine it, and–"Though he probably won't last as long as usual, since it's you."

Kon feels a stab of heat through his gut and comes with a hoarse, choked curse, and Tim's camera shutter clicks rapidly. Kon can hear Tim's heartbeat spiking and his own stutter. He feels dizzy and overwhelmed and it's so much better than just jerking himself off quick and being done with it, because he did it for Tim and did it the way Tim wanted him to do it; did it so he could get fucked easier, so he could get Tim and his boyfriend both inside him. Because they both want that. Want him like that.

And he wants it too, right now.

Fuck, he thinks senselessly, still shuddering through his aftershocks. Still listening to the shutter of Tim's camera click, and click, and click again. There's come smeared all over his hand and dripped down on the sheets, and he thinks, vaguely, that now the bed is going to smell like him the same way it already does Tim and Bernard.

That's–that's a really distracting thought.

Fuck.

"Yeah, pretty sure I'm straight-up dead now," Bernard mutters under his breath, his voice a little rough. Kon bites his lip and can't stop shuddering. "Minus the 'straight', obviously."

"Good boy," Tim murmurs so, so tenderly, and Kon makes a pathetic little whimper of a sound and snaps his eyes shut. That. That tone is . . .

That tone is a lot, right now.

"Always so good for me," Tim says, his tone still just as tender, and Kon's chest immediately feels tight. "You come so pretty, pet. I'm going to keep these photos as long as you let me."

Kon shudders harder one last time and honestly considers just faceplanting into the damn mattress for a minute or twelve while his stupid brain reboots. Or Tim's lap, maybe. Tim could teach him how to suck his cock, if he did that. That'd be . . .

He really wants him to do that, actually, yeah. Well, he really liked getting taught how to eat a girl out back in the day, and always likes new partners teaching him how to get them off the best, so it's not really any different from that, he figures. Like–obviously even if he's all pink kryptonite-d right now, he'd still like the same kinds of things, just . . . translated, or whatever. Adapted.

He tries to figure out if he can ask for that. If it'd be, like–okay.

Probably, right? He's never heard of a guy turning down a free blowjob, even one coming from someone who's new to the experience of being on the giving end. Actually he's known plenty of guys who think that's hot, and Tim and Bernard hadn't seemed to mind when he'd said he might need some advice on how to do it right, and they both seem pretty into the idea of being his first time getting fucked, so like . . . probably, yeah.

But also, more than Kon wants to ask if he can do that, he wants Tim to just tell him to do it. So he's not really sure which one of those options is gonna win out in the end there, but . . . well, he's not gonna complain either way, himself.

He makes himself open his eyes again and feels a little overheated again at the sight of the intent look on Tim's face and Bernard's pleased grin. He remembers to let go of his cock a little bit belatedly, a little bit absentmindedly, and glances towards the nightstand to see if Tim has any tissues or anything over there, since wiping his come off on the sheets feels kinda rude even if he's already admittedly shot half his load on them anyway, and Tim . . . tilts his head, and looks considering.

"Ever actually tasted yourself before?" he asks casually.

"Jesus, babe," Bernard chokes while Kon's brain triggers a hard restart or five. He blinks, slow and blurry, and then he lifts his come-sticky fingers to his mouth and drags his tongue up them, just once.

Tim immediately takes a picture, and Kon can't quite hold back the heavy-eyed, heated grin he gives him over it.

Not that he's really trying to, admittedly.

"Now I have," he purrs, and then goes back to licking his fingers clean one at a time, lazy and languid and showing off. Tim takes more pictures, and Bernard mumbles a few very impassioned curses under his breath. Kon curls his tongue around his ring finger and idly assesses the taste of his come. He really hasn't tasted it before–never saw a point in doing it deliberately, and he's never gone bareback with anyone so he's never even tasted any trace of it while kissing or eating out a partner–but it's not really what he would've expected, to be honest. He always hears it's supposed to be salty or bitter, but it tastes sweet and metallic to him.

He kinda likes it, to be honest, and wonders . . .

"What do you think, hon?" Tim asks Bernard.

"I think you have very good taste in friends," Bernard replies approvingly, and Tim laughs, and Kon feels a weird warm twist in his gut.

It feels nice.

And it means he's doing good, right? Means they both like him?

He likes them, so he hopes so.

He likes them a lot, actually.

"I want you to know, it's genuinely paining me that I can't ethically make you taste me right now," Tim says as he glances back to Kon, who nearly shudders again at the implied offer there. "I have never in my life been so disappointed to not be fluid-bonded with a person, in fact."

"Yeah, I very much get the feeling," Bernard agrees. Kon wonders if that means they're fluid-bonded, and if maybe that means he'll get to see them do, well . . . something "fluid-bonded", he guesses.

Fuuuuuck, there's a thought. And he's not actually stupid enough to say "you know what, fuck the condoms," but now part of him kinda wishes he were.

"You really wanna come in my mouth that bad, Fearless Leader?" he jokes teasingly, grinning at Tim again now that his fingers are all spit-slick and licked clean and dropping both hands down to his thighs. Tim takes several more pictures.

"At this point, I want to come inside you," he retorts frankly. Kon bites his lip, and doesn't quite squirm, but . . .

"Yeah?" he asks. If it comes out sounding a little breathless, well–Tim started it, saying something like that.

". . . fuck," Tim mutters, tightening his grip on his camera again. "Please don't tell me you like that idea."

"A good boy wouldn't lie to you, Rob," Kon says, and lets himself just barely lick his lips as he thinks just a little, little bit about what that might be like.

"Fuck," Tim repeats, covering his face with a hand as he does that whole "breathing like the doors are gonna blow in" thing again.

"Holy shit, man," Bernard says, his expression all wide-eyed and delighted. "Pink kryptonite is my new favorite thing."

Honestly, Kon kinda agrees.

Chapter 4

Kon is kneeling on the bed completely naked, and Tim and Bernard are both still sitting against the headboard completely dressed. That was hot while he was "showing off" for them, but now . . .

"C'mon already, I showed you both the goods," he says, flashing them both a flirty, dirty grin that Cissie once resignedly called a "panty-dropper" of an expression before much less resignedly proving that it was, and will hopefully have similar effects on boxer briefs. "Lemme see what you're packing.”

"Alright," Tim says, the corner of his own mouth quirking in amusement. "It's only fair, I suppose."

"Well we're definitely not gonna measure up, but I guess we do need our dicks out to actually fuck you the way you so clearly deserve to be, yeah," Bernard says with a laugh, leaning back on his hands. Kon wants to get on top of him right now, hearing that "deserve". Even just as a jokey aside, it's–affecting, yeah.

"Yeah, you do," he agrees, grinning wider. "So lemme see what I deserve, then."

"You are a guest, we should be hospitable," Bernard replies graciously, making a dramatically magnanimous gesture with both hands before unzipping his jeans. Tim lets out a quiet chuckle and takes one last picture of Kon before unzipping his too, and then both of them, well . . . then both of them pull out their cocks for him. Neither of them is fully hard, but they're both already getting there even without having been touched yet, and Kon tilts his head and just . . . looks, for a moment.

He’s seen Tim more naked than this a thousand times, but it’s . . . different, like this. Even just this much. Tim being any kind of naked for a purpose, Tim pulling his cock out for him . . .

It’s different, like this.

Tim's skin is unsurprisingly paler than Bernard’s and Bernard's apparently a natural blond, and they're both a lot smaller than him but pretty comparably sized to each other, and both cut. And it's not like he really pays all that much attention to other dudes' dicks, like, ever, but they both look really . . .

Kon, momentarily, wonders how quick he could get them both fully hard.

And also how they'd both look then.

"Huh, yeah, your dicks absolutely do look good to me, weird," he says, mildly surprised by that realization but less surprised by the immediate temptation to just grab them both at once and feel them. He is, after all, who he is as a person. "Alright, I guess not weird, all things and gay space rocks considered, but I still feel like it should be weird."

"Too weird?" Tim asks, looking just barely cautious. Kon shoots him a dubious look and grabs a condom out of the box Bernard dug out of the nightstand for them.

"Tim, you absolute moron, if you in any way prevent me from choking myself on your cock for your boyfriend's entertainment, I will never fucking forgive you," he says.

"Seconded," Bernard says.

"Ngh," Tim says. Kon, as a man with the correct and appropriate priorities, tears open the condom and then gets immediately distracted by the sight of bright lime-green latex and can't help brightening up a bit himself in pleased delight.

"Oh these are candy-colored, fuck yeah," he says approvingly. "Are they flavored too?"

". . . I vetoed the flavored ones but now I'm deeply regretting that decision, to be honest," Tim admits, his face flushing, and Kon mock-pouts at him.

"Booooo, no fun," he says. "Bet Starfire and Nightwing would've had the flavored ones."

"Tim, can I just marry your bestie? Is that cool?" Bernard asks with a wide grin, looking pretty damn delighted himself. "Is our relationship there yet, where I can marry your stupidly hot best friend and his aesthetically perfect dick and you'll be fine with it?"

"Excuse you, I am obviously the kept boy in this scenario," Kon huffs, flicking the torn condom wrapper in the direction of Tim's trash can and tugging said trash can a little closer with his TTK to make sure it makes it in. "I look like marriage material to you?”

"You look like the last party favor in a Vegas honeymoon suite in the middle of Pride, and I very much mean that as a compliment," Bernard says feelingly. Which, well, Kon absolutely did automatically take it as one, he didn't actually need the clarification there.

Though he does appreciate it, admittedly.

Tim hasn't told him what to do this time, but Kon kinda already has a goal in mind here, so he just grins flirty and dirty at them both again and leans forward towards Tim, giving him a wink as he wags the unwrapped condom at him.

"You still look good in green, right, man?" he asks teasingly. Tim visibly swallows, and Kon watches his pupils dilate.

And he feels his cock twitch.

Fuck, Kon loves TTK.

"I'll let you be the judge," Tim says. "Put it on me, pet."

Kon is very, very happy to.

He shifts forward a little farther and reaches out, feeling flushed and warm and weirdly . . . excited, almost, to have this. To get to touch Tim this intimately.

Seriously, if he'd had any idea this was an option sooner . . .

Well, it sure as shit would've happened a lot sooner.

He wraps a hand around Tim's cock because he can't quite resist the urge to; can't quite hold back when he's got permission to touch him like this. Permission and encouragement to touch him like this, even.

Kon feels way, way warmer at that thought.

Tim inhales quietly. His cock feels weirdly good in Kon's hand; warm and hard and a perfect curve against his palm. Kon licks his lips without quite meaning to and wonders how it's going to feel in his mouth.

And inside him.

Fuck.

He squeezes, once; gives Tim a stroke. Watches his face as he does it.

Tim exhales, and takes a picture of him.

Kon wonders what he looks like right now, if Tim wants a picture of it.

"Fuck, man," he says, biting his lip around a grin; giving Tim another stroke or two to get him fully hard. "You always this pretty when you're getting jacked off? I've been missing out."

"He gets prettier, actually, this is just stage one," Bernard informs him, and Kon resists the urge to squirm at the thought. "Stage one" implies multiple stages, after all. And Bernard mentioning those multiple stages implies Kon being around to get to see those multiple stages. "You should see him right after he's come, when he's all oversensitive and distracted.”

“Bernard,” Tim says, his voice mostly even but a little tight.

"Can I see that, Tim?" Kon asks with a leering grin and absolutely every intention of doing so. Tim's face reddens, and his eyes go heated and dark.

“If you're good for me,” he says, and Kon nearly bites his tongue.

“Fuck you're hot,” he mutters, immediately taking that as his cue to hurry up and get the damn condom on him already. It's a little weird doing it from the opposite direction, but it's still something he's done a thousand times, and it's not like it's complicated: he just uses his TTK to make the gesture smooth and quick and do it without having to worry about getting any air trapped in the tip or any risk of tearing or anything.

“Kon,” Tim says through his teeth. “Did you just use your powers to do that?”

“Yeah?” Kon says, not sure why he's asking. They both just watched him do it, after all.

“Do you usually put condoms on that way?” Bernard asks curiously.

“Yeah,” Kon says. “Makes sure I won't accidentally rip it with the super-strength or anything. And I mean, it's not any different from using it on toys or–”

“Ngh,” Tim says, putting a hand over his face.

“Don't take this the wrong way, because just to be clear I love literally every word that has ever come out of your mouth,” Bernard says emphatically, gesturing at Kon as he speaks. “But please stop talking and start sucking off my boyfriend, like, yesterday.”

Kon's gut twists with heat, and this time he definitely does bite his tongue. It's fine; his tongue is invulnerable. Like. Mostly.

Fuck.

“Tim,” he says, leaning in a little closer than he means to and giving his cock a few more exploratory strokes as he does, and the name comes out just a bit pleading. “I can, right? You'll let me?”

Tim exhales roughly and drags his hand down his face, splaying his fingers to stare intently at him. Kon's gut twists up even tighter. He wants to kiss him again. He wants to knock him over and touch him everywhere and stay so much longer than a long weekend and just–

“Would you like that, pet?” Tim says, and Kon feels restless and overheated and just–hungry, for lack of a better word.

“Yeah,” he says, swallowing at the thought. His mouth feels . . . it waters, almost. Feels . . . empty, almost. Eager.

Greedy.

He doesn't really know how else to put it.

“Hm,” Tim says as he reaches out with a hand and threads his fingers into Kon's hair, and then curls them against his scalp and sort of . . . scritches, like he's petting a dog or a cat or something.

Like he's petting him.

Kon's every single higher thought process shorts out and he feels like an electric shock just went up his spine and through all his muscles and stays very, very still.

He wants to say Tim's name. He wants to push into the contact.

He wants Tim to tell him how to be good.

“You know I want to give you things you like, pet,” Tim murmurs, and then he flattens his hand against the top of Kon's head and just . . . doesn't push or anything, but . . .

Kon can lift literal tons without breaking a sweat and take a hit from a fucking train without even noticing the impact. He can withstand gravity that'd crush an unenhanced human and impacts that'd outright pulp them.

The barely-there little weight of Tim's hand on his head is absolutely impossible to resist.

Kon shifts back on the mattress and lays himself out on his stomach, propped up on his elbows with his head not quite in Tim's lap, but definitely down on eye-level with his cock. His mouth feels that eager, greedy way again and he bites his tongue just to keep himself from licking his lips. He wants to do this right. He wants Tim to like this.

He wants to be good for him.

Tim's hand is still resting on top of his head, and he threads his fingers through Kon's hair again. Picks up his camera again too and snaps a few shots. Kon resists a stupid urge to duck his head or squirm; smirks up at him instead, and then sticks his tongue out at him.

Tim takes a picture of that, too.

“I realize this is a stupid thing to say given the whole nature of your creation and the fact I know you’ve been cloned yourself, but Jesus, do you have any idea what you look like right now?” Bernard asks, rubbing at his own jaw and watching Kon intently. Kon feels warm and heated under that look, but also has to stifle a laugh at the thought.

“Can’t say Match and I have ever gotten along this well, so no, not really,” he replies with a wry grin, wrapping a hand around Tim’s cock again and giving it a few long, slow strokes from root to tip. Tim hisses very, very quietly and takes another picture. Kon is immediately overwhelmed with options and has, actually, no idea what to do here. Or at least no idea where to start, anyway. Tim’s cock is a warm, perfect fit in his hand and he is having a very hard time not obsessing over just where and how else it might so perfectly fit, and he just wants to make him feel good, wants to make him like it, wants to make him happy–

He really, really wants that.

“Well, there’s a mental image,” Bernard muses consideringly. Tim’s fingers curl and his nails dig into Kon’s scalp. Kon pushes into them without really thinking it through, and Tim hisses again.

“Pet,” he says, his voice just a little bit strangled. Kon wants to make it crack. Kon wants to make him crack. He wants to know exactly how carried away Tim can get.

Exactly how carried away Tim wants to get.

“Tim,” he says, and licks his lips after all. It seems like such a dumb, cliche thing to do, but Tim and Bernard’s hearts both skip a beat watching him do it, and their pupils dilate in near-perfect unison.

It’s a bit of a confidence booster, to put it mildly.

“Tim,” Kon repeats, leaning in just enough to nuzzle Tim’s cock before pressing a kiss against the side of it. It’s a lot more than just making out with them or jacking himself off to put on a show for them, and it feels like it should feel weird, but it just makes his gut twist and flip and heat. Tim letting him touch him this intimately, Tim letting him touch him at all . . . Tim letting him do all this is . . .

Fuck, pink kryptonite really is Kon’s new favorite thing.

“Told you I haven’t done this before, right?” he says even though he knows he did, then flicks the flat of his tongue out against the head of Tim’s cock. It twitches against his tongue, and he feels a rush of eager heat coiling low in his gut. “You gotta tell me how to make it good for you. How to be good for you.”

“Fuck,” Tim mutters under his breath, his finger nearly slipping off the button of his camera.

“C’mon, you’re the boss, Robin,” Kon coaxes, and Tim exhales.

“Holy shit,” Bernard says with a breathless laugh, shaking his head. “You are a menace, you know that?”

“Kiss me again, pet,” Tim says, his voice gratifyingly rough and his fingers tightening in Kon’s hair. There’s no possible way he could yank it hard enough to hurt him, but his grip is still so careful.

Kon feels several fucking ways about that fact.

He presses another kiss to Tim’s cock, obviously, just above his own loosely-circled fingers, and then mouths up the length of it as he tightens his fingers around him again. Tim grunts, flattening his hand against his hair and sliding it around to cup the back of his head.

“Good boy,” he says. “Use your tongue.”

Kon does; ducks his mouth again and then drags his tongue back up Tim’s cock, broad and flat. Tim grits his teeth and knocks his head back against the headboard–against Kon’s jacket–and Kon feels like there’s something buzzing under his skin, like there’s something he can’t quite contain inside himself.

Not his TTK, for once.

It’s . . . been a while, he thinks. Since he felt this way so much, he means. Like, it’s been a while since he fucked anyone at all, much less anyone he liked as much as he likes Tim, but it’s been a while since he felt it like this.

Probably since he was with Cassie, come to think, which kinda makes sense.

He slides his tongue up and around the head of Tim’s cock and Tim chokes on another grunt. His hips don’t push up, but they do just barely shift. Kon feels even more of that buzzing warmth and kisses Tim’s cock again, wet and messy this time, and Tim curses under his breath and snaps a few more pictures. Kon winks up at him, not even trying not to smirk against his dick. Bernard laughs in delight and bites his knuckles.

“Holy shit,” he repeats reverently. Kon kind of wants him to put a hand in his hair too, maybe, or at least touch him some way or another.

“Good boy,” Tim repeats himself too, though in his case he has to do it through still-gritted teeth. Kon thinks about the fact he’s making Tim react this much, controlled and collected and always-prepared Tim, and the thought is one he really fucking likes. If he can affect Tim this much, if Tim likes what he’s doing this much . . .

Yeah, he definitely likes that.

“You listen so well. And you’re so eager,” Tim murmurs, his tone low and approving and spine-melting as he strokes through Kon’s hair again even more spine-meltingly. “Show me how much of me you can take.”

Kon doesn’t hesitate; doesn’t even wait long enough to crack a dirty joke or make a flirty comment. He just opens his mouth and lowers it down over Tim, around Tim, for Tim, letting Tim inside him, and . . .

And fuck, Kon thinks fleetingly, and then wraps his mouth fully around Tim’s cock and presses his tongue up against the underside as he slides down, and Tim’s hand tightens in his hair again, and–

Kon doesn’t really have a gag reflex, either because of the half-Kryptonian thing or because of the whole “weaned on a feeding tube” thing when he was initially being developed–who knows which, and he’s not gonna examine it either way–and he doesn’t really need to breathe all that much anymore either, so if Tim’s telling him to show him how much of him he can take . . .

Well. The logical thing to do is to really commit, isn’t it?

It feels–weird, a little, and kind of awkward and strange, but . . .

“Tilt your head back a bit and relax your throat,” Bernard advises, reaching over to tap a couple of fingers gently against the corner of Kon’s jaw, and Kon just–does. Because again, not much of a gag reflex, and also he can use his TTK to ease the whole process, so–yeah. He tilts his head and relaxes his throat, and pulls Tim’s cock into his throat.

It really does feel like a perfect fit, he thinks a little hazily, and then he swallows around him. Tim curses. Loudly.

“Okay, so Kryptonians can deepthroat on the first try,” Bernard observes conversationally, his fingers curling against Kon’s jaw. “Good to know. Useful information. Also, oh my god.”

“Good boy,” Tim says roughly, stroking a heavy hand through Kon’s hair, and Kon feels warm and buzzed and a little bit dazed, and just . . . rolls his tongue up tighter against the weight of his cock and swallows around him again. He should bob his head, he knows, but he kind of doesn’t want to. Just having Tim in his mouth like this, in his throat like this . . . “Fuck, pet. Look at me.”

Kon flicks his eyes up to Tim’s face again, though they’re heavy and unfocused-feeling, and finds himself looking into his camera lens again too. Tim takes a couple of pictures.

Maybe a lot of pictures, actually, Kon’s vaguely aware, but he’s a little bit distracted right now. Just–Tim’s cock is a warm, solid weight in his mouth and on his tongue, hard and throbbing for him, and Tim told him he was good and told him to look at him and that’s . . . really all he’s worried about right now, yeah.

He sucks, obviously. Swallows around Tim; rolls his tongue up and tries to swallow him down farther, even though his nose is already pressing into his stomach. It’s just a reflex, more than anything else. Bernard’s fingertips are still on his jaw. He likes them there.

It’s a lot different from going down on a girl, but it gives him that same heady rush and feeling of usefulness he always gets from pleasing someone, which–well yeah, of course it does. The pink K is changing what he’s attracted to, not what he likes to do. So like, of course he’d still like giving head and getting told he was doing a good job and all that stuff. It’d be weird if he didn’t still like all that stuff.

Right?

Kon can’t really focus on Tim’s face past the camera, but Tim’s free hand is still in his hair and he can feel him through his TTK–him and Bernard both–and hear both of their accelerated heartbeats and quickened breathing. Tim's are both more-so than Bernard’s, but Bernard isn't currently getting his dick sucked, so Kon figures that’s understandable.

He wants to touch him too, and considers reaching into his lap or just using his TTK to feel him up a bit, but he also wants to concentrate on this and make it as good as he can, do it as right as he can. He wants Tim to really, really love this. To think he’s doing well. To be pleased with and proud of him.

If he can make this good for Tim, be good for Tim–

Kon really wants to do that.

He makes himself bob his head; sucks tightly and doesn’t even pretend not to be using his TTK too, mimicking the same things he’s already doing with a phantom tongue working in counterpoint to his own, and he cups and rolls Tim’s balls in his hand and lets another little tendril of TTK press up behind them and rub in along his taint.

Tim curses.

“That into it already, babe?” Bernard teases, sounding amused. Kon glances towards him a little muzzily and feels even warmer at the sight of the heated look on his face, but for obvious reasons keeps most of his attention on what he’s doing to Tim.

What he’s doing for Tim, more like.

“TTK,” Tim grits out, his voice a little strangled and fingers twisting just a little bit tighter in Kon’s hair.

“Oh,” Bernard says, his eyes widening. “Ohhhhh. Well, okay, that’s incredibly distracting. Jesus.”

“You're doing so good for your first time, pet,” Tim says, tight and tender, and Kon feels that heady rush again and lets out a stifled moan around his cock. Tim hisses, his hips twitching against the mattress, but the fingers he has twisted tight in Kon's hair stay careful. Stay gentle.

Kon would be perfectly fine with Tim yanking his hair as hard as he wants right now, but honestly, the fact he's keeping the totally unnecessary promise of being gentle with him is really doing it for him.

Like. Really.

He moans again; swallows Tim back down as far as he can and flexes his tongue and his TTK around him, and Tim makes a choked noise in the back of his throat and drags his fingers through his hair very, very gently. At this point in their lives, Kon is pretty sure he'd let Tim hold a kryptonite razor to his throat and just assume if he decided to slash it, it was for the best.

So that's . . . definitely a way to feel about the guy whose dick is currently down his throat.

Fuck.

Kon squirms, just a little, and presses his hips down into the sheets as his own dick decides it's getting a lot more interested in the current proceedings. His usual refractory period is quick enough that he's surprised it took it this long to, frankly, because the whole experience of having Tim like this is more than a little overwhelming.

“So good, pet,” Tim breathes, and Kon's dick is definitely interested in that. “Don't stop. You look so pretty like this.”

“I feel like you could go with a much stronger descriptor than ‘pretty’ here,” Bernard says, trailing his fingers down under Kon's jaw and pressing his thumb in against the stretched-open corner of his mouth. “I don't know, ‘brain-breakingly hot’ or ‘fucking gorgeous’. ‘Probably illegal in half the sector and should be if you're not’, maybe.”

“Perfect,” Tim says, which is stronger enough that Kon nearly chokes before the bastard starts elaborating. “Always just what I need. Always so good for me. Always my boy. I can trust you with anything.”

Kon doesn't moan around him this time; he whines. Tim strokes his hair back off his face and he's vaguely aware of the camera shutter going off, or maybe having been going off this whole time, but all he can actually think about or do is suck Tim off. He digs his fingers into Tim's thighs and swallows around his cock and makes more near-pleading whining noises, and doesn't even care if it makes him sound stupid. Tim said he was doing good. Tim said he was perfect.

Yeah, no, Kon really doesn't give a fuck about anything else right now.

He really does wish they could've skipped the condom, though. The idea of Tim very literally coming in his mouth is–is a lot.

And Tim said he wanted him to taste him.

Kon would absolutely do that for him, if it weren't like, a health issue or whatever.

His jaw doesn't ache, because he's too Kryptonian for that, and his mouth isn't going to look like he's been sucking cock because again, he's too Kryptonian for that. But they both feel used and sensitive in a new and unfamiliar way, and the tight slide of Tim’s cock along his tongue is weirdly hypnotic, and the hands they both have in his hair and on his jaw make him feel restless and eager and needy, and everything Tim says just sounds so, so good right now.

Kon wants him to keep talking as bad as he thinks he’s ever wanted anything in bed, so he puts in the fucking effort and does his best imitation of all the best blowjobs of his life; doesn’t hesitate or hold back or shy away, goes in hard and puts in the work, doesn’t half-ass any of it.

Lets himself be as eager as he feels.

But also takes his time, just a little, and savors.

“Fuck,” Tim chokes, and his head hits the headboard hard. His cock twitches in Kon’s mouth and gets even harder, and Kon feels–feels–“Good boy.”

Like that, yeah. He feels like a good boy.

Like Tim’s good boy, specifically.

That is actually doing even more for him than it usually would be. Like–Cassie-levels of “doing it for him”, again. Which still makes sense, obviously, but is just a lot. Kon should’ve expected it, probably, just . . .

“Oh, pet,” Tim breathes out roughly, petting his hair so gently, and Kon stops caring about anything else. Tim’s petting his hair and letting him touch him and putting up with him crashing his weekend, and that’s all that Kon gives a fuck about right now.

That and the way Bernard keeps tracing his fingers up his jaw and down his throat, anyway.

“You are an unfairly quick learner,” Bernard says, all delighted admiration and approval, and Kon tries to figure out if he can swallow Tim down any farther. It’s an obvious “no” because he’s already got every inch of him it’s possible to in his mouth and throat, but he really tries. Tim curses a few more times. Kon . . .

Kon doesn’t quite do it on purpose, but his TTK starts to sort of . . . wander, a little. Or–reach out a little, more like, and wrap itself around Tim and Bernard both and just sort of . . . hold on, maybe.

“Oh,” Bernard says, sounding breathless, and digs his nails in against Kon’s impenetrable skin. Kon can feel every inch of him; every inch of him and Tim both. “You really are a flirt, huh. And a real multi-tasker, too.”

Kon would do something to live up to the “flirt” rep, maybe, but it is just so much more important to suck Tim’s cock right now.

Like much, much more important.

He wonders how long Tim’s gonna let him do this. Wonders how long he’s gonna last, wonders if he likes it as much as he wants him to, wonders if–

Tim strokes the hand in his hair down the side of his face to cup his jaw and snaps another picture or five. Kon feels warm and heavy and electric. Tim likes it. Tim likes him. Tim’s petting him and taking pictures to keep and remember and–and he’s–

“Such a good boy for me,” Tim says, his voice a low, heated rasp, and Kon feels the kind of buzzing bliss he usually only gets when he’s way deep into a scene with somebody who’s really, really put the work in. Cassie got him there about this easy, the handful of times they’d tried this kind of play, but . . . “So sweet. So obedient. Just what I want you to be.”

Kon definitely whines around Tim’s cock again, and definitely does his best to live up to that compliment. He’s dizzy and warm and his mouth is too full to talk past and his throat is too full to talk past, and Tim’s cupping his jaw and taking pictures of him and Bernard is drawing his fingers along the other side of his face and pressing the pad of his thumb in against his lower lip. It’s wet and slick with spit and Kon wishes it were wet and slick with Tim. Wishes Bernard were touching him more. Wishes Tim would fuck his mouth as gently as he’s petting his face right now.

“Just perfect,” Tim murmurs, and Kon swallows around his dick and grinds his own down into the mattress without really meaning to, because how could he ever listen to Tim talking to him like this and not do that? He wants touched more. He wants back between the two of them. He wants–

He grinds his hips down again, swallows Tim down again with a lingering shudder, and Tim–pauses.

“Pet,” he asks very, very carefully, his voice still a low rasp. “Are you . . . getting off on doing this?”

It’s not really a question Kon understands, because of course he’s doing that. Obviously he is. But he’s being good for Tim, being good for Tim is all he wants to do, so he just purrs in reply and bobs his head and works his mouth around him as Tim’s hand tightens against his jaw and his heartbeat starts doing things Kon’s never heard it do before.

“Babe, I love you, but you are asking questions with very obvious answers right now,” Bernard says wryly.

“Pet,” Tim says tightly, back to breathing like the doors are gonna blow in and smoothing a hand back through Kon’s hair again. It feels so, so good. “Can you come like this for me? For my cock in your mouth like this?”

Kon definitely can.

And it’s not going to be much longer ‘til he definitely does, the way he feels right now.

Kon sucks harder, swallows tighter, works his mouth more and uses his TTK to help it out, and Tim hisses under his breath and still doesn’t yank his hair. Kon likes that so much.

Likes him so much.

He can’t keep himself from grinding his hips down into the sheets, it feels like, but Tim asked him if he could get off like this, so it’s not like he’s trying to stop or be patient. Not like he’s trying to hold anything back or behave. Tim wants him to do it, right? Wants him to get off like this. For this. So he’s–behaving, by doing this.

Being good by doing this.

Kon makes a noise. A tight, strangled one that he doesn’t quite know how to define. Tim trails his fingers along his temple and then back down to his jaw, soft and gentle, and this time Kon whimpers. He digs his fingers into Tim’s thighs again; drags them down and swallows him down. Tim curses sharply. His camera goes off, though the lens isn’t aimed as carefully as before. Kon whimpers again and wants Tim to yank his hair, fuck his mouth, come in his mouth; use him like a thing and treat him however he wants and tell him how good he is for it.

If he’s a pet or an animal or a weapon or just some stupid idiot humping the sheets while Tim and Bernard pet him and Tim’s cock fills up his mouth and throat–if he’s good, a good boy, Tim’s good boy–if he’s doing what Tim wants him to be doing–

If Tim is still, still, still being so gentle, just like he promised . . .

Well–then Kon is going to absolutely lose his fucking mind and melt right through this fucking mattress like fucking magma, is what’s going to happen here.

But not before he makes Tim come.

He wants to make Tim come. He wants to see what he looks like after he does; wants to hear how he sounds, find out what he’ll do and say and–

“I need you to know, I am going to go actually insane before we’re done here,” Bernard informs Tim, shifting into his side and pressing a kiss in behind his ear as he curls his fingers in behind Kon’s ear. Kon feels weirdly, weirdly obsessed with that particular little parallel. “Like I’m feeling about a hop, skip, and a jump away from getting a gimmick and going full rogue here, that’s what’s happening in my head right now.”

“The only reason I haven’t lost my mind yet is because we had to use condoms,” Tim says very, very evenly.

“Really?” Bernard asks, cocking an eyebrow at him. “Because I’d have thought having to use condoms while thinking about how your boy didn’t want to would’ve shoved you right over the edge there, babe.”

“. . . ngh,” Tim mutters, tightening his grip in Kon’s hair as Kon shudders.

“Seriously,” Bernard says, biting his lip for a moment. “Like, the fact that if we were all less responsible people he’d be letting you come in him is really making me–”

“Ngh,” Tim says, screwing his eyes shut, and Kon thinks about how that might feel, about the idea of Tim coming in his mouth or maybe–

He muffles a heated groan around Tim’s cock, and Tim hisses through his teeth and knocks his head back against the headboard again. Back against Kon’s jacket again.

Kon really wants to ask him to wear it for a little while, and not because of any practical reasons like keeping the pink kryptonite in its pocket in close and doing its radioactive magic or anything like that.

“Just saying,” Bernard says, and Kon wants to feel him up and kinda wishes he could get both their cocks in his mouth right now or maybe–maybe–

If he'd waited, maybe they would've been up for trying out a spitroast kind of setup. Maybe they'll be up for trying that out later. Maybe–

Fuck, he wants more. Wants everything they've both got.

If he does this good enough, maybe they’ll give it to him.

“You look so good like this. I wish I could see my come on your face,” Tim murmurs lowly, trailing his fingers along the arc of Kon's cheekbone. “Wish I could make you drip with it.”

Kon and his total lack of gag reflex somehow actually choke. Tim's eyes flare.

“Don’t hurt yourself, pet,” he says as he strokes Kon’s face again, all tender and gentle like that’s actually something Kon could ever do this easily. It makes him feel–weird. Several kinds of weird.

It makes him feel like something that maybe could get hurt that easily, or maybe just something Tim doesn’t want to risk getting hurt no matter what, which is . . . a weird way to feel, honestly.

But he doesn’t–mind it, or anything. Doesn’t mind feeling like something that Tim wants to be careful with. Something he wants to make sure not to break; not to hurt.

Yeah. No, he definitely doesn’t mind that at all.

“Fuck, you look good like this,” Bernard mutters. “I am definitely gonna lose my mind and die over this, I need a rogue gimmick, like, yesterday. What’s one nobody’s done yet, I don’t wanna be derivative or whatever.”

“Good luck finding that,” Tim snorts breathlessly, shaking his head. His thumb slides back along the arch of Kon’s cheekbone and it’s such a little touch, but it feels so–so sweet, for lack of a better word. Feels like Tim’s still being so careful.

Makes Kon feel like . . .

He grabs Tim’s hips and tugs hopefully at them, not sure if he wants the other to fuck his mouth or just wants to make sure he isn’t going to pull back or pull away. He bobs his head faster and swallows around his cock again and again, and Tim hisses sharp little curses under his breath, and Kon can’t help grinding his own cock down harder into the mattress.

“Fuck,” Bernard muses, pressing the pad of his thumb in against the corner of Kon’s stretched-open mouth again. “You’re really into this, huh.”

“That was a question?” Tim huffs, and Kon feels warm and good and warm.

“I was talking to Kon, babe,” Bernard says, and Tim hisses through his teeth and covers his face with a hand. “At this rate I think he’s gonna come before you do.”

He might be right, the way Kon feels right now. He doesn’t know if he even needs to worry all that much about his cock to get himself off, if Tim’s gonna keep acting like this about everything.

“Pet,” Tim rasps, sliding a hand over the back of Kon’s neck and splaying his fingers across it. “Do you want to come like this? Do you like it?”

Kon would actually have to pull back to say anything in answer to that question, obviously, but he really doesn’t want to. He makes the most eager, encouraging noise he can figure out how to with his mouth full and swallows Tim down to the root and swallows around him, and Tim chokes roughly and knocks his head back against the headboard again.

Kon still can’t get over the fact that Tim doing that means he’s leaning back against his jacket.

Tim’s hips roll up into his mouth, stuttering and barely-controlled, but still gentle. Still careful. Still–

Tim’s fingers curl so, so gently in Kon’s hair, and Kon’s whole fucking brain shorts out and he comes into the sheets with a choked, gasping moan, and has no idea why having Tim’s cock filling up his mouth for it feels so good. It all feels so good, though, and he doesn’t really . . . he’s not . . .

“Shit, Kon, did you just–” Bernard starts while Kon’s still shuddering his way through it and kind of forgetting how to think, sounding delighted, and–

“Fuck!” Tim groans, and comes too.

Comes in Kon’s mouth. Because of him. Because of how he’s touching him and how he’s using his mouth and how he’s being good for him.

Kon whines around his mouthful of cock and lets Tim ride out his orgasm completely before he lets him slip out of his throat. Tim is panting. Kon . . . nuzzles him.

His dick, he means. He nuzzles that.

He should’ve probably wiped the spit off his face first, but . . .

Priorities, he guesses.

“Jesus fucking fuck, Kon, I . . .” Tim trails off with a groan, putting a hand over his eyes. Bernard was very right about how good he looks after coming. Like, if anything, he undersold it. Kon presses a careful little kiss against the root of Tim’s softening cock before nuzzling it again, feeling blurry and buzzed and so, so good. He doesn’t want to stop. He wants to make Tim come until the other kicks him off, and then he wants to see if making Bernard come will feel even half this good.

He bets he could make sure it would, he thinks, and licks his lips.

Tim groans.

“Maybe I should’ve told Supergirl to expect you next Monday,” Bernard says, openly staring. Kon still feels too buzzed to properly preen under the attention, but it makes him feel warm anyway.

“Mmmkay,” he hums, feeling just a little . . . floaty, maybe. Like, in a good way, just . . . floaty, yeah. “Whenever y'want. Just keep me 'til y'get bored or whatever.”

“I dunno, dude, you already said you weren't the marrying kind,” Bernard says wryly, reaching out to pet his hair again before dropping his hand down to wipe away the spit on his face for him, all nice and careful and neat.

Kon feels warm.

“Mmmmm, alright, then just tell me when you need that party favor for your bachelor party, 'kay?” he murmurs, nuzzling into Bernard’s hand with a little shiver before returning his attention to Tim’s cock. “Bet Superman'll gimme pink K for that.”

“Ngh,” Tim says.

Kon’s kinda starting to like that sound, he thinks.

He kisses the base of Tim’s cock again, then lifts his head to drag his tongue over the softened, drooping tip, where his come is trapped inside the condom. Wonders what Tim’s refractory period is like. Wonders if–

“Stop,” Tim rasps, and Kon would feel disappointed, but being good for Tim is just as good as getting him off. “Just–c’mere, pet. Head in my lap, and roll over on your back.”

Kon doesn’t know why Tim wants him to do that, but he’s not really worried about it. Tim always has the best ideas, after all. So he shifts up a bit as Tim strips off the condom and tosses it before tucking his cock away again, which seems like a shame, and then Kon rolls over and ends up stretched out across the cramped bed with his head in Tim’s lap, just like he asked. Tim wraps his arms around him, which is nice, and smoothes his hands down his chest.

“Color?” Tim asks. Kon doesn’t understand what he’s–oh, right.

“Green,” he hums contentedly, pressing up into Tim’s hands and tipping his head back against Tim’s stomach. Tim sighs. He sounds a little relieved, for some reason. Kon’s not sure why. There’s no way he’d be anything but green right now.

“Good,” Tim says. “Bernard, can you grab the–oh, thanks. Pet, Bernard’s going to clean you up a little, alright?”

Kon wonders what Tim wanted, but then Bernard’s leaning over him and it doesn’t seem important anymore, so he just hums again and lets his eyes half-close as he hears a faint little ripping sound, and then Bernard is running a wet wipe over the mess of come he got all over himself, just as nice and careful and neat as he wiped the spit off his face before.

He’d be embarrassed that he wasn’t handling his own mess, maybe, but it feels nice. He was kind of sticky, he guesses, especially after coming in the sheets while grinding in them. So . . . the bed’s also kind of sticky, he guesses. And he’s pretty sure he’s still at least halfway lying in the wet spot, considering.

He doesn’t really care, though. Tim’s hands are on his chest and Bernard’s being nice enough to clean him up and he just feels warm and good and like he’s being good and . . . and it’s nice. Really nice.

So yeah, he doesn’t care.

Actually, he doesn’t care about much of anything right now, except for how nice this is.

“Good boy,” Tim says, smoothing one of his hands up Kon’s chest and throat and then stroking his hair again. Kon feels even nicer, and hums softly in response. He assumes Tim wants a response, anyway. Probably. Maybe. “How do you feel, pet?”

“M’good,” Kon sighs contentedly, though he only bothers with saying anything at all because he wants to be good for him. He feels really warm and really nice and Tim is just . . . he really likes this. So much.

He never gets treated this nice. Or at least, hasn’t in a really long time.

Well . . . he hasn’t been dating much, he guesses, so . . . like really, he’s pretty sure the last time he went out with anybody was before Tim and Bernard even started dating, so . . .

. . . actually, huh. It was, wasn’t it.

Kon frowns, very briefly, and thinks . . . did he actually . . . stop dating people right when Tim got a boyfriend? Like . . . what, as an actual triggering event? Why would he . . . ?

“I cannot believe how good you are at being good for me,” Tim mutters, stroking his hair again, and Kon forgets what he was thinking about and tips his head back again to peer up at him as Bernard tosses out the used wet wipe with a snigger. “Shut up, Bernard, you don’t know how many goddamn problems this could’ve solved for Young Justice back in the day. You have no idea.”

“Oh, could it have, babe?” Bernard asks lightly, then outright cackles. Tim scowls at him. Kon . . . Kon has some slightly inappropriate thoughts about the idea of Tim ordering him around in the Robin suit in possibly inappropriate ways and places and times back in the day and . . . and, uh . . .

“Yeah, guess that would’ve been a good way to shut me up when I got too mouthy, huh?” he tries to joke, feeling a little–weird, maybe, and Tim’s fingers curl gently behind his ears.

“I was more thinking the team would've had a mutually enjoyable way to reward you for good behavior,” he replies matter-of-factly.

“. . . oh,” Kon manages, and feels his face burn. And then he has a lot more thoughts that are a lot more inappropriate about . . . about maybe just . . . about what that might’ve been like, maybe, if he’d been good for Tim and earned a reward for “good behavior” and then Tim had–Robin, because they hadn’t even known his name then, actually–and then Robin had just . . . let him be good for everybody else too, maybe. Like, they’d had enough of those team sleepovers back in the day, they could’ve just . . .

He’d have been so good, he thinks. He’d have taken care of all the girls just how they wanted and done anything Robin told him to and–well, maybe it would’ve been a little weird with Bart, he’s not sure how that would’ve worked, but Robin could’ve just told him what to do, again, and . . .

Like–he could’ve, that’s all.

Kon’s pretty sure he could’ve done that without the pink kryptonite, if he was just, like–doing what “Robin” told him to do for Cissie or Cassie or “Suzie”, or Anita if it’d happened later, or . . . like . . . even if it might’ve been a little weird and he wouldn’t have gotten to touch him, that would’ve been . . .

That’s just–a thought, kind of.

Well, he guesses his next sex dream’s probably gonna involve getting to play the starring role in a team gangbang. Good to know, he guesses.

Or mortifying, maybe. But . . .

“Real missed opportunity, there,” Tim says, and Kon bites his lip to repress the urge to squirm. He thinks about the idea of Robin telling him how to kiss Cissie or go down on Cassie or fuck Greta or lay back for Anita to ride, and it’s . . .

Fuck, it’s a thought, isn’t it.

He wonders if Robin would’ve told him what to do for Bart, too. Or even Slobo, maybe. Like–if that would’ve been a thing, if it’d ever come up. He wonders how that would’ve felt. Just . . . doing whatever Tim told him to, pink kryptonite or not, and . . .

That is a very weird thought, Kon recognizes, and then Bernard leans forward a little again and he remembers–shit, Bernard’s been waiting all this time, he needs to–

Tim strokes a hand through his hair, and Kon–hesitates. Settles, slowly. Bernard grins at Tim, and Tim smiles back at him. Kon watches them.

He likes how they look at each other. He’s never gotten to see it before, except in the sense of seeing Tim smile at his phone sometimes when he’s texting Bernard. Finally seeing Bernard’s half of the equation and the way they both feed off each other and reflect it back is . . . affecting, kind of.

And really . . . nice.

Tim deserves to get a grin like that directed at him, so–yeah. Definitely nice, Kon thinks, and settles a little more.

“Pet,” Tim murmurs, his voice all soft and gentle as he strokes Kon’s collarbones. “Do you want to stay in my lap like this while Bernard gets you ready for our cocks? Does that sound nice?”

Kon nearly bites his tongue.

“Yeah,” he manages to croak, reaching up to wrap his hands around Tim’s wrists and half-reflexively spreading his thighs as he does. “I–yeah. That sounds–yeah, I wanna do that.”

He really wants to do that, actually.

“Fuck,” Tim and Bernard mutter in unison. Kon would laugh, maybe, but the way they both say it is just really, really fucking flattering.

“Made you wait long enough already, yeah?” he says, biting his lip before flashing them both a grin and spreading his thighs a little farther, and a little more deliberately. “Show me what all the fuss is about, man.”

“Ngh,” Tim says. Bernard curses, then laughs in disbelief and grabs the lube.

“I actually cannot believe you’re even letting me touch you,” he says. “Like, at all.”

“I want you to touch me,” Kon says firmly. Tim picked Bernard. There’s no way this isn’t gonna be good.

Bernard flushes and laughs again, shaking his head and shifting over across the limited available real estate of the mattress to kneel between Kon’s thighs, and Kon feels–not self-conscious, exactly, but just very much aware of the fact that this is not the usual kind of thing he does in bed and not the usual way people touch him or look at him, and not really something he knows how to . . .

“That still feels so nice, geez,” Bernard says, which is when Kon realizes his TTK’s gotten a little bit away from him and wrapped up both Bernard and Tim again. He flushes himself, a little embarrassed, and tries not to look sheepish when he grins up at Bernard again.

“I aim to please,” he says. “What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing,” Tim says, stroking his collarbones again. “Just relax and let us take care of you, alright?”

Kon isn’t actually sure how to do that, but . . .

It sounds nice, he thinks. Like–several kinds of nice.

Like really nice.

“Okay, man,” he says, and bites his lip again. Bernard grins at him and then opens the lube and slicks up his fingers with it, and Tim pets down Kon’s chest as he does. Kon resists the urge to squirm again, wondering how it’s gonna feel, how it’s gonna–he really never has tried anything like this before, so . . .

Bernard rubs the lube between his fingers, taking a moment to warm it up a little, and Kon almost feels more flustered by that than the fact that he’s about to have his first go-around with the sexy version of a prostate exam. Like–Bernard didn’t have to bother doing that. He’s just, like–he just didn’t have to.

It’s nice, how nice they’re both being.

Very weird, but still nice.

“Nice” is covering a lot of shit right now, mostly because it’s hard to think straight enough to find better words for any of it. Like–no pun intended, or whatever.

“Fuck, you’re attractive,” Bernard mutters, then leans over and kisses him as he drops a hand down between his thighs. His slicked-up fingers skim across Kon’s cock and back behind his balls, sliding over his taint and then–

Kon jolts in surprise, even expecting the first slick brush of Bernard’s fingertips against him and even with the lube warmed up–that’s fucking sensitive, shit–and stifles a curse.

“Color?” Tim checks as Bernard pauses, and Kon tries not to wince in embarrassment.

“Still green,” he says, biting his lip for a moment before pressing a quick kiss against Bernard’s jaw so the guy doesn’t think he’s bothered or anything or, god forbid, decide to pull back instead of kissing him some more after this little conversation. “Just, like–I didn’t think it’d feel so . . . much?”

He should’ve, he guesses, but–new territory or whatever.

“Really never gotten touched here at all?” Bernard asks. Kon shakes his head, feeling kind of stupid, but Tim makes a rough little noise and Bernard leans in a bit heavier over him, his eyes sharpening. “Fuck, man, why are you letting me do this?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Kon asks, and Bernard just laughs and shakes his head too.

“Tim, is your boy not aware of what he looks like or, like, who he is as a person?” he says. “Is that a thing?”

“Look who’s talking, babe,” Tim says wryly, stroking Kon’s chest again. “If Kon says he wants you, he wants you.”

Kon very much does, yes.

“Please?” he says, biting the inside of his cheek. Bernard makes a strangled sound.

“Jesus,” he mutters tightly, and then rubs the pad of his fingertip across Kon’s–across his hole, and then around it, and it feels so–it’s so much, even that little, little gesture. Slick and warm and intense, and . . .

Kon bites his lip hard.

“How does it feel, pet?” Tim asks.

“Sensitive, I guess?” Kon says hesitantly, forcing himself not to tighten his grip on Tim’s wrists and trying not to squirm or twitch away. It’s not–it feels good, but it feels like a lot. Like, there are apparently a lot more nerve endings there than he actually ever considered as being a thing. Just . . . so many more.

“Too much?” Bernard asks. He rubs the pad of his finger in a circle around Kon’s hole again, and Kon can’t repress the jolted little shudder that goes up his spine.

“Definitely not,” he manages, swallowing roughly.

“We’ll be gentle, pet,” Tim murmurs, stroking across his chest again. Kon doesn’t need “gentle”, obviously. Doesn’t need treated that carefully.

He really wants it, though. The more Tim says they’ll give it to him . . .

He really wants it, yeah.

Bernard kisses him again and keeps rubbing the pad of his finger back and forth and around and over Kon’s hole, and Kon keeps trying not to squirm. He can hear his own heartbeat kicking up and his blood pumping harder in his veins, and then the other’s fingertip just barely dips inside him. Kon immediately presses up into the sensation with a breathless little hiss, and Bernard breaks off the kiss to duck his head against his shoulder with a muttered curse.

“Uh–sorry,” Kon tries, squeezing Tim’s wrists hesitantly and not sure what he did to get that reaction. He wants more, though, so he really hopes it wasn’t anything too bad. Is he being too pushy, or greedy, or . . . ?

“You really do not have to be,” Bernard manages, his voice just a little strangled. He doesn’t lift his head, but he presses his mouth against Kon’s collarbone and presses the tip of his finger back inside him. It is so, so sensitive, and Kon barely stifles a groan as he tips his head back against Tim’s stomach again.

Fuck. Just–fuck.

“Alright there?” Tim checks.

“Oh, that’s a word for it,” Bernard mutters, and then, conversationally, asks: “So hey, babe, so you know how your boy has super-strength and all? So like, I couldn’t open him up with fucking industrial tools if he didn’t wanna let me?”

“Ah. Still too tense?” Tim assumes, petting Kon’s chest like he thinks he needs soothed or settled or something. “Don’t worry about it, pet. It’s your first–”

“No, Tim,” Bernard cuts him off very, very evenly as he slides his finger deeper inside Kon and crooks it in a very deliberate-seeming way and starts to rub–something that makes Kon choke. Prostate, probably, he manages to figure out as he’s struggling not to move too much. Probably that’s his prostate.

Fuck.

Well, that explains some stuff about why he always hears that thing getting talked up.

“Oh,” Tim says, his eyes just barely widening.

“I had a harder time getting you to let me in the first time,” Bernard tells Tim emphatically as he gives him a pointed look, and then he rubs another fingertip around Kon’s rim as he crooks the finger he has inside him again and Kon moans. “The first few times.”

“Ngh,” Tim says faintly.

“Uh-huh,” Bernard says. “I think I could get another in him already.”

“Ngh,” Tim repeats, his nails just barely digging in against Kon’s chest. “Pet, are you . . .”

“Just feels–it feels really good, Tim,” Kon manages breathlessly, squeezing his eyes shut on a rough shudder. He wonders what another finger would feel like. He wonders what a cock would feel like. He wonders if Tim–

“Fuck,” Tim mutters under his breath.

“This is fine,” Bernard says, back to the conversational tone again as he rocks his finger inside Kon and rubs along his rim again and again. “Kryptonians can deepthroat on the first try and also just immediately take–yup, yup you can immediately take two fingers,” he observes as he works another finger in and Kon lets out an involuntary breathy noise. “Jesus fucking Christ, Tim. If he takes my cock this well, I’m gonna petition for us trying to double-team him by the end of the weekend.”

Kon wonders what that would feel like and chokes on another moan.

“Bernard, I love you, but please don’t put that thought in my head right now,” Tim says evenly. “Or ever, maybe.”

“You have noticed how his hips are moving for me right now, right, babe?” Bernard asks wryly, and Kon bites back a groan. He’s not doing that on purpose, just . . .

Kon wonders if Tim would actually lose a little bit of control if he let them both fuck him at once. Wonders if it’d feel good taking them both together, or if that’s more just, like . . . a porn thing or something. But like . . . the idea makes him feel heated, at least, and if Bernard and Tim would like it–well, he’s invulnerable. It’s not like it’d hurt, even if it didn’t feel as good for him as it did for them, and if they want–

Tim strokes up the side of his throat and Bernard nips his lower lip as he rocks his fingers in a little deeper, and Kon gets distracted from theoreticals.

“Fuuuuuck,” he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut tighter and spreading his thighs a little more. “Why’s that feel so fucking good?”

“Because Bernard knows what he’s doing and you’re an invulnerable telekinetic,” Tim says wryly. “Other people usually have a bit more of an adjustment period, at least to start.”

“I’m feeling very well-adjusted right now, actually,” Kon says feelingly, forcing himself to open his eyes so he can look up at Tim. It’s not like it’s the most flattering angle, but the sight of Tim and the intent way Tim’s watching him still makes his gut clutch up tight with heat. Like–does it fucking ever, Christ.

“I will ‘adjust’ anything you want,” Bernard swears under his breath, and Tim laughs. Kon might’ve too, except Bernard also twists his fingers inside him in an incredibly distracting way and he’s a little too busy trying not to whimper like a fucking virgin about it.

Even if this is technically the last bit of traditional “virginity” he has left, he guesses, so arguably he kind of is one right now.

That’s a thought.

Fuck.

“Bernard,” he says a little unevenly, trying to keep his breathing even. “You could . . . more, if you . . .”

“Oh my god,” Bernard groans, ducking his face against Kon’s chest and then biting down on it disgruntledly. “You’re amazing and horrifying and I want to eat you alive. I mean, I’d break my teeth trying, obviously, but I’d still be willing to try.”

“I’d let you take a bite,” Kon says, reflexively licking his lips. He’d just have to make sure to make Bernard a little TTK-invulnerable for it, and it’d be fine.

Fuck, maybe he should do that.

“God in fucking fake bullshit heaven, Tim, I’m going to die before we even fuck him,” Bernard swears, scissoring his fingers just enough for Kon to really feel it. He bites back most of the groan, but only most of it. “Yeah, I definitely am. Fuck, you take it so good, man.”

“Please more,” Kon manages this time, and Bernard groans against his chest and rocks his fingers in deep. Kon’s hips jerk up harder than he means to let them.

“You could absolutely break my fingers like this, huh,” Bernard observes in a mutter. “Wow, did not think my dick would be into that. Learn something new about ourselves every day, don’t we.”

“Bernard, come on,” Kon pleads, forcing himself to keep his hips as still as he can. “Tim, why’s your boyfriend such a fuckin’ tease?”

“Because he’s being careful with you, pet,” Tim says, scritching his nails lightly through Kon’s hair and along his scalp. Kon doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore and just reaches them back and up to fist in the sides of Tim’s shirt, still struggling not to buck or squirm. “Be a good boy and let him, alright?”

“Okay,” Kon manages, though he really just wants to whine out a protest, and Tim curls his nails against his scalp with an approving little hum that goes straight to his dick.

Okay, well–definitely not straight, right now. Like not even remotely so.

“Good boy,” Tim murmurs, and Kon feels flushed and warm and too fucking eager. “You can be patient for me, can’t you? Let us take our time with you? We’ve got all weekend. There’s no rush.”

“No rush,” Kon repeats in hazy, reflexive agreement, and his voice comes out a little hoarse. All weekend. All weekend is–is a long time. Fuck. “Mm. Tim. Tim. Tim, it feels really–he’s really good at this, fuck.”

“This is definitely not just me being good at this, though I appreciate the faith,” Bernard says, rocking and scissoring and twisting his fingers in a slow, steady, fucking mind-melting rhythm. Kon has started making very low hitched noises that he definitely doesn’t mean to be making, but he can’t seem to make himself stop. “You maybe should try and find yourself a nice girl with a nice strap who can peg you like you deserve, you are really just an absolute natural.”

“Bernard,” Tim says, sounding fondly exasperated, and Kon has to bite back another stupid groan. Just–the idea of being good for anything in bed always gets him, sue him.

Or just being good for anything at all, maybe.

“I’m just telling him, babe,” Bernard says reasonably, lifting his head again to flash Tim a grin. “I’d want you to tell my friends if they were naturals at taking it up the ass.”

“Bernard,” Tim says, and Kon laughs breathlessly.

“Being a natural’s not fuckin’ good enough,” he says, leaning up to nip at Bernard’s jaw. “Help me get some fuckin’ practice, yeah?”

“I expect a Viking funeral,” Bernard informs Tim, and then he slips another finger into Kon on his next rock inwards and Kon just about melts for the way it feels.

“I’ll give you a heat vision Viking funeral if you just keep doing that,” he pants, trying to tilt his hips up for–just for more. Bernard’s fingers just feel so good, so steady and so practiced and confident in what they’re doing, how they’re touching him, that they want to be touching him, and Tim’s hands are still in his hair and petting and stroking him affectionately but idly, like Tim’s just rubbing a dog or cat behind the ears while he does something else, or like it’s just so natural and easy a thing to do that he isn’t even thinking about it, or . . .

“Oh, I could get into that,” Bernard muses. “Kryptonian-style Viking funeral, very sick.”

“Hm,” Tim says, curling his fingers behind Kon’s ears. “You really do like this, don’t you, pet.”

“Even better than I liked sucking your cock,” Kon swears, tipping his head back into his hands. His dick isn’t fully hard right now, but it’s pretty damn close, especially considering the lack of direct stimulation it’s been getting. So like, he’s pretty sure he could get off like this, or at least that he’s gonna get real embarrassed by himself as soon as he gets an actual cock in him.

Kon doesn’t really know if an actual cock is gonna feel all that much different from or better than fingers, obviously, but the full, stretched feeling and how deep Bernard’s fingers are getting inside him already feels so fucking good, and the idea of getting something bigger and thicker just–just outright fucking him is–is really–

It just feels like a lot, as an idea.

A lot of things that he wants, right now.

“You liked sucking my cock?” Tim asks, which seems like a very unnecessary question to Kon, but he answers it anyway. He’s being good, so of course he does.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, tightening his grip in Tim’s shirt and tilting his hips up a little more for Bernard’s fingers. “I really liked it. You’ll let me do it again later, right? Maybe fuck my mouth next time? I wanna try that. Is it fun?”

“Ngh,” Tim mutters, his nails very briefly digging into Kon’s scalp.

“I am metaphorically on fire right now, obviously, but also I might be very literally on fire right now, I really wouldn’t know the difference anymore,” Bernard informs them both reasonably. Kon bites his lip and rocks his hips down just a little bit more pleadingly to meet the next rock of Bernard's fingers. Just–he just really–

“C'mon, man, you said you wanted a Viking funeral, right?” he pants past a grin, sparing a moment to wink up at him. Bernard makes a strangled noise and drops his face down to his shoulder again.

“You're the worst, oh my god,” he swears, and Kon tightens the grip of his TTK on him just a little bit, and maybe also just a little bit more than that around his dick. Bernard groans. “That. That is cheating. TTK is so many kinds of cheating. If you grip my dick any tighter it's gonna feel like I'm already fucking you, Christ.”

“Want me to?” Kon asks, licking his lips again before pressing his mouth against the shell of Bernard’s ear and then biting down lightly on it. It's tempting, even as much as he wants to feel more of him. Like–if Bernard would like it, it's definitely tempting. “I could. It'd still kinda count as you fucking me, right?”

Bernard makes a very strangled noise.

“You’re sweet, pet, but I want to see Bernard get inside you,” Tim murmurs, trailing his fingers along Kon’s temple and then down behind his ear. “I wanna see how well you take him and if you like it. Especially if it means I can get . . . carried away with you, after.”

“Mnf,” Kon says, biting his lip hard and twisting his hands in Tim’s shirt, just a little. He definitely, definitely wants to make Tim get carried away. He wants to make him get carried away and lose control and just–just get that into it.

Into him.

Yeah. He very fucking much wants that.

“Bernard,” he says roughly, digging his heels into the mattress as an urgent tremble trips its way up his thighs. There’s really not much room to fit all three of them in this bed, and he wishes there were even less. Wishes they were all closer. “Please get the fuck inside me.”

“Tim, I hate you, and there is no possible way I’m not going to embarrass myself here,” Bernard says, and very regrettably pulls his fingers out of Kon’s very riled-up and needy-feeling body. He immediately misses them. “Pass me a condom.”

“Of course, babe. Anything you want,” Tim hums with an easy smirk, and of course he’s already got one in hand. Kon didn’t even notice him grab it, the fucker. Bernard snatches it from him with some barely-coherent muttered curses, most of which for some reason seem to involve references to either the nature of chaos or Dionysus, but whatever, Kon’s not gonna pretend he’s never cussed anybody out in genetic coding or anything.

Bernard rips open the condom, which is a fucking delightful shade of highlighter yellow that Kon can’t help snickering at the sight of, and Bernard laughs too and wags it at him.

“Fuck forbid this one were flavored, it’d probably be banana,” he says, and Kon laughs harder and feels–feels a weird sort of swell of affection, almost. It’s just–it’s just nice, to be in bed with somebody he can laugh with while they’re there. Really nice.

It’s . . . been a while, that’s all.

“I don’t know, man, banana seems like a pretty logical flavor for a condom . . .” he “muses” jokingly, and Bernard laughs again and Tim groans theatrically.

“I’m literally gonna jump ship if you two keep making goddamn banana-based sex jokes,” he threatens. “I’ll go straight upstairs and right over the railing.”

I love you so fucking MUCH, Kon thinks, abrupt and sudden, and ducks his head with another laugh. It’s not a new thing, thinking that about Tim, just . . . it feels a little different, like this. A little more–vulnerable.

Well . . . well, if this weren’t happening because of pink kryptonite, and he was actually . . .

Never mind, Kon thinks, and shoves all that aside. Not relevant. This is just a fun way to spend a long weekend, and it’s something he trusts Tim–and by extension Bernard–with, and that’s all. Anything else is, well, probably exactly what Kara was warning him about when she talked about how pink kryptonite could make shit weird. Like–obviously it is.

He’s stupid, but not that stupid.

“You’d really jump ship when you could be watching your best friend take your best boyfriend’s dick, Tim?” Bernard says, grinning at Tim as he rolls on the condom, who himself makes a show of rolling his eyes. Kon really likes the way they look at each other, still–likes how they tease and play and just get along. Kind of wishes he could get a picture of them like this, honestly, and put it in that folder of things he looks at when the world sucks. “Kon, buddy, I think we need to do better here. I think you and I need to step up our game.”

It’s weird, probably, how much Kon already likes him. Sue him, he guesses, he’s just easy for an authentic type with a pretty face and a sense of humor.

Or maybe it’s just how happy Bernard makes Tim.

“Yeah?” he says, tipping his head back against Tim’s stomach again to look up at him with a grin of his own that he lets go a little crooked. Maybe he should grab the camera later and take that picture of them after all, if they don’t mind. “We need to do that for you, Rob? Show you something real good?”

“Maybe. Would you be comfortable on your stomach for this?” Tim asks, tugging lightly at that one stupid stubborn curl that Kon can never get to stay out of his damn eyes. “The angle might be better for you, especially for your first time.”

“If you put my head in your lap again, I’m gonna have to suck you off again,” Kon replies, licking his lips reflexively at the thought–at the sense-memory of how it’d felt, and how Tim had reacted, and the idea of getting more of both of those things. Bernard laughs; Tim exhales roughly.

“Can you be a good boy and wait?” he asks. “I want to fuck you too, pet. I want to know how much more you’ll like my cock like that.”

Kon feels a little bit like bursting into flames and falling off the planet, but somehow manages to actually not burn alive.

It’s not exactly easy, though.

“I’ll be good,” he breathes, fisting his hands tight in the sides of Tim’s shirt again and staring up at him, his eyes probably embarrassingly wide. “So good. Lemme be good for you, Rob.”

“I don’t have to let you. I know you will be,” Tim murmurs approvingly, smoothing his hair back off his forehead, and Kon thinks he could fucking melt. “Get on your stomach. Let Bernard show you how much you’re going to like his cock.”

Kon isn’t just going to melt; he’s going to fucking evaporate.

“Yeah,” he manages, then lets go of Tim’s shirt and turns over onto his stomach as Tim shifts back a little higher against the headboard; against his jacket.

He is really, really having trouble not fixating on the jacket thing.

He is also increasingly certain that he needs to find a way to get Tim to wear it sometime this weekend, or he’s never gonna forgive himself for missing the opportunity.

“Well, this is a view,” Bernard says under his breath, running a hand up Kon’s bare back. Kon bites his lip; presses up into the contact. Bernard curls his fingers against his spine and draws them down lightly, and Kon presses up into that too.

It feels–nice. Like . . . really nice. It’s such a little thing, but . . .

It’s nice, yeah.

“Room with a view, right?” Kon says as breezily as he can, and Bernard laughs and leans over him, sliding the hand on his back down to his hip and bracing the other on the mattress. Kon barely resists the urge to squirm. Tilts his hips up maybe just a little.

He really wants to know what this is going to be like. He really wants to . . .

He wants to feel what this is going to be like.

“You're always so pretty, pet,” Tim says, trailing his fingers through Kon's hair again. Petting his fingers through his hair again. Kon bites his lip harder and nuzzles into his hand. It feels really–he really likes the way it feels.

That's all.

“Tim,” he says. It comes out a little pleading, maybe because Tim said “always so pretty”, like it’s not just . . . like maybe he means . . .

Tim pets him again.

“Good boy,” he says. “Bernard's going to make you feel so good for your first time, pet.”

“No pressure,” Bernard says with a breathless little laugh.

“Well, I am speaking from experience,” Tim says with a wry little smile. Bernard laughs again, and Kon pictures that for a whole half a second and feels a little faint.

Bernard leans forward to kiss Tim, and Tim meets him halfway. Kon doesn't look up at them–the angle’s no good anyway–but he feels it through his TTK. Feels it really intimately through his TTK.

They break off the kiss, and Tim leans back against his jacket again and Bernard shifts back a little, and then he feels Bernard lean down farther over him again; feels him take the hand on his hip away to wrap around his own cock, and then the blunt, slick pressure of its head rubs against his hole. Kon locks his muscles to keep from bucking up too hard and barely stifles a whimper.

“You still good for this, Kon?” Bernard checks, which is nice of him or whatever but also about to make Kon lose his mind.

“Man, I can't get it together enough to beg right now, just please fuck me,” he pleads, ducking his face down against the inside of Tim’s thigh and grabbing the sides of his shirt to twist his fingers into again. He doesn't rip the fabric, but it's an effort.

The thought reminds him of the handcuffs idea, and he shudders.

“You heard him, babe,” Tim says, stroking the back of his neck. Kon shudders harder, and just . . . lifts his hips a little, maybe. Just a bit. “Give my boy what he wants.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Bernard says roughly, and Kon lets out that whimper after all. Tim exhales and Bernard mutters a curse, and then pushes into him so, so slow.

Kon whimpers.

“Fuck, you're so tight,” Bernard groans breathlessly, still pushing in so slow, slow, slow. “How can you take me this easy and still be so tight?”

Kon doesn’t really have an answer for him there, but even if he did, there is no fucking possible way he could get it out anything like coherently. He–yeah, okay, yeah. He likes this. He definitely, definitely likes this.

“Ah,” he chokes, because that’s all he can manage to get out. “Ah, ah, ah–”

“Fuck,” Bernard mutters, his hips just barely stuttering, and Kon doesn’t mean to, but he has the weird sudden thought that Bernard’s going to pull back and pull out, going to leave and forget him, and he just instinctively grabs onto him with his TTK and yanks him back in.

And, without meaning to, yanks their hips flush and his cock all the way in.

Fuck.

“Fuck!” Bernard curses, and nearly falls on top of him. Kon yelps into Tim’s thigh and feels like an idiot, but it just feels so fucking–so fucking good and–and–!

“Bernard!” Tim protests, sounding startled and disbelieving, and past the shaky haze of pleasure Kon feels him bristle a little, and feels–feels weird about that too, for just a flashed second. It’s not like Bernard could’ve–what, hurt him, or . . .

“That was not me, babe,” Bernard chokes, digging his fingers into the sheets and Kon’s hip. Kon muffles a moan against Tim’s thigh, trying to get his voice back and also get himself to loosen his grip on Bernard. It is not easy.

“S-sorry, sorry,” he pants guiltily, tightening his grip on Tim’s shirt again and trying to keep his shoulders from shaking or his hips from pushing back greedily. It’s not like Bernard could get any deeper right now anyway; Kon can feel that he can’t. “Just felt so–I didn’t mean to–god, god, please move, I’m sorry, but please.”

“. . . ngh,” Tim says very, very faintly, and his fingers fist in Kon’s curls and dig in against the back of his shoulder.

Bernard pulls back a bit from him again. Kon lets out a stupid little instinctive whine of distress and feels like an idiot and like he’s fucked all this up and is just this needy moron who can’t even be fucking patient like Tim asked–

“Oh, believe me, man, you don’t have to ask,” Bernard rasps roughly, then presses a careful little kiss against the nape of his neck as he rolls his hips back in. The slide of his cock feels impossibly better than Kon expected it to and he makes a noise he can’t even identify, and only barely keeps from ripping Tim’s shirt to shreds in his grip. “Hell, Tim, I feel like I’m fucking a goddamn vise here.”

“Do you?” Tim asks musingly, smoothing a hand across the back of Kon’s neck, and Kon struggles very, very hard not to jerk or buck underneath Bernard as the other sets up a steady, careful pace of long, slow thrusts that are making him feel insane. He wants to move back into him so bad but doesn’t trust himself to do it without doing it too hard. Just–his self-control is already all locked into keeping his TTK from doing anything stupid again, so doing that and not accidentally bucking Bernard off the damn bed if he tries to move too much just doesn’t seem likely to happen. Like–very much not so, yeah.

God, he wants so much more, though.

But Tim told him to wait, he reminds himself, swallowing roughly and clenching his fists a little tighter in the other’s shirt. Tim told him to wait for him, so . . . so he can do that for him.

Bernard’s cock feels so fucking hot inside him, though. Kon can survive explosions and molten lava and heat that would evaporate almost anyone else on the planet, but somehow this feels so much more overwhelming than any of that ever has. He doesn’t really need to breathe these days, but right now he feels like he literally can’t.

“What about you, pet?” Tim asks as he smoothes the hand on Kon’s neck up the back of his skull to curl his fingers against his buzzed scalp and then tangles them in his hair. “How does it feel?”

“S’good,” Kon just barely manages to get out, burying his face in tight against Tim’s thigh and trying not to tremble. He remembers how the other’s cock felt in his mouth, and feels it water again at the memory. He wants–both of them, yeah. Both at once. He wants to be good for them and he wants them to use him like he’s something worth the using and–and–“S’really good, Tim, fuck fuck fuck, I want, I–I–”

Tim strokes through his hair again. Bernard smoothes a hand up his ribs and rolls his hips in deep.

Kon doesn’t even know what he wants. Doesn’t even know what to expect here, really. It feels so good–maybe almost feels better than fucking someone himself, which is really not a possibility that actually occurred to him before Bernard got inside him, and he wants to move back into him harder, he wants to beg him for more, he wants to fucking moan and keen and–

“Good boy. You’re doing so well for me,” Tim murmurs soothingly, his voice steady and even, and Kon takes a ragged breath and just . . . concentrates on that. On the praise, the confirmation that he’s not fucking anything up; on Tim’s familiar, elevated heartbeat and all the little sounds of his body. On the filthy sounds of Bernard’s and his bodies, and the metronome-steady rock of the other’s cock inside him, steady as a machine. “Is it enough?”

“Please more,” Kon blurts pleadingly, because as long as Tim’s the one asking he can focus enough to answer him, and shudders violently as Tim keeps petting him all light and easy and absentminded. “I–sorry, sorry, I can be patient, I can.”

“You’re being so patient,” Tim says in the same soothing murmur, and Kon makes an absolutely pathetic sound in response. “You’re doing so good, pet. You’re taking it so well. You’re so sweet to let us see you like this, too. So sweet to behave so well for me.”

Kon makes some hitched and absolutely desperate noises and forces himself to let go of Tim’s shirt before he accidentally tears it right off him, fisting his hands in the sheets instead. He keeps his head ducked down in his lap and his face turned in against his thigh, though, and Tim keeps petting him the same absentminded but attentive way. Like it’s just a reflex; just a thing he’d do whenever. Like if Kon just came and sat down at his feet while he was working on a case or something he’d just . . . do this. Any time.

Kon bites his lip hard enough to hurt and barely keeps his TTK from disassembling the sheets down to threads.

His cock’s achingly hard already, twitching and dripping and desperate for attention, but he doesn’t want to give it to it. Right now he wants to feel Bernard’s cock inside him and Tim’s hands in his hair and on his neck and nothing else.

“Fuck, I have never been so grateful that I started working out,” Bernard pants. Kon feels the other’s fingers digging into the sheets again, and feels the trembling in his muscles. Feels him breathing rough and quick, and feels his pulse beating.

He doesn’t usually feel that much of people. Or–definitely not like this, anyway.

But it’s hard to feel anything else right now either.

Except, again, for Bernard’s cock inside him and Tim’s hands on him. Those are the obvious and definite priorities right now.

“Such a good boy for me, pet,” Tim hums low and adoring, stroking through Kon’s hair again, and Kon chokes on a sound that’s way too close to a sob and almost bursts into tears for no damn reason. Tim’s fingers curl against his scalp, just barely. “Color?”

“G-green,” Kon manages, because if you stop touching me right now I’ll fucking DIE isn’t actually a color, and tries not to sound like a fucking pathetic freak as he chokes down another almost-sob. He doesn’t–he’s not–“Sorry, sorry, dunno why I'm–s'just–s'just been a minute, s'all, fuck.”

“Since you got laid, or since you got laid with someone who really cares about you?” Tim asks in a brutally gentle voice, skimming his fingers along his temple. Kon chokes again.

“I don't–don't ask me that right now, man, please,” he pleads. Tim hums quietly, and just keeps petting his hair.

“Okay,” he says, simple and easy. “You're doing so good, pet, don't worry about it. Is Bernard making you feel nice? Do you like him?”

“I do,” Kon says, and he’s still a little choked up but can’t keep himself from arching up just a little; just as much as he trusts himself to. “I really do, I do, I really like him–”

“Oh, alright, I am gonna be very weird about you in the future, huh,” Bernard observes breathlessly, rolling his hips in deep enough to make Kon moan as loud as he’s ever moaned in his fucking life. “Okay, good to know.”

“Join the club, babe,” Tim says dryly, just a little bit of humor in his voice even as he keeps his hands gentle and sweet on Kon. “Nice to have a fresh face after all these years. Wonder Girl and I'll get you the T-shirt and Impulse'll do up the membership card.”

“Sorry, sorry, m’such a fucking mess,” Kon stutters, trying not to fucking sob again, and Tim’s hands go a little heavier on him. “I just–”

“Shhhhh, pet, you’re doing so good,” Tim hushes him gently. “Such a good boy for me, it's your first time and you already take cock like a dream. And you make such a pretty mess, and you’re letting me see it.”

Kon’s brain fries just a little, and the sheets try to unravel. He manages to keep them intact, but only just.

“Tim,” he chokes helplessly. Tim pets his hair again.

“Tell Bernard what you think of him, pet,” he says. Instructs.

Orders.

And it's the easiest thing in the world, following Robin's orders.

“Nnnnn god god god,” Kon groans as he fists his hands tighter in the sheets, shuddering roughly again and not even sure what to blame for it anymore. “You're so nice, Bernard, you're really nice, you don't have to be this nice to me, and you're really funny and you're fucking hot and I want you to come in me so fucking bad, wanna make you feel good, want you to like me too, please please please–”

“Yup, I will definitely be requiring that T-shirt,” Bernard mutters.

“–and Tim gets so happy when he talks about you and it's really, really great, I love it,” Kon probably-rambles, at this point, but he just wants to be good. “He showed us this real cute selfie he took with you once and I saved it in my folder of stuff I look at to feel better when the world just, just fucking sucks.”

“Oh,” Tim says, his hands stilling on Kon.

“. . . actually is there, like, a club jacket,” Bernard says.

“Well, there might be after this,” Tim says under his breath, curling his fingers behind Kon’s ear, and Kon feels all riled-up and incredibly embarrassed. He didn’t–he didn’t mean to say that much, exactly, just . . .

“Sorry. Sorry, that's weird, I know, it's weird, I just–” he stutters, and Tim tugs lightly at his hair.

“It’s not weird, pet,” he says gently. “It makes me really happy, actually.”

Kon nearly takes the bed apart without even meaning to.

He moans.

It feels so good. It feels so good. Bernard’s moving so steady and careful and Tim’s still petting him, still keeping him in close, and they’re both still touching him, keeping him grounded between them, and Tim just keeps saying things, and–and–

“You’re such a sweet thing, pet,” Tim says right as Bernard slides in to the hilt, and Kon makes an absolutely embarrassing sound. The sheets might suffer some fraying, maybe. Like–just some very minor unraveling or whatever. Just at the hems or whatever.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“Tim,” he chokes uselessly, and Tim smoothes a hand down the back of his neck. He should be–be doing something, doing more, doing anything, he's not being–not–

“So good for me, pet,” Tim murmurs with tender certainty, sliding his fingers down the back of his neck again, and Kon nearly comes again right then and there. “Do you feel good too? Is Bernard taking good care of you?”

“Yeah,” Kon croaks helplessly, feeling more threads unravel at the edges of the sheet he’s clutching. “He is, yeah, it–fuck, feels so good. Please, I–please.”

“Good,” Tim hums, and then he tugs at the back of Kon’s hair and Kon tilts his head reflexively with it, and then he’s looking up at him again and Tim is already looking at him, his expression alert and calculating, warm and fixated, focused. Concentrating.

Like he’s committing something to memory, maybe.

Kon bites his tongue.

“‘Please’ what, pet?” Tim asks. “What do you need?”

“Please more,” Kon begs immediately, and Tim exhales roughly and cups his face in his hands. Kon immediately feels flustered and shaken in a totally different way than he already does, and the intent look on Tim’s face isn’t helping.

Neither is the getting fucked part, considering.

“You can wait for me, can’t you, pet?” Tim asks gently, sliding a thumb along beneath Kon’s eye. Kon shudders roughly and fists his hands in the sheets again. “You’re doing so good. Just let Bernard take care of you. Don’t worry about anything else.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I–okay,” Kon manages, and then Bernard leans a little bit farther over him and puts a roll in his hips that makes him see fucking stars. “Ah–FUCK!”

“Bernard,” Tim says, a sharp spark of heat in the back of his eyes. “Do that again, would you?”

“Oh, believe me, happy to,” Bernard says breathlessly, and he does; rolls his hips into Kon’s steady and easy, over and over. Kon chokes on nothing and half-claws at the bed, trying to–to match him, to move back into him without going too hard or–or–

“Stay, pet,” Tim instructs lightly, tapping his cheek. “You’re letting Bernard take care of you, remember? That’s all you have to do right now.”

Kon has no idea how he’s supposed to “stay” for this, but he nods stupidly anyway and just–just holds himself steady the best he can; locks his muscles and tries not to tremble or shake or fall apart into useless mush. Keeps his head up and face upturned in Tim’s hands, because that’s where Tim wants him, so . . . so that’s . . .

“You’re so tight, Christ. And eager,” Bernard pants, digging his fingers in against his hips. Kon’s skin doesn’t dent, really, but it still feels . . . it still feels . . .

Fuck, all of this feels so good.

“Don’t stop,” he pleads, and his voice comes out choked again. He keeps his hands fisted in the sheets, because if he lets them flatten he knows he’s gonna unravel them all and take the bed apart. And maybe the boat too, at this point. “Please don’t stop. Feels so good, fuck, like I’m burning.”

“You like it?” Tim says. “You want more?”

“I like it, I like it, please,” Kon babbles, pushing his face into his hands like a stupid fucking–like he's just–

“Good boy,” Tim says tenderly, stroking his face.

Kon whines. He wants–he wants that, yeah. He wants to be good. He wants to be good enough.

He wants Tim to think he's good enough. And Bernard, kinda, but especially Tim. Just–always Tim. He's wanted Tim to think he was good enough since the day they fucking met, basically, so–so wanting it like this is–

It's a lot, wanting it like this.

“Rob,” he pleads. Tim strokes his face again.

“You really do like this, don't you,” he half-murmurs, rubbing his thumbs along the arcs of Kon's cheekbones right as Bernard bottoms out inside him. Kon bites his lip on a rough shudder and doesn't even know how he doesn't come for it.

“Yeah,” he croaks roughly, digging his fingers into the sheets again. “It's really good, Tim, I–please, please–”

“Fucking hell,” Bernard mutters as Tim exhales. Kon wants him to fuck his mouth, or maybe he wants him to kiss him. He can't quite–tell right now, maybe.

“Feels so–it’s like–feels so full,” he stutters helplessly, and doesn’t even know how to explain how much he likes that feeling. He doesn’t–why does he like that so much?

He really doesn’t know, but he wants more of it. He wants–he wants so, so much more of it.

“You really do take it so good,” Bernard says, his voice breathless and ragged as he braces himself a little heavier over him again; rolls his hips in slow and deep. Kon squeezes his eyes shut with a whimper. “Jeeeeesus.”

“You’re such a quick learner, pet,” Tim murmurs quieter, tilting his head a little.

“M’not even doin’ anything,” Kon protests with a weak laugh, his voice coming out a lot more ragged than Bernard’s. He’s trying to be patient like Tim told him to, trying to hold himself still and steady, but that’s it. He wants to move back into Bernard more again, wants to get his mouth on Tim again, wants–wants–just wants, right now.

“You’re being good for me, aren’t you?” Tim says, and strokes his face again. His own looks . . . tender, almost, and Kon’s having trouble looking at it; having trouble looking at anything else. “So good for me. You’re just the sweetest thing right now. My sweet, sweet pet. So obedient and so cute. So all you’re going to do right now is be good and patient and let Bernard make you come all over my bed for me.”

“Tim,” Kon chokes helplessly, and nearly comes right there.

Then Tim smiles down at him, and Bernard presses a kiss against the back of his shoulder and rolls his hips in harder, and that–and that–

“TIM!” Kon yelps, and comes hard into the sheets. It doesn’t feel–it’s not–

They didn’t even touch his cock, he realizes hazily through the stuttering aftershocks. He didn’t even touch it. Fuck. Fuck, that’s . . .

“Fuck,” Bernard says, his hips half-stuttering to a stop, and Tim blinks very, very slowly.

“Ngh,” he says, his voice a little faint. Kon’s too busy burying his face in Tim’s lap and trying not to fall off the bed to say anything himself; his head is fucking swimming. He’s just–he just–

Maybe he can say one thing, he manages to think, his head still all hazy and fuzzy.

“Dun’ stop,” he slurs out, wrapping his TTK clumsily around Bernard again and digging his fingers into the mattress until he can feel every single spring curled down through it, and Bernard buries a curse against the back of his neck and thrusts in deep. “Feels so good, ah, ah, ah–”

“Fuck, you really are made for this,” Bernard grunts, and keeps up the same deep, steady thrusts as Kon shudders underneath him. He can’t even get it together enough to make a weird and fucked-up crack about Cadmus’s design choices. He feels too sensitive and too riled-up and too much, and all he wants is more of it. “Tim, seriously, I realize he’s the one who came first, but I do not have the stamina to fuck your boy like he deserves.”

“Don’t worry about it, babe. I’ll pick up wherever you leave off,” Tim says, and Kon clenches his fists in the sheets and buries a whimper against his thigh. Tim’s gonna fuck him. Tim’s gonna be inside him just like this, and it’s gonna be Tim inside him.

And Tim’s touching him right now, and letting him fuck his boyfriend, and Kon’s already overheated and overwhelmed and fucking shaking for it.

He just came, obviously, but his cock isn’t softening at all.

“Tim,” he pleads hoarsely, and Bernard slides in deep again and he feels almost like he’s coming again. “Tim, Tim, it feels so good, fuck, should’ve fucking told me your boyfriend fucked this good.”

Tim lets out a soft little huff of a laugh, curling his fingers behind his ears. Kon melts for it immediately, a shudder going all the way down his spine.

“Would you have appreciated it while you were straight?” Tim asks wryly. Kon doesn’t even remember what they’re talking about, but whatever it was, he’s pretty sure he could’ve, given how he feels right now.

“Would’ve if you’d told me to,” he swears breathlessly, tightening his grip in the sheets. Tim’s nails dig in against his scalp just the slightest, slightest bit.

“Jesus,” Bernard mutters.

“Would you, pet?” Tim asks, drawing his fingers very carefully through Kon’s hair again, and Kon lifts his head just enough to press his mouth in against the pulse in his wrist and bite down on it, just for a moment; press his tongue up against it. Tim’s heartbeat is one of the ones he knows best, and feeling it skip against his tongue is a fucking experience.

“Yeah, yeah, anything you told me to,” he pants breathlessly, nodding brief and urgent before biting down on Tim’s wrist again. He doesn’t know why he’s doing it. It just–it feels good to do it. Helps him focus, a little.

Tim twists a curl of his hair around a finger and gives it a light little tug that feels like the most important thing in the world, which is fucking something, considering how overwhelmingly good Bernard’s making him feel. Kon–needs to do more for him, he knows. He just–he needs to be better. But Tim told him to hold still and be patient, to stay, and . . .

“No biting, pet,” Tim says in the gentlest reprimand of Kon’s fucking life, and gives that one curl of hair another little tug. Kon ducks his mouth again and whimpers. “Good boy. Still behaving so well for me, aren’t you. Maybe I should’ve told you how good Bernard is in bed before this. You like it when I’m happy, don’t you? So you’d like knowing all about how he makes me happy.”

“Yeah,” Kon chokes, nodding stupidly and digging his fingers into the mattress again. He only barely keeps himself from punching them through it, and is pretty sure he only manages it because he’s got his TTK on it. “I’d like it, I’d really like it, tell me all about it.”

“He’s so good at sucking my cock,” Tim says, sweet and affectionate, and Bernard lets out a huffed, breathless laugh and skims a hand up Kon’s back as he fucks him a little faster, his rhythm turning just barely erratic. Kon pictures that and nearly bites his own tongue in half. That. That’s really–fuck, he knows he’s the one who’s supposed to be putting on a show here, but he really hopes they let him watch them mess around at some point this weekend. Just–at least once or twice, maybe. At least a little. “You are, babe. He learned how to deepthroat for me too, actually. It was a nice little bit of deja vu, listening to him teach you how to do it.”

“Tim, you can’t tell me that kind of shit when I’m not allowed to suck you off again yet,” Kon manages, his voice coming out strangled. Tim hums, twirling his hair around a finger again.

“You said you wanted to hear it, though,” he says. “What should I tell you? Do you want to hear about how it feels when he fucks me? We only use condoms when we’re trying not to make a mess, so I could tell you what it feels like when he comes inside, even if you can’t feel it for yourself.”

It is definitely a good thing Tim told him to stop biting him, because otherwise Kon would’ve probably just broken his wrist with his teeth.

“Tim,” he groans. “Tim Tim Tim, please please please–”

“Be patient, pet,” Tim hums, smoothing his hair back off his forehead. “You want to be good for me, don’t you? Let Bernard enjoy you for a little longer, and then I’ll fuck you any way you want.”

A spike of heat guts Kon like a fish and his cock fucking throbs against the mess of the mattress. It is incredibly, incredibly embarrassing how badly his stamina is currently losing to a baseline human’s, even knowing Bernard and Tim are probably going at each other on the daily and he’s been–it’s been a little while for him, that’s all, and he’s been kinda pent-up lately, actually, and–

He just–he doesn’t know why he’s so easy, sometimes.

It’s–embarrassing, sometimes.

But Tim’s still petting him, still promising to fuck him too, still telling him how to be good and telling him that being easy for him is good, and Bernard still seems pretty into everything they’ve been up to so far, so . . . so . . .

“Okay,” Kon whimpers. “Okay, okay, okay. I–fuck, okay. Is it good, I–Bernard, do you want–?”

“I want literally nothing right now, trust me,” Bernard promises breathlessly, then leans down just enough to kiss the back of his neck. Kon’s cock throbs again, and he bites back another whimper. He doesn’t mean to, but his body clutches up and his TTK tightens, and Bernard immediately buries a moan against his spine. “Fuuuuuck, you really want it deep, huh.”

“S-sorry,” Kon stutters, and reaches back to grab Bernard’s hip with a hand and dig his fingers in just–just a little bit. That’s all. He shouldn’t, maybe, but it’s so hard not to. Just–just something, he needs to hold onto something, it feels like.

“God, yeah, it’s awful how into my dick you are, don’t know how I’ll put up with it, it’s just the worst,” Bernard jokes with a breathless, heated laugh as he nuzzles the back of Kon’s neck. “You’re so tight. Tight and hot. Do standard humans run this hot? I’m pretty sure standard humans don’t run this hot.”

“I’ll give you my opinion in a minute,” Tim says, mild and easy. Kon chokes on literally nothing and grips Bernard’s hip as tight as it’s safe to with his TTK wrapped around him.

He thinks he genuinely might come again before Bernard gets around to even coming the once, at this rate. Like–that really might happen, the way this is going, which is not something that usually happens to him with a partner. Just–his cock never really went soft after the last time and right now it’s this close to aching, and Bernard is still fucking him with a lot more careful patience than he thinks he could manage in that position himself, and Tim’s still petting him, and it’s all new and weird and good and just so much.

“Tim,” he manages to get out, flexing his grip in the sheets and trying not to whine. He's good, he's being good, he's being good and patient and he isn't gonna whine or beg, he'll be patient, just–just–“Tim, fuck, fuck, if he keeps this up I'm gonna–gonna come again, fuck fuck fuck!”

“You can come as many times as you need to, pet,” Tim says, stroking his hair while Bernard mutters curses into his back. Kon whines after all, squeezing his eyes shut; feeling his whole body burn. “I bet you get so tight when you do. I bet it makes Bernard feel so good when you thank him like that.”

There is literally nothing Kon can do in response to that except try to tighten up, and Bernard buries a much louder curse against his back and grabs the back of one of his hands.

“Jesus, Tim, if you weren't on deck I don't think he'd ever let me out,” Bernard pants, his fingers digging in against Kon's knuckles, and Kon can't even try to stop whining now. He wants more and deeper and–and Tim, too. He wants both of them at once.

He thinks he maybe wants . . .

“M'invulnerable,” he reminds them in a slurred, overwhelmed mumble, ducking his head lower and trying to catch his breath to absolutely no effect at all. “Pro'ly could double-team me, right? Yeah?”

“Ngh,” Tim says, and Bernard just chokes.

“Holy shit, Kon,” he says with obvious reverence, tightening his grip on the back of his clenched fist, and Kon bites his lip and tries to figure out if it'd be too weird to just, like . . . just twist his wrist a little and grip Bernard’s hand back.

Probably, yeah. That's probably–weird, yeah. Or too much, or . . .

Something.

He really wants to, though. He–just, if it’s too much or weird or–

Tim strokes his hair again and he remembers, abruptly, being told not to bite.

Tim’ll tell him if it's weird or too much. Tim’ll tell him if it's okay. So it's . . . so he can just . . .

“Tim,” Kon manages, his voice cracking a little as Bernard rocks into him again; his fingers twitching restlessly before he forces them to dig back into the sheets. “Tim, can I–s’it okay if I–I'll be careful, promise, but can I hold his hand?”

“Jesus,” Bernard groans.

Tim . . . exhales.

“Yeah, pet,” he says, careful and even. “You can do that.”

Kon buries a whimper against his thigh again and twists his wrist, and Bernard immediately laces their fingers together and grips his hand tight, and it is so, so fucking embarrassing, but he almost immediately comes again–and without them touching his cock again. It's longer and slower and harder to resist collapsing into this time, and Kon doesn't even have the breath to make anything but the tiniest, stupidest-sounding noises for it. Bernard presses another groan into his shoulder and grips his hand even tighter, and Kon feels the other's cock twitch and throb inside him, and through his TTK he really feels everything, right down to the thick pulses of come that spill out into the condom as Bernard thrusts in deep. He can't feel it with his body and it's not really inside him, obviously, but–but–but it's new and different and–and it's so–

“Oh,” Kon chokes out breathlessly, shuddering roughly, and the aftershocks of orgasm stab through him as hard as actually coming to begin with did even as he reflexively clenches up tighter around Bernard’s perfect-feeling cock. “I felt that.”

Bernard groans again, louder, his hips stuttering and shuddering to a stop, and Kon again completely fails to catch his breath. Bernard's still sheathed inside him and for some reason–he doesn't even know why, but even without the guy fucking him anymore, he really likes him there.

Or he likes it because Bernard's not fucking him anymore, maybe, he realizes a little dazedly, still shuddering through the jerky little aftershocks. Like–he likes doing that the other way around sometimes, so . . . so it makes sense, right? If he likes this too?

It just–he just–

“He's right,” he rasps into Tim's thigh, voice all mumbly and dazed as he tries to keep his TTK from wrapping either of them up too tight, but at the same time can't stop himself from trying to clench up tighter around Bernard’s cock again, even as trembly and melted as he feels. Just–it's gotta be one or the other, it feels like. “Dun’ want ‘im t’pull out.”

“I am running out of godly names to take in vain here, Tim,” Bernard wheezes roughly, panting for breath against the back of Kon's neck and locking their fingers together tighter. Kon tilts his hips up a little on reflex and bites back a whine.

“Sorry,” he croaks. “Sorry, just really like it.”

Bernard, apparently, comes up with some more godly names. At least, he says a lot of names that sound pretty godly. Tim just exhales again very, very slowly and strokes Kon’s hair.

Kon flashes back to the idea of just sitting down at Tim’s feet while he’s working on a case and getting petted like this while he works and then whimpers again, biting his lip hard. Like–not even as a sex thing, maybe, just . . . just as a thing.

He doesn’t really understand what he’s so into about that idea, but he’s really into it.

“You like it,” Tim repeats, his thumb pressing in lightly against Kon’s temple, just for a moment. Kon swallows. Tim doesn’t really say it like it’s a question, but he nods anyway, feeling blurry and dizzy. Tim exhales, slowly, and his heartbeat settles in a very deliberate way. Kon bites his lip.

Why is that so hot? Just–Tim feeling like he needs to settle his heart rate right now–Kon has no idea why that’s so fucking hot.

He’s never heard Tim’s heartbeat sound like this, though. At least–not while they were in the same state, anyway. Once or twice it’s spiked up kind of like this and caught his attention, though he’d figured out pretty quick to not listen in when it was doing that, but . . .

But right now, Tim wants him listening to it. Wants him listening to everything he says. Wants . . .

Kon ducks his head on a shudder and feels Bernard’s body as a warm and steadying pressure against his back and every single inch of Tim’s veins through his skin; all his muscle and bone and nerves and just–just everything. All of him.

He doesn’t . . . do that, usually. It’s too much, usually. Too much to concentrate on, focus past, feel.

But he’s doing it right now.

“You look so good like this, Kon,” Tim murmurs, skimming his fingertips down Kon’s face; catching the underside of his jaw to give it the lightest little upwards tug that Kon immediately follows only to meet eyes with Tim’s camera lens.

Tim snaps a picture–keeps something of him to remember–and Kon shudders all the way down to his fucking atoms.

He doesn’t know if anyone’s ever said his name the way Tim does.

“If you like it this much, maybe I should just let you have it for a little while,” Tim says, idle and absent, except for how Tim is never any kind of idle or absent: Tim is deliberate, always. Tim is careful and precise and on purpose.

Tim’s also so hard in his jeans that it has to be hurting him, but not showing any sign of that at all in his breath or expression or composure.

Or his heartbeat.

But at the same time, Kon can feel his pulse through his fucking dick right now, and it is really, really fucking distracting.

Tim presses the pad of his thumb against the center of Kon’s lower lip, and Kon shudders again and twists his hands in the sheets.

“Tim,” he breathes, not meaning to say anything at all.

Tim smiles at him. Then he glances up at Bernard with a speculative look that Kon could recognize through any mask, and his smile widens a little.

“Bernard,” he says. “How tight is he holding onto you?”

“With his TTK or with his ass, babe?” Bernard asks, wry and breathless, and Tim laughs. Bernard smoothes a hand up Kon’s ribs and Kon tries to let go of him, but . . . “I mean, the answer to both is ‘oh my god’, but you get the idea.”

“Hm,” Tim says, and presses the edge of his thumbnail into Kon’s lower lip for just a moment. Kon’s mouth opens without him actually making a conscious decision to open it. Just a little, but . . .

Tim looks down at him again, and his expression goes soft. Kon . . .

Kon really, really regrets not meeting pink kryptonite sooner.

He manages to unwrap his TTK from around Bernard, who lets out a mock-regretful little sigh and a shaky laugh as he leans back from him and finally pulls out, letting go of his hand in the process. Even after deliberately letting him go, Kon can’t bite back the disappointed noise he makes himself.

“Christ,” Bernard mutters, smoothing a hand up his back before leaning back a little farther to strip off the condom and throw it out. Kon misses his weight, even as slight a pressure as it was. Misses the body heat from it, maybe. It was–warm. He liked it.

He’s missed . . .

“Sorry,” he mumbles uselessly, feeling a little stupid. He tips his head into Tim’s hands, just a little, and Tim hums dismissively at his apology and just ducks his own head to drop a kiss into his hair. It’s such a dumb little thing to like as much as Kon does, but he really does.

He wants to get kissed some more. He wants to get touched more. He wants to get to make Tim smile at him again.

And he wants to get on top of Tim and sit down on his cock like a–like a good boy.

“God, if it weren’t for all the lube you wouldn’t look like you’d been fucked at all,” Bernard says with another breathless laugh, cupping his ass in both hands to give it an appreciative squeeze before spreading his cheeks a little, probably to get a better look at his hole, and Kon flushes at the thought even as he instinctively tilts his hips for him again and gets a weird little thrill of heat low in his gut over the fact Bernard’s still looking at him like that even after already getting his rocks off. Although . . . is that good because it means he’ll still be just as tight for Tim as he was for Bernard, or is it bad because Bernard wanted to see him more messed up than he can really get, or–“Fuck. Yeah, Tim’s right. You are just about the best damn boy.”

Maybe Kon will stick around ‘til Batman kicks him out of Gotham, this time.

“Kon,” Tim murmurs, his mouth still pressed down against his hair. “What color are you?”

“There are not enough shades of green in the fucking world, man,” Kon says with a shaky little laugh of his own, sliding a hand up over one of Tim’s thighs and giving it a squeeze too. He really wants to suck his cock again. Wants to make Tim come again. Wants–

“Green for me, too?” Tim asks, and Kon shudders.

“Definitely,” he croaks, and feels Tim smile against his scalp.

“Good boy,” he says, then straightens back up while Kon’s busy having his useless-ass brain melt out of his ears. “Bernard, pass me the–ah, thanks.”

“I got you, babe,” Bernard says with another laugh as he hands over the box of condoms and also the lube. Tim gives him a wry little smirk, then fishes out a condom. “Hey, wanna take bets on the color this time? Or does the X-ray vision let a guy cheat on that kind of thing?”

“It’s pink,” Tim says without even opening it, his smirk widening.

“. . . that would be incredibly appropriate, considering,” Bernard muses. Tim laughs, then tears open the wrapper, and–yeah, okay. The condom is, in fact, hot fucking pink. Kon doesn’t even know how the bastard knew, but it’s Tim, so of goddamn course he did.

Kon’s never actually been turned on by just seeing a color before, but maybe that’s just gonna be a thing in his life now.

“Can I make a joke about pink kryptonite sex toys now, or is that too weird?” Bernard asks curiously, trailing a hand down Kon’s back and back down over the curve of his ass. Kon bites his lip and for some reason can’t quite take his eyes off the condom. Tim’s going to put that on so he can fuck him. Just to fuck him.

Just to fuck him.

“I dunno, man, don’t promise me anything you’re not intending to deliver,” he manages, trying to sound jokey about it. Like–it pretty much is a sex toy already, so–

“Ever seen one of those metal anal plugs with a crystal set in ‘em?” Bernard mentions casually, and Kon nearly bites his tongue at either the thought or the sight of Tim unzipping his jeans to pull his cock out again. He’s fucking missed it, it feels like, which is just a ridiculous goddamn thought, but . . . “We could probably arrange something there, is all I’m saying. Bet you’d look real pretty in pink.”

“Yeah?” Kon asks a little raspily, tightening his grip on Tim’s thigh for a moment. That’s–definitely a thought, yeah. Both the idea of wearing something like that and the idea of someone liking him enough to make something like that for him. It’s fucking kryptonite, after all, so who else would they use it with? Like–the options are very limited there, that’s all.

So it’s . . . yeah. It’s . . . it’s an idea he likes. A toy meant just for him. Just to get to–to get him like this.

Also knowing how much effort Tim always puts into planning things and making things . . . well. It’s Tim. He could just replace the fake plastic “crystal” in some cheap off-the-rack toy and it’d work fine and Kon wouldn’t care, obviously, because it’d still be meant for him and that is literally his entire criteria for “things he’d goddamn melt over”. But it’s Tim, so obviously he wouldn’t just do that. Tim would fucking do research and development and personally design and fabricate something, the weird little control freak lunatic that he is, and probably wanna do testing too.

So yeah. Kon really, really likes that idea.

“Maybe if we’d scheduled this weekend in advance,” Tim says in amusement, and Kon watches him roll the condom on himself all neat and tidy and slick his cock up with a little more of the lube, and his mouth waters a bit and he just feels–empty, almost. The condom really is almost the exact same color as the kryptonite. No glowing or weird space radiation involved, obviously, but that slick and shiny color is still just . . . really, really close to it, yeah.

Kon has a very weird and disconnected flash of fantasy about sex toys and . . . other stuff, maybe. He’s not even sure what he means by “other stuff” or why he even thinks it’s weird after Bernard brought it up to begin with, just . . .

He bites the inside of his cheek and tries to figure out if he’s supposed to sit up, or roll over again, or . . .

“If we make it heart-shaped then he can definitely be your Valentine’s present this year, right, babe?” Bernard asks, flashing Tim a grin.

“You can’t actually give me Kon for Valentine’s day, Bernard,” Tim says, clearly amused, and gently tugging Kon’s shoulders. Kon follows the tugging, what little tension is in him draining out completely, and lets Tim pull him back up to his knees in front of him.

“Why not?” Bernard asks, pulling a fake pout. “Sounds like a good gift to me.”

“Because I already have him, obviously,” Tim says, stroking down Kon’s arms, and Kon just melts under his hands.

“Yeah,” he agrees immediately, leaning in unthinkingly, and isn’t even embarrassed by how stupid and breathless he sounds. It doesn’t matter. It’s Tim. He’d sound a whole lot stupider, for Tim.

Tim smiles at him, and Kon melts even more.

“Good boy,” Tim says, and squeezes his biceps gently. Kon doesn’t even feel like he has to press into his hands, even as much as he wants to. It’s what Tim wants to give him, so it’s enough. “Come here, pet.”

Kon follows Tim’s hands and ends up straddling his lap; wrapping his arms around his neck. It’s so fucking hard not to just turn into a fucking oozy mess of liquid right on top of him.

“Like this?” Tim asks as he slides his hands down his arm and then over his ribs and down to his hips, and Kon nods helplessly. This, yeah. Exactly like this.

“Please,” he manages, and Tim tugs very, very gently at his hips, and Kon just . . . follows his hands, again.

He feels Tim’s dick through his TTK, and feels Tim’s dick slide up against–him, too. Against his body and between the cheeks of his ass, slick and hot across his hole and close and warm enough to feel his pulse through, it feels like, and–and–

“Tim,” Kon stutters, and tightens his arms around him. Tim exhales roughly, digging his fingers in against his hips for just a moment.

Still gently, though.

“Color?” he rasps like he actually thinks he needs to ask, low and quiet, and Kon feels him start to let go of one of his hips and just–doesn’t let him. Grips his hand with his TTK, and keeps it there.

Grips his dick with his TTK, and . . .

“Oh,” Tim groans, and Kon buries his face in his shoulder and pulls his cock in, and only belatedly remembers to mumble, “Green.”

“Fucking hell, you two,” Bernard says under his breath. Kon can still feel him on the bed, close and present and in easy reach, but not like he can feel Tim.

Tim’s inside him. Tim’s inside him. He’s inside him and feels so good inside him and maybe his ass doesn’t look fucked, but he’s still feeling sensitive and a little overwhelmed from taking Bernard, and he’s pretty sure he’d have just come from this if he’d done it one less time already, because this is–this is–

“Rob,” he chokes, and Tim’s fingers dig in tighter against his hips again.

“Feel good, pet?” he murmurs against his neck, and Kon bites back a little keening sound and grips him tighter. Grips him tighter with every part of him, TTK and all. “You wanna move for me?”

There is absolutely no fucking way Kon could not.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, and shudders roughly as he rocks his hips down testingly, trying to figure out how to do it right, and then lifts them just enough to rock them down farther, and all he can think about is the fact that it’s Tim inside him right now. He’s in Tim’s lap, sitting on Tim’s cock, and Tim’s holding onto him. Tim put him here, Tim made sure he liked being here, and Tim asked him to move for him. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, Tim, god, Tim–”

“Good boy,” Tim says, raspingly sweet, and Kon shoves his face in tighter against his shoulder and almost bursts into actual tears this time.

He’s been electrocuted and felt it less, he’s pretty sure.

“Tim, Tim, Robin,” he begs, pleads, and rides him harder, erratic and a little clumsy and just trying to–trying to–

Tim makes a quiet hushing noise against his neck; slides a soothing hand up his back. Kon trembles under it.

“Be nice to yourself, pet,” he murmurs, and Kon muffles another sound that comes out way too damn close to a sob against his shoulder.

YOU’RE nice to me, he doesn’t say, but he–but he makes himself steady, a little, and tries to calm down, and just rocks his hips down again, slower and steadier and . . . and . . .

It feels so, so good. It’s not any different from Bernard, really, but . . .

But it’s Tim.

So it is, actually, very, very different from Bernard.

“Okay, okay,” he mumbles, feeling restless and hot and just shy of overwhelmed already. Then he leans back just enough to look Tim in the eye on the next downward rock of his hips, and realizes maybe it was a mistake to do that right now.

“Ah,” he chokes as his hips stutter again, as his own eyes widen, and it’s the littlest, stupidest, least-descriptive sound he could make over all the things that the sight of Tim’s flushed face and dilated pupils and heated expression all up close and personal like this for him are all making him feel, but it’s also the only sound he can get enough air into his lungs to actually make.

“Stop,” Tim says, abrupt and sudden and staring straight at him, and Kon makes himself–makes himself stop, hold still, hold–hold back.

“S-sorry,” he croaks, not even knowing why he’s saying it. He tries to stay still; tries not to tighten up or cling too hard or let his TTK do anything it shouldn’t, but . . . but it’s . . .

It’s really, really fucking hard.

Tim didn’t say “red”, though, or even “yellow”, so . . . so . . . so Kon doesn’t know why he told him to stop, doesn’t know what he did wrong, what he–what he–

“Tim,” he manages again, and Tim just keeps staring up at him. Kon feels–weird about it. Exposed and a little raw and . . . and . . .

Tim’s inside him. Let him come over and let him touch him and let him touch his literal boyfriend and–and–and Kon can’t finish a single fucking thought, it feels like, and he doesn’t know why Tim told him to stop and he just wants to move again and he just wants Tim to–wants Tim to–

He really can’t finish a single fucking thought.

“Tim,” he repeats without really meaning to, senseless and pleading and near-trembling, and he knows he’s supposed to be patient, supposed to be good, but . . . “Tim, Tim, Robin–”

“Fuck,” Tim says, and Kon barely stifles the weird, strangled sound that wants to come out of his throat in response. He’s sitting on Tim’s dick. Tim’s inside him. Tim’s looking at him like he–like he maybe almost–like he really might–“I–”

Tim cuts himself off, his fingers digging in against Kon’s hips again, and Kon feels weird and dizzy and can’t think about anything but the hot, thick weight of Tim’s cock inside him like this, Tim’s hands warm on his hips like this, Tim’s eyes looking at him like this–

Kon makes the weird, strangled noise after all.

“Please,” he tries, and it comes out tight and overwhelmed and all off-kilter. “Rob, I–please, I’ll be good, so good, promise, just–just let me be–lemme–”

“Fuck,” Tim says in exactly the same tone as before, still staring at him with the exact same look on his face.

“Please,” Kon begs, and Tim starts to say something back, but then he bites it back instead and ducks his head against his chest, just barely shifting underneath and inside him, and Kon whimpers.

“Go on, babe,” Bernard says, shifting up the mattress to settle in beside Tim again and put a hand on the small of his back to slide up it. “Take care of your boy.”

“Ngh,” Tim says very, very quietly, and Kon feels his dick twitch–through his TTK, and also just inside him. “Back. I–on your back. Now.”

“Okay, okay,” Kon blurts, and he hates how it feels to pull back from him, but–but Tim said, so he can do it; so he does do it. He shifts back out of Tim’s lap and tries not to whine too loud over the drag of his cock sliding back out of him, the loss of his cock sliding back out of him, and then Tim leans after him and there’s sort of an awkward, fumbling moment, and they both roll over in the limited space the bed allows for, and then–then–

And then Kon’s on his back instead, and Tim’s leaning over him, pressed down between his thighs, and Kon wraps his TTK around him again without even really meaning to and tries to pull him down closer. Tim exhales exactly like the doors are about to blow in.

And goes with it.

He pushes that kryptonite-pink cock back into him on a long, steady, slow slide, and Kon just–melts, again. His head rolls back against the mattress and his eyes flutter shut and his whole body just feels–feels liquid, so warm and so good, and it’s all he can do not to take the bed apart.

“Robin,” he moans, and Tim shudders roughly and digs his fingers into the sheets; fists his hands in them this time. Kon feels dizzy. Heavy. Heady.

It’s really, really good.

“You know, if we were taking notes, the fact he keeps calling you that would definitely need a highlighter,” Bernard observes, stroking Tim’s back again as Tim just sinks fully into Kon’s body, and Kon stifles another whine. He doesn’t–what? What’s he calling him? He’s just–all he’s doing is–

“Maybe,” Tim says roughly, and then he shifts back just enough to thrust.

Kon forgets literally every single other damn thing that was in his head.

“ROBIN!” he gasps, and arches up into him. Tim grunts roughly and fucks him deeper, slow and steady and strong, and Kon feels like something molten. He lets out a yelp and doesn’t even care how it sounds, how fucking high-pitched and undignified it sounds, and thinks maybe he’s going to fall apart. Thinks definitely he’s going to fall apart, actually.

Maybe his TTK will just disassemble him, this time.

“Tim,” he chokes out again as he half-covers his mouth with a hand on senseless reflex, and it’s so much easier to roll his hips up to meet Tim’s than to set the pace himself. Tim knows what he’s doing. Knows what’ll feel good. Knows what to do.

And he does, clearly, because Kon already feels like he could come again.

“Kon,” Tim murmurs back, low and quiet, and Kon whimpers again and again and again. He feels so damn many ways about hearing his name in Tim’s mouth. There really isn’t anyone else who says it the way he does.

Tim’s never said it like this before, though.

At least, not anywhere Kon’s gotten to hear it.

He hears the camera shutter click again, and has a dazed moment of confusion over it–Tim’s hands are on the bed, not–

Oh, he realizes, and tilts his head just enough to see Bernard holding the camera.

Bernard flashes him a grin, and then the camera flashes too. Kon flushes.

“Figured Tim was busy,” Bernard says, wagging the camera at him and grinning wider. “Just a few more for the album, right?”

“Nn,” Kon manages, his heart stuttering in his chest. His free hand catches against Tim’s arm; grips it tight. Tim lets out a rough huff of breath and leans farther over him; fucks into him at a new, deeper angle that makes Kon’s eyes roll back in his head. He digs his heels into the bed and keeps meeting him, moving with him, and it’s nothing like being Robin and Superboy in a fight or on a mission, but it somehow feels just that natural, just that easy, just that familiar, just that right.

“Appreciate it, babe,” Tim pants, his voice rough and warm as he rolls his hips in easy and slow, and if there was a single part of Kon left that wasn’t liquid already, well–it’s sure as shit gone liquid now. His body isn’t going to do a thing except for what Tim tells it to do, it feels like. Won’t ever do a thing Tim doesn’t tell it to do, whether Kon himself is involved in the process or not.

Tim tells him what to do in a fight all the time. Tells him just how to risk his life all the time. He’s told him how to behave in front of the cameras and what to say to the governments and cops and press and bad guy of the week, and he’s told him that even if he dies or disappears, gets forgotten, he’s gonna look for him. Even if he does it wrong. Even if he can’t manage it. He’ll still look.

He’ll remember him, even if he forgets.

Kon’s–Kon’s very aware of all that right now.

“Please more,” he begs, begs, begs, forcing himself not to grip either of them too tight with his TTK, or Tim too tight with his body, or–or anything like that. “Please, please, please.”

“Good boy,” Tim murmurs, sliding a hand across his hip, and Kon wants kissed again. He wants kissed again so bad. He wants–he wants Tim so bad, wants this so bad, wants wants wants so bad and it’s just so much–!

“Tim!” he sobs, and arches up for Tim’s cock just the way the hand the other has on his hip guides him to. It feels warm and overwhelming and like so, so much, and he just–he just–

“God, Kon,” Tim says, practically choking on his name, and Bernard snaps a few more pictures with a muttered curse or two, and Kon feels too many things to even narrow down into something definable. But–but he wants Tim to get carried away, he remembers hazily. He wants to let Tim get carried away, because Tim never thinks he can; he’s always so in control, always so deliberate, always so careful about everything. He wants–he just wants–

He wants to be something Tim doesn’t always need to be like that for, maybe, or maybe just something Tim can’t always be like that for.

“Tim,” he moans, rolling his hips up with the other’s hand again, rolling up onto the other’s cock again. “Tim, Tim, c’mon, Tim, said you could get carried away, didn’t I? Bernard got me all ready for you, I want it, please, please, just more, please please please–”

“Jeeeeesus,” Bernard says.

“Ngh,” Tim says very, very evenly.

Then he braces a hand flat against the mattress and puts his full weight into snapping his hips into Kon’s, and Kon grabs onto him with both hands and absolutely fucking wails–

“ROBIN!”

Tim fucks him much, much harder than Bernard did, and Kon completely, completely falls apart for it.

He’s pretty sure his TTK couldn’t take him apart as thoroughly as Tim is right now.

“Green!” Kon gasps, clutching at Tim’s back and clutching up around his cock, because if Tim thinks for even a second that this is too much or that he should stop or slow down or go any kind of easy on him, he is gonna lose his entire goddamn mind about it. “Green green green, please please please, please–!”

“Please what, pet?” Tim asks, his voice all ragged and raspy, and Kon makes a sob of a sound.

“I–I just–please don’t forget me again, please don’t,” he rasps himself, and screws his eyes shut because they’re–because they’re wet, suddenly, and he just–he just–

“Ah,” Tim says tightly, and Kon feels his fingers curl into the sheets again.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” he chokes, and feels awful and stupid and like–like he’s fucking it all up and like he’s just, just stupid, but–“I just missed you, I missed you, I missed you so bad and I–and I just–! I fucked up, I know I fucked up, it was my own fault but–but I waited for you and–and you–!”

“I missed you too,” Tim says very, very softly, and without missing a beat fucking him again. “Even when I forgot.”

Kon knows that, but . . . but right now . . .

“Rob, Rob, Robin,” he sobs, and clings to Tim harder, and tries to hide the wreck of his face against his shoulder, and wishes he’d kiss him again. Fuck, he didn’t mean to–he’s not trying to be weird about this, he just–he just–

“Kon,” Tim says as gently as he’s said anything so far even as he fucks him as hard as he’s fucked him so far, and then he wraps a hand around his cock and suddenly all Kon can think about is the fact that it’s Tim’s hand on his cock. That Tim’s touching him like this, Tim’s inside him like this, Tim wants him like this, even just a little.

That even while fucking him this hard, even getting “carried away” with him–even like that, Tim’s still being gentle with him.

Kon comes embarrassingly quickly and buries another sob in Tim’s shoulder as he does, holding onto him as tight as it’s safe to, TTK and all. Bernard lets out a huff of a breath, and Tim makes a noise like someone just hit him.

Except Tim sounds a lot less affected when he gets hit, usually.

Tim fucks him through the too-intense waves of dragged-out aftershocks as steady as a metronome, and when Kon’s a limp, trembling mess, he tries to pull back.

Kon’s reaction to that isn’t anything he thinks about; just something that happens. His TTK locks around Tim, and he winds his arms tighter around his neck and wraps his legs around him too and just–just clings to him, and muffles another sob into his shoulder.

“No, no, don’t stop!” he gasps out, and Tim takes that same breath like the doors are gonna blow in again, and then twists his head just enough to press his mouth against Kon’s hair.

“Ngh,” he says very, very quietly, and then rolls his hips in hard. Kon whimpers. It’s so much. It’s too much.

It feels so good.

“Jesus fucking Christ, you two,” Bernard says faintly, then lets out a heated, flustered-sounding laugh, and Kon hears the camera click a few more times. Tim lifts his head enough to glance up at him, panting and out of breath and with his hair all messed up and hanging in his eyes. Kon doesn’t remember doing that to him.

“Bernard,” Tim says, his voice impossibly even for the way his heartbeat sounds right now. “Can you fuck my boy again yet?”

“After that display?” Bernard says. “Uh, yes and please, babe.”

“That be good, pet?” Tim asks as he lifts a hand to brush along Kon’s temple and fucks him all the harder, tender and breathless and brutal. “Want Bernard to be nice to you again after I come inside you like this? Want us to fuck you ‘til you can’t take any more? Maybe make you cry for real?”

“Godddd, please,” Kon manages, his voice cracking. He might be crying, kind of. Like, just a little.

He really doesn’t give a fuck right now, though.

“Then we're gonna,” Tim murmurs, his fingers stroking much too gently down the side of Kon's half-hidden face for how hard he's fucking him. Kon has to bite back another sob over it. “You're being so good, pet. So sweet and tight for me, and moving just right. Of course we're gonna. And we won't forget.”

“Tim, Tim, Robin!” is all Kon can get out, all he can say, because not a damn other thing will come to him. All he can do is hold onto Tim and move just how the other showed him to, and it doesn't actually hurt because it can't, because Kon's body just can't be hurt by a baseline human one without either magic or a very different color of kryptonite being involved, but it's all just so intense and overwhelming that it feels like it should hurt, somehow. That it feels like it should be too much–too much to take, too much to handle, too much to stand.

But it's Tim giving it to him, so he doesn’t want it to stop until he really can’t take any more.

“Good boy,” Tim breathes again, and Kon can’t even define the noise he makes in response.

“So, uh, you've got super-stamina, clearly,” Bernard says conversationally, clearing his throat as he reaches for the condoms again. “Or at least a super-refractory period, judging by how this whole encounter has been going thus far.”

“Y–yes,” Kon stutters, practically whimpers, and digs his fingers into Tim’s back again as the other buries himself completely inside him with a low, dirty grunt that might just be the hottest sound Kon’s heard in months, and Kon feels him come inside him just the same way he felt Bernard do it, and the same way he came in his mouth, and he squeezes his eyes shut and sees a flash of hot pink behind his eyelids without quite identifying the shape of it, and . . .

And he grips Tim tighter, and shudders.

“Cool, well, we're gonna be taking full fucking advantage of that, then,” Bernard says in the same conversational tone as he plucks another condom out of the box, and Kon half-opens his eyes to look over at him again, weakly attempting to catch his breath as he does. Bernard rips open the condom.

It’s pink.

Bernard grins, Tim huffs out a low little rasp of a laugh, and the sheet underneath Kon disassembles into fibers.

Chapter 5

Kon feels all sleepy and heavy and good, and there’s a sheet draped over his back and his head is on . . . someone. He’s on someone. Laying on someone, he means. He’s not sure who, because he’s all sleepy and heavy and doesn’t want to move enough to open his eyes or focus his TTK, but . . . someone, yeah. Mm. And–yeah, he doesn’t know who the “someone” is, and he doesn’t know what time it is or where he is, but it’s fine.

It’s fine because he can hear Tim’s heartbeat, and it’s steady and calm, and not in the forced way it gets sometimes when things are actually not fine. So–all good, yeah.

And he feels really good, too.

“Kon,” Tim says, and Kon feels a hand in his hair. “How’re you doing?”

“Green,” Kon mumbles back, although he doesn’t know why he says that instead of just “fine”. Just–that’s what he says. Tim huffs out a low little snort, and the someone Kon’s on top of laughs too.

“I wish we could match that energy, man,” the someone says in obvious amusement, and then Kon remembers–

Oh. Huh.

He focuses his TTK after all and blinks his eyes open slow and blurry and finds his head laying on Bernard’s chest–on Tim’s boyfriend’s chest–and most of the rest of him crushing the poor guy on top of that, both of them stretched out over pretty much the full length of Tim’s bed and Tim standing just beside it, leaned down just close enough to have let him put his hand in Kon’s hair. Which is nice, obviously, but–

“Shit,” Kon mutters, moving to push himself up. Bernard does not need two hundred and fifty pounds of half-Kryptonian dead weight fully on top of him. “Sorry.”

“Please do not move right now,” Bernard says feelingly, looping his arms around his neck. Kon–pauses. “Unless this is a ‘red’ or ‘yellow’ sitch, obviously. Then sure. But if you’re concerned about crushing me or something, I’d actually like extra-crushed. Like, fine-ground crushing, please.”

“Um,” Kon says, and then remembers–“Is this like the weighted blanket thing?”

“This is very much like the weighted blanket thing,” Bernard confirms, and Kon settles back down on top of him–carefully, a little, but . . .

Bernard makes a pleased little noise and drops a kiss against his temple. Kon feels–weird, kind of.

Feels warm, kind of.

“Fuck yeah,” Bernard says, sounding even more pleased. “No offense, Tim’s just not usually much of a cuddler, so I’ve been being greedy while you were checked out. Also, you’re really warm, anyone ever tell you that?”

“. . . did I actually pass out?” Kon asks, a little incredulous at the idea. Not that Tim and Bernard didn’t fuck him good, just, well–they’re only human, and he is very much not only human. Like, at least fifty percent not, anyway.

“Not exactly,” Tim says, petting his hair again. Kon, for obvious reasons, is not gonna dissuade him from doing that. Like, ever. “You dropped pretty far, though.”

“‘Dropped’?” Kon frowns a little. Tim’s hand pauses in his hair.

“Yes,” he says, his tone a little careful. “Have you heard that word before?”

“I mean, yeah, but I feel like there’s maybe some slang or some subtext I’m missing here,” Kon says, frowning a little more as he glances up at the other and resisting the urge to push his head into his hand. Probably not the time for that, unfortunately. Probably this is talking time, from the way Tim sounds.

“You had a safeword,” Tim says, just barely frowning himself. “I assumed–mm. Sorry.”

“For what?” Kon asks, incredulous again, because that was possibly the best he’s gotten laid since the last time he and Cassie fell back into bed together and regretted it in the morning, and currently no one is regretting it, so actually it’s got one up on that time too.

At least, he doesn’t think anyone’s regretting it. Which–he hopes no one’s regretting it. If anyone is, though, it’s definitely not him.

He–keeps thinking about how much fucking Tim reminds him of fucking Cassie, doesn’t he, Kon realizes. He’s not sure why he’s so stuck on that.

“I got . . . carried away, a little,” Tim says, and his mouth twists wryly.

“Oh, you mean exactly like I asked you to?” Kon snorts, making a point of rolling his eyes. He still feels all warm and heavy and loose-limbed, but if Tim’s being an idiot about things he doesn’t need to be again . . . well, somebody’s gotta deal with it.

Though admittedly, Bernard probably could. Like–that’s probably a thing, in retrospect.

Hm.

He really doesn't feel like Tim got “carried away” in a shitty way, though. He doesn't remember him getting, like–mean or anything, or forgetting any hard “no"s or anything like that. Which, like, Kon very much prefers him not having done that, obviously, but he probably would've put up with it, once they were already in the middle of things and all. Especially for Tim.

So it's weird, that Tim thinks what he actually did was any kind of a problem, when Kon doesn't remember him doing a single thing that he didn't like. Actually, mostly what he remembers is Tim finding a near-endless list of things he did like to do, some of which he didn't even expect to like at all, or at least not like so much.

Even now, he’s more cleaned-up than he remembers being, and so’s the bed, sheets and all. He doesn’t remember anyone changing them, but, like, obviously somebody must’ve, because he definitely wrecked at least the topsheet and the fitted one must’ve been filthy. Tim and Bernard are both still fully dressed and all zipped up and put away again too, and he’s definitely still naked under the new sheet that whichever one of them thought to put over him, which is . . .

Kon’s never really understood why he likes it when a partner stays fully or even just mostly dressed while he gets stripped down bare, but–yeah, that makes him feel a little heated-up again, when he realizes it. Not that he doesn’t very much wanna see both Tim and Bernard naked at some point very soon, just . . . he doesn’t know. He just likes it.

At least, he likes it when he can trust it’s not because whoever he’s fucking thinks he’s worth less than them or thinks he’s less of a person than they are or is just trying to pull some weird degradation/negging shit he didn’t ask for or agree to or . . . whatever, he guesses.

He also likes that they thought to put the sheet over him while he was all . . . out of it, or whatever. He wouldn't have minded if they hadn't, but . . .

He just likes that . . . weirdly more than he’d have expected to, again.

“How often have you actually subbed?” Tim asks, sitting down on the mattress next to them and sliding a hand down the back of Kon’s neck. It makes it way fucking harder to concentrate on the conversation, but–it’s Tim asking, so yeah. He can concentrate on it.

“Dunno,” Kon replies, half-shrugging as he bites the inside of his lip over the way Tim’s hand feels on his neck right now. It wasn’t like he ever counted. “A few times, I guess? Not a lot. Like–not regularly, or whatever. Just whenever I met a girl who was into it.”

He might’ve made that answer vaguer, if it weren’t Tim asking. It’s pretty vague as it is, though, he guesses. He really didn’t count, though. Like, there were a few times with Cassie, and that time with Greta might kinda count, and definitely the times with Anita count, and, well–Lophi, the once, but . . .

Maybe a couple of the times with Tana should kinda count too, and probably also Knockout, but that wasn’t really, like . . . like, he didn’t even know what a safeword was back then, much less anything about hard no’s or . . .

“Have you felt like you did this time before?” Tim asks. Kon shrugs again, not quite ducking his face against Bernard’s chest.

“Dunno,” he repeats. “I guess. Didn’t know there was, like, a name for it, though.”

“Oh, so you’re not even really educated about D/s and you’re like this,” Bernard says, raising his eyebrows and then letting out a little laugh as he shakes his head. “Jesus, I’m terrified by the idea of what you’d be like if you’d done a few tours in the sex clubs or whatever.”

Kon–frowns, briefly, and ducks his face after all.

“I’m not into those,” he says. “I mean–not for, you know. This stuff. Getting laid in general, sure, but not . . .”

Not getting laid like this.

Definitely not for this.

“Mm,” Tim says, then takes a water bottle off the nightstand, cracks it open, and holds it out to him. He's frowning a little, but not like he's upset; just like he's thinking. Sorting through the intel. That kind of thing, like there’s a mission or a case or something rolling around his head. Well, Kon’s probably interrupted his casework for the weekend, so he can’t really blame him if he’s multitasking again.

“It's cool, dude, I'm good,” he says as he shakes his head, mostly because he didn't expect the offer and feels a little awkward about taking it for no good reason. Also he doesn't really wanna get up anyway, even just enough to drink, and it's not like he needs a drink or anything like that. Kryptonian physiology, and all.

“I know you're good,” Tim says, and Kon feels a warm flicker of heat in his gut and across his skin. “Drink a little of it at least, please. For me.”

There is absolutely no way Kon is not gonna do that, after Tim asked that way.

“Uh–sure, man,” he manages, trying not to embarrass himself as he accepts the bottle after all and pushes himself up just enough to take a swallow off it.

“Good boy,” Tim says, and doesn't say it like a come-on.

For some reason, that nearly makes Kon choke on the damn water.

Why the fuck did he say it like that?

He tries not to look as flustered as he feels and takes another drink, and Tim pets the back of his neck one last time before taking his hand back. Kon misses it immediately, to his own total lack of surprise.

“You're pretty cute, you know that?” Bernard says, sounding amused, so probably Kon did not do a very good job of not looking flustered. At least the guy's not outright laughing at him or anything.

He thinks he's not, anyway. Feels like he's not? He doesn't–

Tim hums, a quiet little sound, and Kon . . . relaxes, a little. He's being stupid, he reminds himself. Just–oversensitive.

He doesn't know why he gets so sensitive after this kind of thing. Or even during it, sometimes. Like, the crying thing, that was definitely him getting sensitive over nothing.

It's–weird.

“I dunno, man, I feel like I'm more the ‘smolderingly hot’ type than the ‘cute’ type,” he “muses” jokingly, and then takes another self-conscious sip. He really doesn't feel thirsty, but it's something to do.

“Smolderingly cute,” Bernard amends with a grin, then pushes himself up on his elbows enough to kiss the corner of his mouth, and Kon relaxes a little more. That's–nice. He likes that. Though maybe that should be weird too, if they're not actively fucking or at least in the foreplay stage.

He wonders what just making out with the guy would feel like right now. Like–without it being a pit stop on the way to sex, he means. Like, that's obviously not the point of playing sexy games with kryptonite, but–he just wonders, he guesses.

He'd probably like it, right? Like, he's into guys right now and very definitely into Bernard right now, so . . . why wouldn't he?

Maybe if he just . . . asked, or . . .

Tim grabs a protein bar off the nightstand and tears the wrapper open, then holds it out to him too. Closer than the water, so if Kon wanted he could just . . . bite it right out of Tim’s hand, actually.

Could eat it out of Tim’s hand. Like a . . . pet, or whatever. Or just like something that’s a different kind of intimate than they normally are.

His skin prickles with heat again and he thinks–he’s got the water bottle in one hand and he’s leaning on his elbow over Bernard, so maybe Tim wants him to . . . do that, maybe. Maybe he . . .

“Take a bite for me, Kon,” Tim says, and doesn’t call him “pet” like it’s a kink thing.

Kon’s skin burns.

He takes a bite.

“Good boy,” Tim says, and it still doesn’t sound like a come-on or a kink thing, but it does sound–approving, definitely.

Kon feels some fucking kind of way about that, apparently.

Fuck, he thinks, and takes another drink. Tim keeps holding out the protein bar for him, so he takes another bite of that too, after a moment’s hesitation. And then Tim kinda just . . . keeps holding it for him, and he just . . .

Eats it out of his hand, bite by bite, and feels–weird about it. Not a bad weird, just . . .

Weird.

“Very, very smolderingly cute,” Bernard says with flusteringly affectionate-sounding amusement, smoothing a hand up his arm and over his bare shoulder. Kon is immediately reminded of the whole “only one who’s naked” thing and bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from being, like, weird and horny about that. Bernard already said–well, it seemed like he meant he and Tim needed a break, and Tim’s acting like that too, so . . . so he needs to just be, like–not weird and horny right now. Just be–patient. He knows normal dudes have way more of a refractory period than he ever has and can’t really come all that many times either, so–patient, yeah.

He can do that.

“Last bite,” Tim says, still holding the last of the protein bar, and Kon bites it out of his fingers as carefully as he can and then tries to distract himself from his stupid hormones by finishing off the water bottle. Tim looks quietly approving about that, which doesn’t hurt Kon’s motivation for finishing it but does hurt his attempts at distracting himself from his stupid hormones, and then takes the empty bottle from him and throws it out with the protein bar wrapper.

Kon wants to suck him off again so bad. Or maybe actually see if they’re up for the spitroasting thing after all, or–

Tim picks up a little plastic package of gummy candy off the nightstand, and Kon–blinks.

He recognizes that brand. It’s good candy. Like–it’s his favorite candy, actually. Which is obviously why Tim has it on hand, because he keeps Mallomars and Snickers around for Cassie and a whole mess of high-calorie snacks for Bart and a bunch of random stuff for the other Bats and probably something for Bernard now too, so–obviously, yeah. Tim’s always prepared, after all; always planning ahead for the next thing. His snack cabinet isn’t any different.

Kon’s eaten that candy here plenty of times, but Tim’s never brought it to him. Just . . . let him dig it out of the pantry himself, or had it laying out in a general snack pile for movie night with Cassie and Bart, or . . .

He’s just–never brought it to him before.

“Uh,” Kon says, swallowing uselessly as Tim rips the package open. “Is that, um . . .”

“Open your mouth, pet,” Tim instructs. Kon does it reflexively, before even following through the logic on why he’s asking, and Tim’s eyes flicker with just the littlest bit of heat. Then he takes out a piece of the candy and puts it on Kon’s tongue, and he says, “Wait.”

Okay, Kon thinks, his skin heating up again. This is a kink thing.

He–waits, yeah. Leaves his mouth open, and the candy sitting on his tongue. It's a little sour, and it's already making his mouth start to water.

He kind of wishes it were Tim’s cock sitting there instead, but he can be patient.

Is this, like . . . this is like . . . a trick, isn’t it? Like–a training thing? Training for a pet, he means. Not in any way whatsoever for superhero shit.

But he listens for the superhero shit just as reflexively as he’s listening for this, Kon knows.

Yeah, well. That’s not exactly new information about himself, at this point.

So if Tim wants to teach him a . . . “trick”, maybe, or . . .

“Don’t close your mouth,” Tim says as he puts a hand on Kon’s shoulder and tugs him up to his knees over Bernard, the sheet slipping down around his thighs. “And don’t swallow.”

Kon’s skin burns.

“Just can’t ever let me cuddle, can you, babe,” Bernard teases, sounding amused. Kon can’t quite bring himself to look away from Tim’s face right now, but he can feel Bernard’s expression, and it’s–he’s smiling, so . . . so Kon thinks it’s–okay, probably, that he moved.

Tim moved him, so . . .

“My boy’s just getting riled up again, babe,” Tim says. “You two can go back to cuddling after I get him some exercise and let him burn off some energy. You can pet him for a while, maybe.”

Kon’s skin prickles, and his gut heats, and he’s kind of embarrassed because he was trying not to be stupidly obvious about getting, like–riled up and whatever again, but also it’s Tim and Tim is now very fucking intimately up-close-and-personal familiar with how he looks when he’s fucking horny, so he shouldn’t be surprised. He sways in just a little towards him, and–and he doesn’t really know what he’s supposed to do here, just . . .

“Sit, pet,” Tim says, and it’s a relief. “Stay.”

Kon settles back on his haunches on top of Bernard’s stomach, and stays. Tim smiles at him, and he feels like the fucking sun. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands and feels a little stupid with his mouth just hanging open like this, but it’s what Tim wants him to do, so–so Tim must like something about it. Must like him doing it. It’s, like–awkward, though. Kind of.

He really does not wanna end up drooling all over himself here. That shit is just not sexy at all.

But Tim said not to swallow, so . . .

“Good boy,” Tim says, and wraps a hand around his cock to stroke. Kon barely keeps himself from either swallowing or dropping the candy. Bernard makes an interested noise, pushing himself up on his elbows in clear pursuit of a better view.

“Oh, I like the way this is going,” he muses.

Kon wants to say something, but–the candy thing, and keeping his mouth open and all. So like–he can’t really do that right now. At least not without sounding like a fucking idiot, anyway.

He’s not sure what he can do right now, but Tim just said not to close his mouth or swallow, and told him to sit and stay and . . . “wait”, so . . . so he can do that. Yeah.

Tim wants him to do it, so he definitely can.

“Can’t say I mind either,” Tim says lightly, stroking his cock a little tighter, and Kon is already much, much harder than he usually would be this quick. Which–it’s Tim, so . . . yeah, of course he is. Tim wants him to be hard, because Tim wants to touch him.

He’ll be fucking anything, if it makes Tim touch him.

He doesn’t really know what to do with his hands, though, so they just end up awkwardly resting flat on Bernard’s stomach, and he’s already basically sitting on Bernard’s stomach, so that kind of makes it like . . .

Like. That’s kind of how a “pet” would sit, right? Or–close to it. Maybe.

Kon’s . . . not sure if he’s doing this right, but Tim hasn’t said he’s not, so–he must be, right?

It is so fucking hard not to drool, though. He can’t close his mouth or swallow, and the candy on his tongue is making his mouth water, and he can barely pay attention to anything but Tim’s hand around his dick and voice in his ears and eyes on him. And Bernard’s watching him too, and they both clearly wanna see, so . . .

So it’s really hard not to drool or fall right over into Tim or just immediately embarrass himself, one way or the other. Tim’s hand is around his cock, stroking and squeezing and clearly examining it, feeling it out, and it’s like–he looks like he’s really paying attention to what he’s doing. To what Kon can’t help but respond to. To what he–likes, Kon means.

What he likes, and what Tim likes, and probably what Bernard likes too, considering.

And a Bat’s level of attention is a fuckton of attention.

Fuck, Kon thinks, and shudders uselessly under it. Tim tilts his head, narrowing his eyes assessingly at his dick and his own hand; at what he’s doing to his dick with his hand. He twists his fist as he closes it tighter over the head on the upstroke; tightens his grip as he pulls it back down. He’s not really using a steady rhythm or pattern, just . . . examining, again. Feeling it out. It makes Kon feel weird and breathless and a little bit stupid, but also like something worth looking at. Like something Tim thinks is worth looking at.

He wants to come. He wants to get kissed. He wants–

Tim wraps his other hand around his cock too and squeezes them both at once, and Kon barely keeps himself from swallowing. Spit drips out of his mouth and he’s immediately mortified about it, but–but he’s supposed to keep his mouth open and he’s supposed to not swallow, Tim said, so–so he keeps his mouth open, and he doesn’t swallow.

Tim’s eyes flick to his mouth, very briefly, and then up to his eyes instead. Kon feels–

Tim smiles, quiet and approving, and Kon immediately stops caring about how embarrassed he is right now and how stupid he must look.

“Good boy,” Tim says, and squeezes him tight. Kon makes a breathy, half-strangled noise in the back of his throat, but he manages not to swallow.

Tim smiles wider.

Yeah, Kon’ll live with the embarrassment.

“You're so sweet for me, pet. So cute like this, showing off just like I like,” Tim hums, and Kon maybe halfway burns alive while Bernard huffs out a laugh.

“Jesus, babe,” Bernard says, stroking his hands over Kon's thighs–or maybe petting Kon's thighs, more like. “Still no chill at all, huh?”

“Not really, no,” Tim says, and strokes Kon tighter; harder. It takes way too much effort for him to keep his mouth open and his throat from trying to swallow, and he’s maybe actually outright drooling now, but Tim’s still smiling and hasn’t told him to stop or swallow or anything, so . . . so that’s fine, that’s alright, he’s allowed to. It’s okay to look a little stupid, if it means being good for Tim. Okay not to look good, if he’s being good.

He–thinks it is, anyway.

It’s Tim, though. Tim wouldn’t do something like this just to, like–fucking laugh at him, or whatever. Just to make him look stupid because he thought it was funny he’d let him, or . . .

Tim wouldn’t do that. He knows Tim wouldn’t do that. He–he–

“You always do your best for me, don't you,” Tim murmurs, and every drop of uncertainty and tension in Kon seems to all drain out of him all at once, and his gut burns and his cock throbs in the other’s hands, and he just feels all . . . all warm and loose and easy again.

Tim’s really good at making him feel like that, he recognizes vaguely, but mostly all he’s thinking about is how Tim thinks he’s good. How Tim thinks he’s being good for him, and good at doing what he asks and wants, and . . .

Kon is definitely actually drooling now, and definitely does not care. His mouth tastes like his favorite candy because Tim went and brought him his favorite candy, the candy he keeps around for him on purpose, and Tim’s touching him because Tim wants to be touching him, and he’s being good for him, he’s giving Tim what he wants, he’s doing his best for him and Tim knows it.

Tim believes it. Doesn’t doubt it at all.

“You're doing so well, pet. So good for me, just like I asked,” Tim hums approvingly, and Kon hears himself make a strangled little rasp of a noise in the back of his throat. “Can you come for me again? Give me what I want from–”

Tim doesn't even finish the sentence before Kon comes embarrassingly hard and nearly doubles over with it. He makes a shocky, punched-out noise and Tim works him through every wave and pulse of it with both hands, his grip tight and careful and certain.

He doesn't let go of him, and Kon whines.

He’s–fuck, he’s supposed to have actual stamina. Especially after going how damn many rounds already, he should have some damn stamina. Tim barely even did that much to him; just fucking talked him off more than anything else.

Tim’s just–they’re just–

They both just keeping making it so fucking easy.

“God damn,” Bernard says admiringly, and Kon hears the camera click. Tim exhales, very slowly. He’s still holding Kon’s cock even though it’s spent and starting to soften, and Kon doesn’t know why he likes that so fucking much. Just–he feels . . . dazed, and heady, and all floaty and weird and warm again. He wants to slump over into Tim and melt right through him. Suck him off again, maybe, or maybe get back in his lap and do a better job of riding his dick this time, or . . .

The only thing he can think clear enough to actually do, though, is to tilt his head back up and stick his tongue out to show Tim the candy that he definitely only managed not to drop because of his TTK.

Tim smiles at him, quiet and approving, and seeing that actually might feel better than just coming did on its own.

“Good boy,” Tim says, and takes one of his hands off Kon’s cock to pluck the candy off his tongue with his come-sticky fingers and–inspect it, almost. He gets the candy even stickier in the process. Kon watches him do it a little hazily, and still doesn’t close his mouth or swallow.

Tim didn’t tell him to, after all.

Tim looks back at his face, and his expression softens. Bernard mumbles a few incredibly niche-sounding godly curses.

“You’ll have to tell me how it tastes, pet,” Tim says, tone light and conversational. He still doesn’t let go of Kon’s cock with his other hand, even with it half-soft and useless right now; just slips the candy-sticky, come-sticky fingers of his free hand into Kon’s mouth, lightly pressing the candy back down into the center of his tongue with a fingertip.

Kon’s whole useless excuse for a brain melts into genetically-unstable soup, and he moans.

And Tim smiles at him again.

“You can have it, pet,” he says, and then Kon has the even more brain-melting experience that is licking his own fucking come off Tim’s fingers with a piece of the candy Tim got just for him in his mouth.

“Floaty and warm” does not even remotely cover the way that doing that makes him feel.

Bernard mutters a lot more incredibly niche curses and snaps another picture, then puts the camera down on the mattress and slides his hands up Kon’s thighs and up over his hips. Kon presses down into his grip reflexively and Bernard’s incredibly niche cursing cuts off with a low little breath of a groan. He’s not really hard, though, so Kon isn’t sure if that means he still needs a break, or . . .

Kon licks the last of Tim’s fingers clean and definitely drools all over himself while he’s doing it, but it’s just part of listening to him, so it doesn’t matter. He leans back a little once he’s done, mostly to make it easier to resist the urge to outright go down on Tim’s fingers in the process, and . . . he didn’t fully close his mouth for it or anything, and Tim didn’t tell him to swallow, so . . . so he doesn’t, still.

Tim’s eyes heat as he takes his fingers back and his hand off his cock, just barely half-lidded and looking all dark and warm, and Kon just . . . just keeps his mouthful of come and candy and fucking drool, and . . . and sits. Stays. Waits.

Tim’ll make it worth it, if he waits. If he’s good for him.

He knows he will.

Tim lets his eyes linger for a long moment as they trail over Kon’s body and face, then leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek, and strokes his fingertips down his throat at the same time.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, sounding impossibly fond and absolutely fucking tender in a way that makes Kon feel like he's just gotten gutted. “Swallow.”

Kon, obviously, swallows every goddamn thing in his mouth.

Tim smiles against his cheek, and that does feel better than just coming did. Just–not physically better, obviously, but . . . but better.

Kon doesn’t really understand that thought fully, but . . . but it’s definitely a thought that he has.

“Good,” he mumbles a little belatedly, a little dazedly. But Tim said, so . . .

“Mm?” Tim tilts his head, and Kon . . . swallows, again, and half-licks his lips. They’re sticky, still. Sweet and metallic and . . .

“It tastes good,” he clarifies in a rasp, and Bernard’s fingers dig into his thighs.

“Ngh,” Tim says, his own fingers staying very carefully still against Kon’s throat. They couldn’t actually hurt him if they dug in. Obviously they couldn’t.

But Tim still doesn’t do it. Still stays so deliberately gentle, just like he promised, like it actually really matters if he is or not, and Kon fucking shivers over it.

“Robin,” he croaks, feeling a little dizzy with . . . all of it. Just . . . just . . .

“Good boy,” Tim repeats, his voice lower this time, and shifts his hand away from his throat to press lightly against the back of his neck instead. “Bernard, you can have him back now. Take care of my boy for me. He’ll make you feel good.”

Kon melts under the light, light press of Tim’s fingers against his spine and then just melts down all over Bernard, who lets out a breathless huff of a laugh and shifts to slide his hands up his back. Kon slumps down into him without thinking about his weight or the mess of candy-sticky drool still on his face and chest or anything else, and Bernard laughs again and winds his arms properly around his back as Kon’s face ends up buried in the crook of his neck.

“Man, I wish I could get a weighted blanket that came in demi-Kryptonian,” Bernard says feelingly, and Kon feels him flash Tim a grin as he makes the joke. And it’s . . . a joke, obviously, but it makes him feel even warmer and floatier to hear it. Like he’s just something Bernard would wanna keep at the foot of the bed and use and appreciate on the regular, and . . .

Kon is pretty sure he forgets what being a solid is like. Like, he’s just a liquid now. Like, forever.

Being a liquid feels good, though.

Bernard is still dressed, but his body is warm underneath Kon’s and he’s holding onto him and wants him right where he is, likes him right where he is, and Kon would not move for anything short of an apocalypse right now. And he’s talking, like, a real apocalypse. Like, an all-hands-on-deck one. Not one that, like, just the Titans or the League or one team alone could handle.

Or for Tim, obviously.

Obviously he’d move for Tim.

“I can see the usefulness,” Tim says wryly, giving Kon’s head an absent little pat like it’s a reflex before picking up his camera again and starting to look through the pictures in it as Bernard draws his hands up Kon’s spine in languid, appreciative strokes.

Kon feels good, and also feels like . . . like something useful and appreciated, and something that’s a reflex.

And that feels good too.

He just feels good. All . . . heavy, and melted, and . . .

“Spoken like a man who always wants to put me on pause when I wanna cuddle so he can work on his totally not Bat-files first,” Bernard teases, stroking back down Kon’s spine. Tim laughs, and Kon just stays heavy and floaty on top of Bernard without worrying about either the dichotomy of that or what Tim’s doing with the pictures he’s looking through or anything else, and Bernard skims a hand up the back of his neck and over the buzzed-down part of his undercut. Kon turns his head a little at the contact, not really on purpose, and vaguely remembers what a mess his face is right now. All . . . sticky, still.

Much less vaguely, his skin prickles, and a low curl of heat blooms in his gut as Bernard’s nails curl against his skin.

Which–Kon just got off. He can wait, dammit. Very definitely he can wait.

Bernard curls his fingers again, and Kon feels just the littlest, little bloom of warmth in his chest, too. Though that makes a lot less sense than the more insistent one in his gut, and really just seems weird. Which, like–not the time to be weird right now. Or horny. Or weird and horny.

He can absolutely manage to not be weird and horny right now, Kon lies to himself, and then tries to lick some of the candy-sticky drool off his lower lip at the exact same moment Bernard reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb, and so instead he mostly ends up licking him, and . . .

Yeah, he definitely cannot pull off “not weird and horny”. Like. Ever.

Eh, well–he is who he is and all, he figures, and then just licks Bernard’s thumb deliberately and curls his tongue around it.

If it’s maybe a little sticky or whatever, he’s really not worried about that.

“Fuck,” Bernard mutters, sliding the pad of his thumb down the crease of his tongue. “Nightwing and Starfire are missing out.”

Kon can’t quite bite back a little preening grin around Bernard’s thumb at the compliment, but it’s fine, he figures, and then tips his head a little and slides his tongue down to trace along the web between the other’s thumb and palm. It’s just, like, a little light flirting or whatever. He’s not trying to rush anything; they’ve got all weekend. He’ll give Tim and Bernard both all the recovery time they need. All the breaks or whatever.

Doesn’t mean he can’t try to be a little bit inspiring in the meantime, though.

They’re making him feel good. He just wants to be sure he’s doing that for them too.

Kon hears Tim’s camera go off again right before he sucks Bernard’s thumb all the way into his mouth and rolls his tongue up against it, so he figures he’s not doing too bad a job of that so far. Which–signs are promising, at least.

“Hey, Tim, I think your boy is kind of a monster in bed,” Bernard mentions conversationally, curling his fingers in against and under Kon’s jaw. “Which, like, I obviously should’ve sussed out sooner, so that’s my bad, but Jesus, man, I actually lost count of how many times we got you off and you’re really ready to go again immediately after the last one?”

“I mean, not immediately,” Kon says, letting the other’s thumb slip out of his mouth so he can answer clearly, but also pressing a kiss to his knuckles and smirking just a little bit against them. Because, like, why not. He’s in the neighborhood and all. “Probably gonna need some more lube before you stick it in me again.”

“Jesus,” Bernard says under his breath, then laughs a little sheepishly. “You really still up for that? Not–okay, stupid question, I was about to ask if you were sore, I promise I am not actually that deluded about the impressiveness of my own dick. Or Tim’s, much as I love the thing.”

Kon laughs too, then just shakes his head and tries to figure out how to, like . . . explain it, exactly, but . . .

“Naw,” he replies with a loose little shrug, tucking his face in against Bernard’s neck again and half-mouthing at it for a moment before finishing his thought. It’s–nice to. That’s all. “Just feel, uh–a little sensitive, maybe? Like I can tell somebody’s been touching me, but, uh–definitely not sore. Like–at all.” If anything he feels more like he does when somebody touches him to get him all riled-up and sensitive in preparation for getting touched more, but that feels a little embarrassing to just, like–say, considering what he’d be saying it about.

Then again, again: he is who he is and all.

“Just feels, you know–like it felt after you got me ready for you,” he says, and slides a hand up Bernard’s side as he bites his lip around a grin that’s maybe a little bit sheepish itself, even hidden against the other’s throat. “Like I’m, uh–ready.”

“Jeeeeesus,” Bernard groans, covering his face with both hands. “Tim, holy shit. I am officially gonna become a Metropolis supervillain just so I can corner the market on pink kryptonite.”

“Well, you could definitely beat me in a fight if you were packing pink kryptonite, think we’ve already proven that one pretty damn well,” Kon jokes with another laugh, his gut twisting with heat again. Like–it’s a joke, obviously, but the idea of it’s just . . . flattering, kinda. That somebody would ever go to the trouble to do something like that just to get to flirt him up, or whatever. Like–sue him, alright, he’s not above admitting that kind of thing. And there’s a reason Knockout, like . . . got away with so much with him, considering. Like–several reasons, alright, but that was definitely one of them.

Not that this is really the time he wants to be thinking about Knockout, all things considered.

“I would absolutely catch you in a sexy pink K death-trap and get you all warmed up for when Tim did his Bat-duty and showed up to save you from my nefarious schemes,” Bernard swears with a wide grin, taking a hand off his own face just to cup it against the side of Kon’s instead, which is–not necessarily what Kon would’ve expected, maybe. Like–as a gesture, he means. Though it definitely does distract him from any uncomfortable Knockout-related thoughts. “Then you could thank him properly while I made my one phone call and all, as is traditional of a scantily-clad dude-in-distress. But I’d expect regular conjugal visits in thanks for my totally ethical service after, for the record.”

Okay, well, there’s a weird and weirdly fascinating sex fantasy, Kon notes, grinning a little wider himself and biting his lip harder as he coils his TTK up around Bernard’s thighs and slides it up to his hips and over his ass. Making up sex fantasies means he can do that kind of thing again, right? Like, even if they don’t go all the way again just yet?

He definitely wants to get to kiss the guy some more, if nothing else.

“Mmm, well, if it’d keep you distracted from your dastardly supervillain jailbreak plans . . .” Kon teases with another smirk, walking his fingers up Bernard’s chest as he squeezes his ass with his TTK. “You know, that’s really just part of the job description. Just being bait in a bad-guy trap and doing traditional superheroic self-sacrifice and all. I don’t really dress all that scanty, though, am I gonna need a costume upgrade for this one?”

“Don’t worry, man, I’ll pack you something,” Bernard says with another grin, stroking his hand down the side of his neck. Kon’s breath doesn’t quite catch, but he definitely has to actively stop it from happening. “Nice gold lamé loincloth, maybe? Matching collar I can put my future supervillain emblem on? Or maybe just an ‘R’, considering, since you’re gonna be bird-bait and all. Bet I could do it in pink K for him. Match the setting in that nice pretty plug I promised you.”

Kon swallows under that hand, and Bernard grins again.

“Unless you wanna stick with your usual straps and black leather look, anyway. Keep the brand strong and all,” he adds easily. “Because I understand the importance of branding, professionally-speaking, so I could definitely figure out something along those lines. Leather is also very traditionally queer.”

Bernard traces his fingers down Kon’s collarbone and chest like he’s tracing straps that aren’t there, and Kon leans down heavier into the contact without really thinking about it. He’s not sure if Bernard’s just, like, talking about the belts and straps he usually wears and his jacket, just without his suit under it all, or if he means, like . . . something a little more customized, or something. Like . . . something he means he’d dress him up in, or . . .

Like, it’s just a jokey made-up fantasy scenario, obviously, and not even anything they’re gonna actually, like, scene, so it doesn’t really matter, but . . . just, he’s kinda wondering what Bernard’s picturing when he says it. What he’d be thinking about if he ever used it as a real fantasy and jerked off to it, just . . . whenever.

Just–after this, Kon means. Once he’s handed over the pink K to Clark to lock up somewhere in the Fortress, and he’s not . . . not allowed to . . .

A camera flash goes off, and Kon reflexively startles, just for a second. It’s not like he forgot Tim was here, obviously–he is literally incapable of forgetting Tim is anywhere, for one, and they were literally talking about him on top of that–but he kinda just . . . didn’t notice he was just letting the two of them flirt that much, and not actually getting involved in the conversation himself.

That’s–huh. That’s . . .

Not what he expected, that’s all.

Kon blinks at Tim, still kind of surprised, and Tim gives him a wry little smile as he lowers the camera.

“Sorry,” he says. “Maybe I should’ve asked first.”

“Dude, you took pics of me taking his dick earlier,” Kon reminds him, trying to laugh off the odd little restless flutter that just flared up in his chest again. “This really seem more invasive than that?”

“Not exactly,” Tim says, shrugging a little. “Just, well . . . it’s not sex-related.”

I am literally naked on top of him, Kon doesn’t point out, because obviously Tim knows that, so if he’s saying it’s not sex-related–

Does he mean he didn’t take the picture for a sex-related reason, if he’s saying that?

That’s . . .

“Oh,” Kon says, feeling his face get weirdly hot, and isn’t sure either what Tim means or what to think. That restless flutter in his chest twists a little, flickering somewhere between anxiety and excitement, and he just . . . just isn’t sure. That’s all. Did Tim really just take that picture for . . .

Why did Tim just take that picture?

“I’ll delete it if you want,” Tim says, tilting the camera slightly in his hands, and Kon–hesitates, for a sec.

“Uh,” he says, and then just–shrugs, sort of. “Naw, it’s cool, man. I don’t mind. And I mean, c’mon, why wouldn’t you want a few more copies of this pretty face around, right? They mass-produced it for a reason, y’know.”

He flashes Tim another smug, preening grin, and Tim smiles back at him wryly and makes a show of rolling his eyes. Bernard snickers. His hand’s on the back of Kon’s neck again, and Kon feels some weird, weird ways about it.

An actual collar with pink K in it would be . . .

That’d be–well, a collar with pink K in it. A collar meant for him, because who else would Tim and Bernard even wanna use it on? Like–technically there’s a couple options, yeah, but–

Options for the pink K, he means.

Not so much options for a pink K collar.

That’s . . . that’s just him. Because Tim went for this to begin with over the idea of him wearing a collar, and Bernard thinks he's good at it, and . . .

“Well you really know how to style it, mass-produced or not,” Bernard muses, looking considering. “Though I still think it’d look pretty in pink.”

“Oh yeah?” Kon asks with a laugh, making a show of preening again and tilting his head as he exaggeratedly bats his lashes at him. Bernard laughs and tucks a stray curl out of his face for him, and Kon feels a warm little flutter in his chest about it, for some reason. Just–he doesn’t know, really. Like he feels when he's getting a fucking–like, a fucking crush or something.

He is definitely not getting laid enough, if he’s this easy right now.

“Absolutely, yeah,” Bernard says, then grins flirtily at him, and Kon reflexively expects another kinky joke about a collar or supervillain death-traps or TTK-cuddling or something like that, but what he actually gets is–“I bet pink would bring out those pretty blue eyes real nice.”

Kon–blinks. Blinks again.

And then he blushes like a fucking sucker, even though it’s not even that good a line, and Bernard laughs.

“Yeah, just like that,” he teases, pinching one of Kon’s burning cheeks.

“Oh, fuck you,” Kon says, laughing helplessly and half-swatting his hand away with another grin. Jesus, he really isn’t getting laid enough. “You think you’re so fucking cute, don’t you.”

“I’m okay,” Bernard allows with another laugh, then leans up just enough to kiss his cheek right where he’d pinched it. “I think you’re friggin’ adorable, though.”

“I think Rob’s rubbing off on you, man,” Kon snorts, though he can’t really help still grinning a little over it. That is definitely, like, Bat-banter levels of sneaky wordplay and all.

“Literally, yes, but not so much figuratively,” Bernard replies with a snicker as he runs his hands up Kon’s back and nuzzles along his jaw. Kon bites his lip around a wider grin and nuzzles him back. “Seriously, he’s witty as fuck right up until it’s time to flirt and then it’s like talking to the most awkward legal clerk you’ll ever meet.”

Kon really did not get that impression off the way Tim’s been talking since he showed up on the boat today, but maybe that’s just because Tim isn’t really thinking of it as “flirting” when he’s talking to him. They’ve known each other for how long, at this point? And it’s not like Tim didn’t go in knowing he was a sure thing, after all. Like–duh. Of course he is. And Tim doesn’t have, like–feelings for him, either. Like romantic ones, he means.

So yeah, just less pressure or whatever, Kon figures. Like . . . flirting with Tim felt easy as anything for him–as natural as bantering back and forth in the field or in training or over video games or a movie or while just shooting the shit together–but it’s not, like . . . real flirting.

Obviously it’s not.

“So you’re telling me he needs practice,” Kon “muses”, putting on a mock-speculative expression and drumming his fingers against Bernard’s chest. “Or does he need motivation, y’think?”

“I think your idea of ‘motivation’ would probably traumatize the unwary and also fuck up my sexuality for life, so that one, please,” Bernard requests, and Kon laughs again, and then Bernard kisses the crook of his neck again, and Kon feels warm again.

Fuck, he knows he’s easy, but he’s real fucking easy right now, isn’t he.

Or–real fucking easy for something, anyway, he thinks as he hears the camera click again. It’s done it a couple more times through the flirting, he guesses, though mostly Tim just seems to be reviewing . . . well, whatever’s on it, he guesses. Just . . . whatever that is.

Like–obviously Kon knows what’s on it. He just doesn’t know how well the pics have been coming out or how carefully Tim’s been taking them or–any of that kinda thing, is all. Tim hasn’t shown him any of them. Which–Kon hasn’t asked him to, either, but he never saw the pics for shoots ‘til they were done anyway. So like, he didn’t really think about it ‘til now.

He just . . . wonders, he guesses. Like . . . how careful Tim’s been being, if nothing else, or if the pics are all just real quick candids he hasn’t really worried about the details of. It’s, like–kinda part of the sex, basically, so if they were just quick little snaps and nothing really deliberate, that’d make sense. Like, obviously it would.

But also, Tim took a picture he said wasn’t about sex a minute ago, and Kon doesn’t really know what that means.

He just kinda wonders what at least that last one looks like, maybe.

“Ooooo, I'm up for fucking up somebody's sexuality for life, I'd be pretty smug about pulling that one off,” Kon says, still mock-speculative, but also tries to think about–just, something else besides the pictures, maybe. Besides that last picture. Though so far as “something else” to think of goes, it’s basically being naked on top of Bernard and very little else. Being naked on top of Bernard is pretty much the only contender, in fact.

He wonders if Bernard would, like–take his shirt off or something, if he asked. Just . . . get him a little skin-on-skin contact here, and maybe keep his stupid horny ass from getting too demanding too quick again.

Probably not gonna help, and admittedly might also make his stupid horny ass worse, but if Bernard's actually serious about trying to give Tim some “motivation” . . .

Well. That's, like . . . a thing, isn't it? That kinda implies that Bernard might be up for, like . . . doing something “motivating”.

Kon bites his lip and strokes his TTK up under Bernard's shirt testingly, just a little bit. Not too far or anything, just–testing, yeah. Bernard grins again and tips his head back a bit with a pleased little sigh, and Kon figures–well, that's a pretty obvious invitation, isn't it?

At least, he thinks it is.

Kon mouths up Bernard's exposed throat and Bernard makes another pleased little noise and slides his hands up his back, and Kon deliberately presses his TTK in tighter and weighs himself down a little heavier on top of him and gets a very pleased noise for that.So, like–pretty gratifying, really.

“Your boyfriend’s a real good time, Tim,” he murmurs against Bernard's throat, digging his fingers into the sheets for a moment as he nuzzles the corner of the other’s jaw. Bernard's fingers tighten against his back as the other lets out a wry huff of a laugh. “All kinds’a fun.”

“Well, I strive to provide an enjoyable guest experience,” Bernard says with another laugh, like he thinks Kon’s joking or something, then wraps his arms around his neck and bends one of his knees just enough to let himself lean a thigh in against his side. Kon mouths back down the other’s throat and slides a hand up the back of his bent thigh to squeeze it, and maybe coax it a little higher. He likes how it feels pressed in against his side, though it makes him want skin again, definitely. He really liked Tim and Bernard both keeping their clothes on before, and he still kinda likes it even now–being the only naked one, being the thing in this bed that literally any outside observer would immediately clock as the thing that was meant to be fucked and admired and used–but he just wants that contact more and more. Wants the permission to touch more and more.

Though also he doesn’t actually wanna pull back for long enough to actually let Bernard take any of his clothes off, admittedly.

But Bernard said he liked his TTK, before. So . . .

Kon licks his lips, just once, and slides his TTK up higher under Bernard’s shirt in broad, sweeping, tight strokes. Bernard sighs warmly and presses up into the pressure, and Kon resists the urge to just wrap him up completely and squeeze. Like–not hard or anything, just . . .

That’d be a little much, though, he thinks, so he just strokes across and over the other’s ribs and stomach and down over his hips and up along the undersides of his thighs, and Bernard stifles a groan or two and squirms a little, which is probably because Kon’s doing all that at once and not really, like, leaving him just one point of contact to press into or not. Bernard’s fingers tighten on his back again, and one hand slides up to curve flat around the back of his neck. Kon immediately wants to suck his dick–just, the thought slots into his head and locks in, and his mouth waters a little, and he just wants something in it, but definitely what he really wants in it is–

“Okay, so the weighted blanket is a sexy weighted blanket, noted,” Bernard mutters breathlessly, and Kon bites his collarbone as gently as he can make himself and sucks as gently as he can make himself. “Ah, fuck–”

“Sorry,” Kon breathes, and kisses the faint impression of his own teeth and the already-blooming hickey on Bernard’s skin apologetically before making himself go back to nuzzling the crook of his neck again, even as his gut simmers and simmers with the low, restless urgency that’s creeping up under his skin again too. “Sorry, sorry, just–is it okay? S’not too much?”

“Only in the ‘green’ kind of way,” Bernard huffs out breathlessly, knocking his head back; tightening his hands on him even more and pressing his thigh in closer against his side. “C’mon, have at it, have some fun with it. Free real estate, man.”

Kon bites his lip much harder than he could ever bite a human’s and only barely, barely keeps his TTK from instantly taking advantage of that offer.

Bernard’s hard no’s were choking, age play, and blindfolds, he reminds himself, and Tim’s were, like–injuries and humiliation and degradation and, like, scat and watersports and that kind of shit. Their safe words were “clique” and traffic lights, or three taps if they can’t talk. So–as long as he doesn’t do any of that and Bernard doesn’t say “clique” or “red” or do the three-taps thing . . . then it’s . . . then he can do this kind of thing.

Right?

Kon lets his TTK tighten up around a bit more of Bernard’s body, just a little, and Bernard groans through his teeth and flexes his muscles against his grip, then relaxes into languid pliancy in it instead and just–lets him hold onto him. It feels–it’s really–

It’s not the same as feeling something with his hands or his skin, but Kon still feels it.

And it feels–he really likes how it feels.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, and then strokes his TTK along the other’s ribs and thighs again and just–tries not to get, like, too far ahead of himself here.

Or, uh–get his own version of “carried away”, or anything like that.

“Jesus,” Bernard says with a still-breathless laugh, and Kon thinks about sucking his dick again. Or he could wrap his TTK around it, maybe, and see if Bernard really would like that. Tim snaps another few pictures as Kon mouths and nuzzles at Bernard’s neck and Bernard presses up into his mouth and flexes in the grip of his TTK, and Kon tries so fucking hard to just–behave, and not be too much or anything. Not be–

He just really doesn’t want to be too much and accidentally cross that invisible line and make Tim have to tell him–tell him that he’s done that. That he’s too much and too needy and just fucking weird and–

He just–doesn’t wanna push it like that. That’s all. Doesn’t want . . .

Kon buries his mouth in Bernard’s throat and mouths down it carefully, and strokes his hips and chest with his TTK and his ribs with his hands and does not get carried away or “too much” about it, and Bernard hums contentedly and wraps his arms around his neck to squeeze tight–or, like, the human version of “tight”, he means. Obviously.

“Fuck, you’re good at this,” Bernard says, and Kon bites his tongue because he does not trust himself to bite Bernard right now. Especially not in the damn neck, of all places.

Bernard’s body feels different from Tim’s. Different from–like, different from the bodies of most of the people that Kon knows, really. The lines of his muscles are softer and more relaxed, no buzz of hypervigilant attention behind or inside them, and he’s got barely any scars or old breaks at all or anything that feels like a stress injury or even really all that much in the way of callouses, even. Like–he’s in shape, obviously, and in a practical way over an ornamental one, but even Ma and Pa have more old breaks and scars and signs of hard physical labor on their bodies. Bernard’s just feels . . . really soft, Kon guesses. Soft and easy and comfortable and . . .

He bites his tongue harder, and puts his hands on the bed to curl into the fresh sheets and wraps his TTK up Bernard’s thighs and cups and squeezes his ass with it and presses a kiss he hopes won’t bruise against the other’s pulse. Bernard groans over it, sounding pleased, so–so Kon thinks it was fine. Wasn’t too much.

The guy’s just so soft and easy and relaxed, and his body feels really good underneath him and inside his TTK, and Kon wants to touch him just about every fucking place he can think of.

He hears Tim take a few more pictures, and hears Bernard sighing happily and feels him pressing into the grip of his TTK again, and compared to the kind of pace he’s used to in bed it feels lazy and languid and luxurious, and he feels a little bit overwhelmed by it even without really getting touched all that deliberately himself. Bernard seems pretty pleased about things either way, and Tim’s still taking pictures and hasn’t corrected or redirected him, so Tim must like what he’s doing too, Kon thinks.

He really wants Tim to like what he’s doing too.

Which . . . Tim probably would like to watch, yeah. That seems like a thing he’d be into, Kon’s pretty sure.

So–yeah. He’s doing what Tim wants him to be doing, he reminds himself, and pushes a hand up Bernard’s chest as the other catches his mouth in a kiss and digs curled fingers in against the back of his neck and on his upper arm, and Kon feels warm and his gut twists with heat, with eager anxiety and lustful craving, and Bernard bites his mouth gently and Kon doesn’t trust himself to bite back with his teeth, but uses his TTK in imitation of it. And he also uses it to stroke up the insides of Bernard’s thighs and weigh down heavy on his chest and stomach and hips and curl just a little bit tighter than that around the other’s cock under his clothes, and Bernard groans.

“Oh, okay, the TTK’s, like–transitive, right,” he manages with a shaky, heated laugh, digging his fingers in a little harder against Kon’s neck and bicep. “Think I read that in a teen ‘zine once.”

Definitely that magazine un-exists now, but that twist of heat in Kon’s gut twists hotter at hearing the comment–at hearing the memory. He–doesn’t really know what people do and don’t remember about him, usually. Like, ones he hasn’t talked to about it, he means, obviously. And even some of them, really, and–

But Bernard remembers a silly, stupid little article from some random magazine from a reality or two ago, and Kon feels very weird and a little bit fucked up about that, and wraps his TTK around the other’s body tight, just for–just for a second, just–not too much, not so he’ll be too much, just–just so–

“Shit,” Bernard chokes, and Kon immediately feels like he just fucked up and is a fucking idiot and–“Nnn, god, harder.”

The twist of heat in Kon’s gut lights up like a fucking bonfire and bleeds out like lava in his veins, and he tightens his TTK around Bernard just a little bit more–around every part of him that he can, just about–and Bernard shudders roughly in his grip and digs his fingers as much into Kon’s skin as he can, squeezing his sides with his thighs and knocking his head back hard against the bed.

“Jesus, that is so–” Bernard breaks off into a strangled noise, trying to shove up tighter against him, and Kon can’t help trying to kiss it out of his mouth; can’t help letting his actual physical body pin him down harder into the mattress along with the press of his TTK. Bernard said he liked weight; liked pressure.

And Kon can definitely, definitely give him that, if he does.

Bernard mutters some very feeling curses and clings to him, and Kon feels his cock swell up harder and heavier–both through the wrapped pressure of his TTK, and through the pressure of it pressing up thicker down low against his stomach. There’s not any space to not feel it, as close as they are right now.

Kon can walk into an actively erupting volcano and barely consider the experience a Jacuzzi, but right now he feels fucking hot. His skin is prickling and burning and his own dick’s just shy of throbbing against Bernard’s ass even with as hard as he’s been trying to ignore it. And then–

“Fuck, you really are so big,” Bernard mutters under his breath, and rocks down against Kon’s cock. The texture of his jeans feels good–denim and seams both, since again, chafing is not a concern with a half-Kryptonian cock–and Kon bites his tongue again and fists his hands into the sheets again too, a vicious shudder spiking up his spine and spreading out through his shoulders. “Yeah, fuck. Fuuuuucking hell. Like, seriously, definitely this dick is aspirational, as a feat. Like, if I work real hard and super believe in myself, maybe I can manage just a couple of–”

“Fuck,” Kon chokes, and buries his face in Bernard’s shoulder as he squeezes him tight with his TTK, shuddering all the harder. He just–he really–

“Yeah, fuck, fuck, gods damn,” Bernard groans, rocking his ass down again, and Kon shudders even harder than that.

“Feels so good,” he practically pants, but maybe more moans, and Bernard lets out a shaky, strangled laugh and flattens one hand against the back of his neck and the other against his shoulder blade.

“I’m barely even doing anything to you, man,” he manages, still half-laughing, and Kon feels a brief flash of embarrassment, but . . .

“No, I mean–you feel good,” he clarifies breathlessly, and squeezes his TTK around him for a moment to make the point.

“. . . oh,” Bernard says, blinking up at the ceiling. “Well, hi, new kink. Again. Jesus, man.”

The camera clicks a few times and Kon gets kissed again, which makes that brief flash of embarrassment very, very worth it. They just–he and Bernard just kiss for a while, yeah, or like–make out, more like. Kon keeps his TTK wrapped around him–and wrapped a little tighter around his dick, squeezing and stroking just a little bit–and Bernard grinds down against his dick a few more times, but neither of them really do much more than that. Like, just–heavy petting, mostly. So . . . third base, maybe? Kon guesses? Third base, but like, some on and off frotting-type action through it. He doesn’t know if that counts as third or not, honestly, he’s really not a “semantics” type of guy.

He knows his dick is fucking aching for it, whatever it is.

Bernard breaks off the kissing after a little bit–a few seconds or a few eternities, whichever–and laughs again, still all breathless. His face is flushed and soft and relaxed and pretty, and Kon wants to kiss him a whole lot more and maybe–

“God, man, I can’t believe your fucking refractory period,” Bernard marvels, shaking his head before pressing another kiss against the line of his jaw. “How do you even function, seriously, are you always this horny?”

“I–sometimes, I guess,” Kon says, feeling a weird flicker of hesitation at the question. “Just–I guess?”

He kind of is feeling more horny than usual, actually, now that Bernard’s mentioned it, and has a moment of self-consciousness over that realization, not sure what to . . . think, exactly, or . . .

The camera clicks, and Kon glances reflexively towards Tim at the technically unnecessary reminder of his very close presence, though that makes him feel self-conscious too because then he almost feels like he’s looking for, like–reassurance, or something, which is fucking embarrassing to need right now.

But also . . . also Tim’s staring intently at them, his face lightly flushed and eyes dark and heated, and . . .

And Kon feels some shit about that fact, apparently.

“I do feel like we’re reaping the very impressive rewards of your libido right now, considering,” Tim says musingly, turning his camera over in his hands, and then Kon feels reassured after all. Which is, again, fucking embarrassing, but . . . well, he’s not gonna turn it down when it’s there, obviously. A little bit of tension seeps out of his shoulders and he feels–better, yeah, and better still when Bernard presses another kiss in against the corner of his jaw and slides one hand up his spine and the other one down to his ass.

“I am really into the eager thing, yeah, have I mentioned that a couple dozen times yet?” Bernard says approvingly, and kisses back behind his ear too as he gives his ass an appreciative squeeze. “Because it's making me very curious about how many times we can get you off before you get too sensitive to go any longer. Or like, if you even can get too sensitive. Can you?”

Kon bites his lip this time, then nuzzles Bernard back a bit, feeling–better, yeah, but also now more horny, actually. Which is maybe a little much, but . . . well, Tim and Bernard don’t sound annoyed about him being, like, fucking insatiable or whatever, they actually sound kinda into it, so . . .

“Dunno, man. You, ah, you wanna help me figure that out?” he asks not quite testingly, and feels Bernard grin against his jaw.

“Immediately, yeah,” Bernard says, and squeezes his ass again. “Fuck, I really wish we had a strap, we could ride your invulnerable ass a lot longer that way. And those definitely do come in pink.”

“Fuck,” Tim mutters, and Kon’s face feels hot. He–that–just, the idea that they’d wanna fuck him even if they weren’t actually getting off for it is . . . the idea they’d like to fuck him even if they weren’t actually getting off for it . . .

It’s a fucking idea, alright.

It makes him kind of feel like the idea of getting down on his knees next to Tim’s chair while the other’s working and seeing if maybe he’d pet him in that absentminded and reflexive and effortless way again. Like–it makes him feel like that idea did, he means. Just, like . . .

It’s–an idea, yeah. Definitely, definitely an idea.

“You’re kinda a planner, huh, man?” he says with a grin, wondering if Bernard always has this many, like–thoughts. Plans. Concepts. Fantasies?

Or just–ideas, again.

“I mean, I definitely keep a planner,” Bernard says. “Or like . . . a bulletin board or five. Although being a planner is kinda hit or miss when your boyfriend has to disappear every time the Bat signal goes off, but you know, I’ve been politely pretending to be oblivious to that. And like, I can be flexible, that’s a thing I can do.”

“Hmmm,” Kon says, hiding a grin of his own against Bernard’s neck. “‘Flexible’, huh? Like, how flexible we talkin’ here, man?”

“Listen, you’re used to Bat-flexibility and, like, Plastic Man, I cannot compare to that,” Bernard says with a laugh, and Kon sniggers into his skin.

“Dunno, man, haven’t been gay long enough to hit up Plastic Man, so couldn’t tell ya,” he says, grinning a little wider and then mouthing up across the other’s pulse. He can hear it, but it’s not one he knows like he knows Tim’s.

It’s–nice, though. He likes it. Likes how it sounds with Tim’s, which would be sort of a weird compliment to give a baseline human, probably, so he’s not gonna say anything about it, but . . . yeah.

“Ooooo, bet he’s fuckin’ packing, though, what do you think?” he “muses” jokingly, and Bernard laughs again.

He likes how that sounds too.

“I think it would be literally physically impossible for anybody arguably-human’s dick to count as ‘big’ next to yours, man, even with the shapeshifting powers,” Bernard says, and Kon hums consideringly and–hm, actually–

“. . . so like, speaking of ‘arguably’ human dick sizes and shapeshifting, do you think Beast Boy’d be into–”

“Oh my god, Kon,” Tim cuts him off with a strangled laugh of his own, and Kon likes how that sounds even more.

“Wow, you are just so like this,” Bernard says, dropping his head back against the bed to laugh too, and Kon feels a warm, pleased buzz under his skin. “No wonder Power Girl’s still pissed off.”

“Listen, I am genetically half-alien, I am allowed to be into the weird shit,” Kon counters primly, chasing his mouth up the other’s bared throat, because when and why would he ever miss an opportunity like that? Like, that’s just ungrateful, if he missed an opportunity like that. “For all literally any of us know that kind of shit was totally vanilla on Krypton.”

“So are we assuming Superman’s into–” Bernard starts, and Tim groans, covering his face with a hand.

“Bernard, please don’t finish that sentence, I have to work with Superman,” he says, sounding pained. “Professionally, in life-risking scenarios.”

“I mean so do I, but I am kinda curious, not gonna lie,” Kon muses, nuzzling in underneath Bernard’s jaw and lipping lightly at the bared skin just above his throat. He really doesn’t think he could actually fuck Clark even with pink K involved, it just seems a little too weird in a few too many ways, but like . . . whatever, he doesn’t know, call it scientific curiosity or whatever. Research material.

Or maybe at least wank material.

. . . hm. Yeah, he could maybe do that, come to think. Way less pressure than actually having to, like, live up to Super-standards in bed, he thinks. Though if he’s only gay for the weekend he’s not gonna be wasting time on just jacking off solo when he’s got the option to climb Tim, so like–and the option to climb Tim and his super-cute and super-chill boyfriend, even. Getting double-teamed in Tim’s beat-up little houseboat sounds way more fun than . . . basically any other option Kon can think of, actually.

Like–if he was gonna fuck any dude, of course it was gonna be Tim.

And double that “of course”, now that he actually knows a little more about the kind of shit the guy gets off for. It is really unfortunate that Kon doesn’t know any chicks who can Domme like Tim can Dom, because–

Kon’s brain–does something, kinda, and he has a weird, brief little thought about–

Tim’s bi. Which–Kon doesn’t know if Bernard is too, or if he’s more the “just into dick” type, but . . .

Tim would date a girl too, is all. Like, he’d be just as down to date a girl as he would a guy. He’s said that before, even, and Kon remembers teasing him about it during some random training session–how he was just being a fucking Bat and trying to maximize his options with a contingency plan because he sucked at talking to chicks so bad. Tim had thrown one of the MMA gloves he’d been stripping off at him and he’d dodged it and laughed, and Tim had laughed too, and–

Just, like . . . if it were Steph under him right now, or if Bernard were a girl . . .

Kon’s weird little thought remembers the idea of “Robin” bossing him around as a reward for good behavior back in the day, and then it thinks about Tim bossing him around now. Like–they wouldn’t necessarily have to, like . . . do anything, but if Steph had ever asked him if he wanted to come over, or if Bernard were, he doesn’t know, a Bernie or a Bebe or a Beatrix–

They could’ve done some of this without the pink K getting involved, then. Like–right? Like . . . they could’ve . . . shared somebody, kind of, or Tim could’ve just told him what to do for somebody, or–

If Tim would be . . . into that, anyway, or . . . just like, Tim likes watching, clearly, and Kon's not exactly body-shy or anything, and it’s not like he'd have minded if Tim had maybe ended up getting off a little bit to him too and not just whatever girl’d decided to put up with both of them at once in the clearly noble pursuit of getting doubly dicked down–he'd probably have just been a smug asshole about it, if anything–so . . .

Except it wouldn’t really be Tim sharing someone with him, some weird, uncomfortable, and also uncomfortably turned-on little part of Kon thinks. It’d be more like Tim sharing him with–

He feels weird, immediately, and shuts down that whole line of thought before it can get any weirder.

But it’s–there’s something about it that he doesn’t . . . that he . . .

Kon stops thinking about it, because for one thing Bernard’s dick is still pressed up warm and hard against his stomach and he is still more than pink K’ed-up enough to appreciate it being there, and for another–for another, it’s just a dumb thought. Just–some weird little thing that occurred to him; not even a real fantasy or whatever.

Just–a thought, kinda.

That’s all.

“Your curiosity is a gift and a treasure, sir,” Bernard says approvingly, lifting his hands up to slide up the sides of Kon’s neck and cup his face, and Kon bites his lip and tightens his TTK up around him again just a little. “Ah–nn. Sorry, I was saying things and having thoughts, but apparently they weren’t that important because I have forgotten literally every single one of them. Hey man, what are you and your aesthetically perfect dick’s thoughts on getting some more data for that whole ‘can we get you too sensitive to go any longer?’ experiment. It’s for science, you know. Science and the good of humankind. Or . . . sapientkind, maybe, since actually ‘humankind’ is not a useful descriptor in this scenario, is it, hm. I should maybe be picking my words more carefully in these situations, yeah, sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Kon asks, wrinkling his nose at him in a little bit of confusion.

“I don’t know, you’re half-alien, was that, like, half a microaggression? A demi-microaggression?” Bernard asks, looking briefly sheepish. “Well–okay actually you’re zero percent alien, I guess, technically speaking, unless Cadmus Labs is not located where I thought it was.”

“Uh,” Kon says, still a little confused. “They were outside Metropolis . . . ?”

“Okay, so not an alien, just like, I dunno, a second-gen immigrant,” Bernard says, and Kon blinks at him a couple of times and is sort of, like, low-key fascinated by the dude’s brain for a moment. That is like, practically Bart-levels of “random shit that only makes sense from inside someone's own head”, if admittedly better-translated for the outside people. “. . . this is not my fault, okay, you’re way too hot for me to stay focused and act like a normal person in front of. Also we’re in Gotham and you have to understand that skews the ‘normal’ scale so much, okay?”

“It’s fine, dude, I’ve heard way weirder,” Kon replies, now maybe kinda amused because Bernard’s wincing awkwardly and doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands anymore, so he just smirks a bit and leans in to nip at the other’s lower lip. Why not, right? “It’s just funny ‘cuz the awkward rambling thing makes you look stupid cute.”

“Jesus,” Bernard mutters very feelingly, then grabs his face again and kisses him back hard. Kon purrs into it and pins him down heavier against the mattress again and gets a breathy little groan out of Bernard for it, plus a handful of real quick and real decided clicks from Tim’s camera. And like, Kon is still very used to making himself look good for a camera even now, so it’s not hard at all to make the stretch and display of his body pressing down against Bernard’s into something natural and easy-looking for the lens. It is natural, because it’s something he’s been doing since the day he was fucking decanted, and also it’s not like he didn’t get all that media training from Rex and even a bit from Cadmus’s original uploads and also in bits and pieces a dozen other places and counting. And if nothing else, the “being professionally photogenic” thing very literally paid the bills for a while in there.

Doing it for Tim feels different, though. Showing off for Tim, displaying himself, framing Bernard just right with his body the same way he got taught to frame whatever pretty girl they threw him on-set with–

Except it’s not like being on a shoot or a set or anything like that. Not like doing some boring ad or magazine shoot with a photographer who isn’t interested in him as a person, just a paycheck, not like doing a thousand takes of some brain-dead commercial for some lame, useless product he doesn’t give a shit about, and not like Rex trying to get him to fake “candid” pics for social media shit or even just some random civilian who just wants a selfie or anything like that.

Which, like–most of those photos don’t even exist anymore. Just about all of them don’t, in fact.

Kon’s good at being photographed–one of the few things he was always good at, that always came natural and that he learned inside and out and just had an actual talent for–but that doesn’t actually matter anymore because everything he got good at it for doesn’t even exist now. Isn’t even remembered, mostly.

Except–Tim likes to take pictures. He’s always liked to take pictures. And right now, Tim wants to take pictures of him. Ones he maybe really does wanna keep, even.

That’s–that’s a thing that Kon’s thinking about, right now.

He kisses Bernard deeper; slides his TTK up along his ribs and a hand up his thigh to tug it up; encourage Bernard into a position that’ll show him off too, even still in all his clothes. Doesn’t matter that he is, really. The dude’s cute and funny and hot and not even remotely hard to make look good, and he doubts Tim’s gonna complain about the show either way.

“Jesus,” Bernard mumbles again, this time into his mouth, and kisses him back just a little bit harder. Harder, but–harder, but still careful. Like–still like he’s thinking about the “gentle” thing or whatever. Like he’s still thinking about what he thinks Kon likes.

Kon is straight-up just gonna ride this dude’s dick until Tim tells him to get off it, he fucking swears.

“Hey,” he says as he slides his hand a little higher up Bernard’s thigh to grip his ass and tug their hips together tighter, and his voice comes out a little softer and breathier than he means it to, but it’s whatever. Bernard bites his lip–Kon’s, not his own–and strokes his face. Kon feels warm, like something steaming or simmering, and leans down into the kiss and the contact both, but keeps talking between kisses. He can multitask; that’s a thing he can do. That’s a thing that he’s fucking happy to do right now. “Mm. You’re not sore, are you?”

“Oh my god,” Bernard mumbles, dropping his hands to half-cover his own face, and Kon can’t help letting out a little laugh before dropping another kiss against his mouth.

“Just askin’, man,” he teases, giving his ass a little squeeze. “You’ve got a real good dick, don’t want you wearing it out this soon, right? We got a whole long weekend to get through here.”

“Ohhhhh my god,” Bernard repeats very, very feelingly, and Kon grins before giving him another little kiss and rolling their hips together. Bernard comes up with some new gods to curse after all, apparently. “Jesus, fuck, you are unfairly hot, and also very kind to say literally any dick in this bed is ‘good’ with yours around to compete with.”

“Dunno, man, can’t get fucked with my own, can I?” Kon muses jokingly, ducking down to nuzzle in along the other’s throat on another slow roll of their hips and burying a flashed grin there before deciding to be a little bit merciless and saying–“And yours felt so good, man, made me come like a fucking freight train. Well, actually I don't usually feel freight trains that much, so I think it's got ‘em pretty solidly beat.”

“Oh my god,” Bernard repeats again, laughing helplessly and grabbing both the back of his hair and the back of his neck as he tips his head back for his mouth, which is an invitation that Kon obviously takes.

Very fucking obviously does he take that invitation. And very fucking gladly, too.

Kon mouths up to the underside of Bernard’s jaw and gives the other’s ass another squeeze before sliding his hand back down under his thigh, making sure not to block anything particularly interesting that Tim might wanna see of either of them in the process. He tugs Bernard’s thigh up a little higher–just enough to make sure Tim gets a real nice view of the next roll of their hips–and Bernard’s fingers dig into his scalp and spine, just a little, and the camera goes off in a rapid little rush of clicks. Kon’s skin buzzes, and he drags his teeth shut just above the apple of Bernard’s throat.

“Fuuuuuck,” Bernard groans, tipping his head back even farther. “I think you are getting ‘speechless’ out of me, seriously, I am not capable of keeping up with the flirty talk right now.”

“I can talk,” Kon says, licking his lips briefly without pulling back from Bernard’s throat, so just the tip of his tongue flicks across it too. Bernard shudders.

“Is that a threat?” he asks with a shaky laugh, and Kon grins against his throat again and then nuzzles back down it.

“Naw, man, told you, I wanna get a few more rides on that dick of yours,” he purrs, and puts his weight into the next roll of his hips down against Bernard’s. “Never came like that before, swear I felt it in my fucking gut.”

“God–yeah, yeah, prostate orgasm’s a bit–bit different, feels different,” Bernard stutters out breathlessly, his nails dragging down the back of Kon’s neck and other hand fisting tighter in his hair. “Jesus, you really do run hot, fuck, feel like I’m grinding on a friggin’–I dunno, a friggin’ heat rock or something.”

“A heat rock, babe?” Tim asks wryly, and Bernard makes a face at him and then chokes on another groan as Kon just kinda–just kinda puts a bit more of his TTK out there and lets it press down heavy against the other’s body. With like, maybe just a little extra attention for a few specific spots on it, maybe. “Hm.”

“Well it’s that or somebody just fucking forged this dick out of literal steel, alright?” Bernard pants, gripping Kon’s neck harder and hooking the leg he tugged up earlier around his waist. Kon really, really likes how it feels getting held onto like that. Which, like–he always does, so no surprise there. “Christ, you’re thick. Like everywhere. All the places. All-around thickness. Seriously, I swear to fuck, if I were a bucket of water–”

“Bernard. Honey. Sweetheart. Light of my conspiracy board. You really cannot take him, even with a long weekend involved in the process,” Tim says wryly. "Literally neither of us can or could.”

“Yeah, I’m aware, but like . . .” Bernard bites his lip and flicks his eyes down towards Kon again, which he only knows because in this close and touching there is no way his TTK could not feel it. He’s personally way too busy mouthing at the guy’s pulse and stroking his TTK along his ribs and his hands up his sides to lift his head himself, though, so he figures that’s just whatever right now. “Guh, fucking hell, how can you even touch this many places at once, that is not fair.”

“You want some more?” Kon asks, and licks his lips again as he lets his TTK flex around him. “I can do more.”

Kon is not actually sure if the things Bernard says in response to that are gods’ names or just, like, very weird curses or something, or maybe just a Gotham thing, but either way Bernard says them very feelingly and in fact straight-up viciously.

“Hm,” Tim says again, sounding just musing enough that all Kon hears is Robin. “Pet. Does that mean you can touch his prostate without having to open him up for it?”

“Oh fuck you, babe,” Bernard wheezes, and Kon bites the inside of his cheek and lifts his head just enough to glance over at Tim again.

Tim snaps a picture of his face, then smiles at him.

Kon’s whole body burns.

“Want me to?” he asks, his voice maybe feeling a little rough in his throat, and Bernard groans and Tim–

Tim just keeps smiling the exact same smile at him, and Kon immediately wants his dick back in him. Well–actually Kon immediately wants a lot of things, but “Tim’s dick back in him” feels like it’d cover most of them.

“Well, Bernard’s right, prostate orgasms do feel pretty different,” Tim says in that same musing tone that Kon can only think of “Robin” when he hears. “And I think he really does want you to fuck him right now.”

“I will literally fucking kill you, Tim,” Bernard swears, ducking his head down against Kon’s shoulder. He doesn’t loosen the grip of either his hands or the leg he has around him, though, and Kon . . .

“You can decide if you wanna follow through on that after my boy takes care of you, babe,” Tim replies, his smile just barely widening, and Kon thinks that means–“You’ll make Bernard feel nice, won’t you, pet? Pay him back for fucking you so good and getting you all opened up for me so I could get carried away?”

“Please let me,” Kon manages hoarsely, because he can’t manage anything else, and Robin smiles at him.

“Fuck you both, you kinky fucking bastards,” Bernard swears into his shoulder, and Kon can’t take his eyes off Tim at all.

“Go on, pet,” Tim says with the exact same smile. “He made you feel so good, didn’t he? Show him you were worth it.”

“Yeah,” Kon croaks, which is the best he’s got, and then has to force himself to tear his attention away from Tim and refocus on Bernard underneath him; stop worrying quite so much about the show they’re putting on for Tim. He needs to pay Bernard back right now; needs to make Bernard feel nice.

Not just good–nice. That’s what Tim said.

And “nice” definitely means giving the guy his full attention.

“Bernard,” Kon breathes appreciatively, and nuzzles roughly into the crook of the other’s neck again as he grips his ass again too; as he rolls his hips down against his and their cocks in against and along each other and smooths his TTK over every inch of the other’s skin underneath his clothes. As Bernard’s breath catches and his heart rate does a whole lot of real, real interesting things and his dick throbs so hard against Kon’s that he could’ve felt it without his TTK, even with all the guy’s goddamn clothes in the way. “I can pay you back, yeah. You made me feel so good, made me fucking crazy for it. Didn’t even know I’d like it that much before you got inside me.”

“Jeeeeesus,” Bernard chokes, and Kon nuzzles him harder; wraps his TTK around him tighter and uses it and his body both to pin him down heavy into the mattress–like a useful thing, like something Bernard’d just keep folded up at the foot of his bed and bring out whenever he needed it, something Bernard would appreciate having whenever he needed it, no matter how often that was or wasn’t–and slides an arm underneath the small of the other’s back to grip and just, like–hold him.

Bernard likes weight, right? Kon can give him weight, and a fucking anchor of a grip besides.

He slides his TTK under Bernard’s clothes and along his skin again and makes sure to be appreciative about it. Strokes the other's hips and stomach and chest with it; trails it lightly along his pulse points and up the insides of his thighs; rubs it in flat little points of pressure in against his nipples and up under the curve of his ass. Bernard squirms in his grip underneath him and says a lot of very, very creative things again, literally every single one of which is probably at least four kinds of blasphemous.

“Told you how good you feel, right, man?” Kon murmurs into his throat, and Bernard digs his fingers in hard against the back of his neck. Tim said to make him feel nice, and Kon can’t think of a single damn thing nicer than hearing something like that from somebody who’s got their hands on him. “S’real good. Even better when you’re movin’ like this.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, that’ll be happening a lot,” Bernard pants raspily. Kon gives his cock a brief telekinetic squeeze and then covers it in flexing, rippling pressure and cups and rolls his balls and gets Bernard cursing all over again and bucking up against him.

It feels real, real good.

“Promise?” Kon asks, sliding another flat point of pressure back behind Bernard’s balls and along his taint, pressing and rubbing up against it. He thinks–that’ll get his prostate a little warmed up, right? Bernard’ll still feel it like this, like–he doesn’t know, external stimulation, kinda? It feels like he can–

“FUCK,” Bernard blurts loudly, his knees snapping in against Kon’s sides and face completely buried in his shoulder; shoulders shaking and nails trying to dig into his skin through his TTK. “Yeah, yeah, yup, that’s officially a promise, god god every god–”

Kon is pretty sure that means the guy’s feeling it, yeah.

“S’alright?” he asks anyway, the question coming out a little ragged as he rolls his hips down against Bernard’s again. “Not too heavy or–or whatever?”

“Definitely, definitely not,” Bernard gasps against his shoulder, and Kon half-reflexively tightens his arm around his back; leans his weight on his forearm and elbow and reaches up to cup his other hand over the back of Bernard’s head and feels–weird, sort of. Not like–he’s not sure how, exactly. Not sure why, exactly.

Something about this guy is really . . .

Yeah, Kon doesn’t really know how to finish that thought, but there’s a lot of other things he wants to be concentrating on right now, so like–whatever, it’s not a big deal, he’ll worry about it later. Right now he just wants to think about making Bernard feel nice, and nothing else.

Like, what the hell else would he wanna think about right now?

“Okay,” he says, pressing a brief kiss against the other’s temple without thinking about it and then feeling a little stupid over it for no good reason, but also kinda not really caring if it was stupid. Just–nice things. The extra, unnecessary little touches and stuff like that–those always make him feel nice, at least. “Just–tell me if it’s too much, yeah?”

“You’ll know it’s too much when my ribs crack and not a moment sooner,” Bernard mutters very feelingly, wrapping his arms around his back and trying to dig his fingers in along his spine. Kon laughs a little breathlessly, but feels an unsteady flicker of nerves at the same time–Bernard doesn’t actually mean he won’t tell him to stop if it’s too much, does he? Like–if he does fuck it up–

The camera goes off, and any drop of tension that’s ever been in Kon’s body evaporates all at once. Just–right, yeah. Tim’s here. Tim’ll make sure he doesn’t fuck anything up.

Just like always.

“Naw, man, that kinda shit can’t happen if I’m gettin’ tactile on ya,” he murmurs maybe a little bit more breathlessly, feeling all warm and liquid and heavy, finding a way to settle in a little more heavy, and Bernard muffles a moan into his collarbone. Kon puts a little hitch in the next roll of his hips, just to change up the way their cocks grind together a bit–keep interesting for the guy–and flexes and ripples the TTK grip he’s got around Bernard’s cock and rubs that one little point of pressure in across his taint again, and then splits it up into multiple little points and rubs and taps in across it instead, and back across his hole too. Bernard curses. Loudly. Tim makes an approving little noise.

Kon bites his lip and feels warm all the way through.

Really, really warm.

“Jesus, your cock is so distracting,” Bernard groans, rocking his hips up harder against his, and Kon shudders and presses down as close as he can get. “Ahhhhh god, that does not help, Jesus, I really wanna do something about that gorgeous fucking monster of yours. God, this is what I get for not being a meta or an alien or something, huh, my bad there, my own damn fault.”

“Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ cute,” Kon mumbles maybe a little bit blurrily, nuzzling into the other’s neck and shoulder again and letting his TTK just press in tight around him, just for a second or two. It just feels–Bernard feels good. Making Bernard feel good feels good. And he doesn't have to overthink it or worry or anything, ‘cause Tim’s right here and has his back on it all. “I’d stick it in you if I could, you could do whatever you wanted with it. Promise I’d last longer that way, last as long as you wanted.”

“Christ fucking hell and–” Bernard starts just as Kon strokes up inside him with his TTK, just feeling him out a little, and then throws his head back with a choked gasp instead. “HELL.”

Kon licks his lips; tries to concentrate. Tries to remember all the little ways Bernard had treated him, both when he’d had his fingers in him and when he’d had his dick in him, and tries to match that pressure and rhythm and just–touch, he guesses. He really doesn’t have to work him open for it, so . . .

Though he can still feel Bernard reflexively trying to clench down around his TTK either way, which is . . . definitely a thing to feel, fuck.

“Tim, you fucking asshole!” Bernard half-sputters and half-chokes, throwing an arm across his eyes and squirming between the mattress and Kon’s TTK and–

“So he can touch it like this, then?” Tim asks mildly as the camera goes off a few more times.

“OBVIOUSLY, YES,” Bernard yells at him, digging the fingers of one hand in against Kon’s back and fisting the other in on itself, and Kon just–has a thought, real quick and brief, or maybe more of an idea, and then reinforces the mattress underneath them to keep it from compressing and drags a long, slow stroke of telekinetic pressure up Bernard’s body to pin him flat against it. It doesn’t give at all, and obviously neither does his own body, and Bernard makes a strangled groan of a noise and smacks his fist against the bed over his head. It doesn’t give there either, and Kon just–grabs Bernard’s wrist, and pins his arm down and weighs him down, and Bernard’s next strangled noise cracks into a keen.

“Oh,” Tim says, sounding a little impressed. “Good idea, pet. You’re always so creative.”

Kon feels way past warm right now.

He just sort of melts, just–all over, just absolute liquid all the way from his gut to his spine to the full range of his TTK, and then he squeezes his arm around Bernard and his TTK around Bernard, trying to keep it soft but absolutely unable to help making it tight either way. Bernard grits his teeth and makes another strangled noise behind them as he pushes his head back harder against the rock-solid presence of the mattress, and Kon shudders roughly and just–fuck, he’s never spent this much time with his TTK around just one specific person like this, much less around just one specific person who’s pressed right up against him and pressed back against a surface he’s got his TTK wrapped around too.

It’s just–it’s so much. Every little detail, every little thing that just a look or two would never notice or pick up on, every little thing about a body that should take weeks or months or years to learn, and Bernard’s just–letting him feel all that.

Because Bernard likes how his TTK feels.

Kon is much more weird and much more horny about that thought than he actually realized he was, now that he’s really thinking about it. And he already thought he was pretty weird and horny about it as it was, honestly.

He was pretty goddamn fucking certain he was, actually.

“S’it feel okay?” he manages as he strokes up a little tighter inside Bernard in a way he’s never actually tried with anyone before, maybe paying a little bit too much attention to the other’s heartbeat and breath and just every little thing he can feel about him, which is–which is–

Well. Just about everything, under the circumstances.

Fuck.

“Yeah, yeah, hell yeah,” Bernard pants out, shuddering roughly underneath him–between his body and the bed and inside his TTK–and Kon thinks–okay. Well, compared to how much Bernard’s been saying . . . “speechless”, maybe. Maybe actually got him to “speechless” after all, at least a little.

He presses another brief kiss in against Bernard’s temple and rubs his TTK down the length of his cock and up over his prostate–up inside his body, and up across his taint–and then just sort of . . . alternates doing that, kind of. Bernard curses a lot more and digs his knees in against his sides and the fingers of his free hand in against the back of his neck again, burying his face against his shoulder again too.

So yeah. Seems like that’s going okay.

“God, god,” Bernard groans, shuddering even harder, and Kon keeps him wrapped up and held tight and pinned down heavy and just kind of, like . . . just thinks about the body he’s touching, and whatever it might take to make that body feel good. There’s that and there’s a vague awareness of Tim’s heartbeat and breath and the occasional little flurry of camera-clicks the other’s making, and that’s all he really needs to pay attention to. He can ignore everything else.

Tim would tell him if he needed to pay attention to anything else, obviously.

“So, so fuckin’ cute,” he mumbles into Bernard’s hair, stroking his TTK along his ribs and hips and thighs and keeping his hand around his wrist and arm around his waist; touching him every place it makes sense to and probably a few that don’t, really. “So cute and so nice to me and I really wanna just touch. I can, right, s’still okay?”

“Yes, very much so, to the point I might cry if you stop,” Bernard says feelingly, then hisses against his shoulder and bucks his hips up against his; against his TTK. Kon’s breath hitches, and Bernard’s own turns erratic and kicks up faster. “Fuuuuuck. Fuck fuck fuck. God, what does this say about me and every single kink I’ve ever had.”

“Your heartbeat’s so fast,” Kon says, gripping Bernard just a little tighter for a moment and maybe just a little bit thrilling at the way said heartbeat spikes over it, which is admittedly not an actual response to or even related to anything Bernard just said, but he's maybe a little . . . distracted, yeah. It’s not like he can’t hear people’s heartbeats all the time–not like he doesn’t usually hear people’s heartbeats–but it always feels different in bed with somebody. “S’really hot.”

It’s really, really hot, actually, because it makes him feel like Bernard’s not only liking what he’s doing for him, he’s liking it enough to not wanna hide how much he’s liking it. Like–not wanna hide any of it.

“Oh, well, cool, glad my internal organs are sexy enough for–ahhhhh fuck, fuck fuck fuck,” Bernard gasps, and Kon’s not sure if that was for the way he just ran his TTK up the insides of his thighs or put his mouth against his pulse or any of the other maybe-overcompensating little things he’s doing, so he just tries to keep doing, like–mostly what he’s already doing, just a little more. He kisses Bernard’s pulse and circles his TTK around his hole and strokes it up inside him and along the length of his cock and he can feel every single thread of the other’s clothes and the sped-up beating of his heart and heaving lungs and the coiling tension in his muscles and–

Bernard makes a little whimpery moaning sound buried in tight against his shoulder like he thinks it’s someplace safe for it, and Kon’s brain nearly shorts out.

His TTK snaps reinforcement around every single bone and muscle and inch of skin and veins and nerves in Bernard’s body, and his body jerks down against him. Bernard yelps, clawing so hard at his back that with his TTK so tight around him, Kon almost feels his nails actually scrape his skin.

“Bernard,” he groans roughly, and squeezes the other’s cock and strokes up inside him as much as he can without actually opening him up–Tim asked if he could do this without doing that, so–so that’s what he does, just tries to give Bernard the feeling of sliding pressure without any stretch or pull or chance of discomfort. Like, Kon definitely did not feel any discomfort when he was getting opened up, but Bernard knows how to do that a lot better than he does and isn’t invulnerable, so–so Kon’s careful about it.

He really, really doesn’t wanna hurt the guy. Like, obviously. But just–he really wants to make him feel good, make him feel even a little bit as good as he made him feel, even if he can’t do it the exact same way.

He can’t actually fuck any guy that well, probably, given his total lack of experience in the area, but Bernard still moans and bucks up urgently under every little point of contact. There’s still not really any space between them and Kon can't get moved by someone else that easy, so it’s just Bernard grinding up against him more than anything else, but Kon’s feeling it in his body and through his TTK and it just feels so fucking good and–

“Fuck, fuck, I really like how you move, I really like how you feel,” he gasps out roughly, and Bernard makes that little whimpery moaning sound against his shoulder again–like it’s someplace safe for it, again–and Kon whines back without really meaning to and rocks his hips down and his TTK up and in, and Bernard starts groaning out strangled, incoherent curses, and Kon just really wants to make him feel anything like Bernard made him feel. “Wanna fuck you blind, goddamn, you’re so hot, you’re so much fucking fun, god, no wonder Tim’s so fucking into you–”

“FUCK!” Bernard gasps into his shoulder, and comes hard underneath and against him, sounding halfway-shocked about it. Kon gets to feel the other’s cock pulse against his cock and inside the tight wrap of his TTK; gets to feel his hole clench down around his TTK and his knees squeeze his sides and wrist tense in his fist and fingers dig into his back and body shake and shudder and come spill out into the other’s boxer briefs, and it all just feels so fucking good.

“Fuck,” he groans too, shuddering himself and just–pinning Bernard, just for the rest of the other’s orgasm, and Bernard gasps and whimpers and keens underneath him and Kon just–nuzzles him, over and over, and keeps him pinned for as long as it takes for Bernard to start catching his breath and his heart rate to start settling down. Kon nuzzles him a little more, maybe, but lightens up the pressure of his TTK in response and carefully draws it back out of him and away from anywhere that might be too–sensitive, maybe, or anything like that.

Though he keeps it wrapped around Bernard’s skin and clothes, just so the other won’t get his underwear all gross and sticky–not any harder than keeping the rain off himself, really–but that also means his TTK is feeling the come it’s got wrapped up inside it, and . . . and that is really, really distracting, actually, fuck. Just–fuck.

Kon really wants to know what they both taste like. Really wants to know how their come would feel actually inside him, not just inside his TTK.

Really doesn’t know why he’s so into that idea, either, but he really, really is.

“Okay?” he asks reflexively, nuzzling Bernard one last time as he slips the contained mess of it out of the other’s jeans before he can lose his concentration and make an actual mess, and Bernard groans very, very feelingly as he goes completely limp against the mattress.

“Yeah,” he manages breathlessly, and half-manages a laugh too. “Definitely, yeah, I–Jesus, of course you can do that. Of course that’s a thing. Fuck, just gimme–gimme a sec and I’ll help you out there.”

Kon resists the niggling little temptation to lick up the other’s come and just flicks it into the half-full little trashcan he can feel by the bed before he forgets to be, like, a responsible fucking person who knows what the fuck safe fucking sex is. He almost asks help me out with what?, because even though he can feel how hard his own dick is, it just doesn’t seem all that important next to making sure Bernard liked what he did to his and that Bernard feels good right now and thinks–thinks–

And thinks he was worth it, like Tim told him to be.

“Oh, only a sec?” Tim asks, sounding amused, and then shifts in close to them on the mattress and reaches up to give Kon’s hair a quick little pat–a reflexive gesture, not anything with any actual intent behind it–and says, “You took such good care of Bernard for me, pet. Just like I knew you would. Good boy.”

Never mind. Kon’s dick is actually the most important thing he is even tangentially aware of right now. His dick is suddenly and immediately desperately important to him.

“Tim, I am actually genuinely gonna go supervillain just to make you sorry for this, fucking hell,” Bernard curses, covering his face with a hand and still more than a little out of breath. Kon remembers that dumb little jokey fantasy scenario from before and the suggestion of pink K toys and the suggestion of that pink K collar and his cock aches, and he feels–he feels kind of–

He feels empty, weirdly, and like if he doesn’t get fucked again in the next ten minutes he might take a page out of Bernard’s book of threats and literally cry.

Admittedly he might cry even if he does get fucked, the way he feels right now, but like–obviously not in the same way.

That’s not–he really doesn’t–he didn’t even know “empty” was a way he could feel like this, much less feel so much, but . . .

“Promises, promises,” Tim hums, patting Kon’s head in that same absent reflex that makes his gut burn again; stirring it up and setting a fire inside that empty space he wants filled so bad. He wants to say Tim’s name, and he wants Tim to say his name, but also he wants to hear “pet” again and he wants to just climb into the other’s lap like a big dumb stupid dog that doesn’t know how big it is or some needy, attention-starved stray that wants picked out at the pound and taken home to sleep at the foot of his bed or their bed or just–just–

Tim’s fingers curl against his scalp, just for a moment, and every atom of Kon’s skin prickles in response.

“Tim,” he starts, and wants to ask if he can suck him off, wants to ask if he can ride him, wants to ask what he’d have to do to just get the other’s dick back inside him one way or the other, wants to ask so many things–

“You want something, pet?” Tim asks himself, tilting his head as he draws his fingers through his hair. It’s a question, technically, but obviously one he already knows the answer to. “Tell me. You were so good for me, you deserve something nice.”

Kon opens his mouth to ask for Tim’s cock or permission to come or just a kiss, maybe, but what comes out of it is actually–

“M’jacket,” he blurts, and feels his skin prickle and his face burn. “Is it–s’it too weird if I ask you to, uh . . . to wear . . . ?”

Tim blinks, very slowly, and his fingers curl against his scalp again. Kon feels a flash of intense embarrassment cut through the restless burn of his arousal and thinks–maybe it is weird, maybe it’s too much, maybe he’s too–

“Well, like we said, leather is traditional,” Bernard muses as he slides his hands up Kon’s arms and curls his hands around his shoulders, still a little bit breathless but smirking slyly up at Tim, who looks–sort of weirdly flustered, Kon almost thinks for a second. Sort of like . . .

“You want me to wear your jacket?” Tim asks, his tone a little–off, maybe, and Kon feels another flash of embarrassment and half-ducks his head.

“Just if it’s . . . like, if it’s not too–weird,” he says lamely, biting the inside of his cheek for a moment. Is it too weird? Like, is he making it weird? They don't seem bothered or annoyed or anything, but . . . but maybe Tim thinks it's too weird, or too much, or–

“Ngh,” Tim mutters very, very quietly, his fingers still curled in against Kon's scalp, and then lets out a doors-slow breath and flattens them out to smooth back over his hair steady and easy. It settles the uncomfortable anxiety a little, and Kon feels a little less embarrassed about asking, whether it’s a weird thing to want or not. Like–just a little less, but still. “You were so good for me, pet. Of course I’ll wear it for you. And–it’s not weird either. It’s sweet.”

Kon melts into absolute fucking mush under both that hand and those words, because of course he does, and thinks–and thinks–

“For the record I am also all for this idea,” Bernard says approvingly as Tim takes his hand back, which feels fucking awful, and leans over to grab Kon’s jacket off the headboard, which feels fucking fantastic, and Kon loses whatever more-powerful-than-a-locomotive of thought was trying to come together in his head. It doesn’t matter, compared to what’s going on right in front of him. “Like, literally any idea that involves my boyfriend in badass black leather I am all about.”

“I’m a great source of badass black leather, yeah,” Kon replies with his best smirk, which is an attempt at answering Bernard but also something that he can’t really take his eyes off of Tim while he’s saying. Tim doesn’t seem to be paying any attention to him, but Kon doesn’t care about that; he cares about the fact that Tim said he’d wear his jacket, and right now Tim’s holding his jacket, and–

Tim slips the jacket on over his own shirt and unzipped hoodie like it's no big deal at all and it’s probably, like, two sizes too big for him, honestly–he’s more than half a head shorter than Kon is and way more, like, lithe or whatever–but that fact in no way lessens the way the sight makes Kon’s gut burn even hotter and his dick throb. He really, like–he really wants–

The sleeves come down all the way to Tim’s knuckles, which is something that Kon is immediately weirdly obsessed with, and when Tim brushes his hair back out of his eyes their cuffs pull up to just below his wrists and god, Kon just wants to bite him. Or go down on him. Or get back in his lap or back on his knees or–just anything, anything Tim wants, as long as it’s an anything that’ll get Tim to let him touch him.

Or get Tim to touch him, maybe. Touch him anything like a reflex, or like he's something interesting enough to examine, or like he's something good enough to bother with, maybe.

Just–anything like any of that.

“Fuck, how are you still this hard,” Bernard says under his breath, rubbing one hand up Kon’s bicep and worming the other in against both of their sides for . . . some reason. Kon’s a little too distracted to figure out what he’s doing there, but–okay, no, he’s actually very distracted from everything, and kinda forgets to give him the space to actually do whatever it is, but–

Tim tucks one last loose lock of hair behind his ear and then leans over and gives Kon a kiss–just a light, easy little peck on the mouth–and Kon’s whole body burns.

“Well? How do I look?” Tim asks him with a smile from in way too close, and “burn” no longer covers what Kon’s body is doing.

There are a lot of reasons he’s still this hard right now, from how long it’s been since he got to fuck around with anybody he liked this much to the half-Kryptonian physiology to just how good they’re both treating him, but most of them are Tim’s fault either way.

“Good,” Kon manages past a slightly too rough swallow. He really, really doesn’t wanna know how red his face is right now. “Like–real good.”

“Maybe also a little ridiculous, but like in an endearing way,” Bernard puts in, tipping his head back to grin up teasingly at Tim, who just smiles wider and rolls his eyes as he straightens back up. Kon immediately misses him being in his space.

Please, PLEASE fuck me while you’re wearing that, he doesn’t say but can’t help thinking. Please just fucking TOUCH me while you’re wearing that.

He thinks maybe he’s a little too weird about this after all, because Tim and Bernard are both being kinda, like–jokey and teasing about it, but he feels . . .

The first thing he ever owned that was really his was a leather jacket, and that’s–people don’t really know him like they used to, obviously, but for a really long time they knew him by it. A very significant chunk of his life’s involved one. He didn’t have one while he and Cassie were dating, though, so she never wore it, and . . .

He thinks–Tana was the last person he actually let wear his jacket, he thinks, aside from maybe a random civilian or two who were, like, in shock or whatever. Which . . . isn’t really something he thought about until right now, actually. Just–not something he actually remembered, ‘til he remembered. Probably because it's something that hurts to remember.

Just . . . seeing Tim in his jacket now doesn’t really feel all that different from how it did seeing Tana in it back in the day, is all.

So that's–a thing, apparently.

“You’re such a brat, babe,” Tim says, obviously amused, and Kon really just–he just wants–he wants Tim to pet his hair like a reflex, or put him on his knees or put his face in the mattress or just fucking fuck him again. Just fucking–just use him for something, and let him prove he’s worth the using. Prove he can be whatever Tim wants him to be for him. The stubborn muscle who’s too stupid to stay down when he’s beat, the easy guest star in this bed who’s up for anything, the teammate who’d be there to back him up at a word no matter where he was, the friend who’s just–who’s–

Bernard’s fingers skim along Kon’s hip and squeeze it briefly, and then he actually registers the fact that the other was trying to get a hand between their stomachs earlier. He–hesitates for a second, maybe, and doesn’t really know why he’s hesitating, because like–he is still hard, and he does in fact very fucking much want touched like Bernard was very obviously trying to do, so like–so he doesn’t really–

He doesn’t know why he’s hesitating over something like that.

“You do, uh–you really do look good, man,” he manages, though it sort of falls off into a mumble halfway through, and then he feels kind of stupid because he is definitely more affected by this than Tim is, which like–obviously he would be, for obvious reasons, but–but it’s still–

Embarrassing, kinda.

Or–really embarrassing, actually.

Tim glances back to him and Kon feels even more embarrassed and like he’s really being a weird fucking weirdo here and–

Tim reaches out and strokes his hair back off his forehead; twists a finger around the one stubborn curl he can never get to fucking behave and gives it a light little tug with a wry little smile. Kon feels way too aware of Bernard’s body underneath his and the pressure of the other’s stomach against his own mostly-ignored dick and Bernard’s hand resting on his hip and Tim’s hand in his hair and Tim’s eyes on him and . . . and just all those things, really. Just–all that, all at once.

And the way it feels to see Tim in his jacket, too.

Kon knows he’s come way too many damn times to get this riled-up this easy or this quick, much less to keep getting riled-up this easy and this quick, but his dick, apparently, does not even slightly agree with that assessment.

Not even a little bit does his dick agree with that assessment, in fact.

“Pet,” Tim says, that wry smile turning a little soft as he drops his hand away from Kon's hair. “Get up on your knees for me?”

Kon does, obviously. Does it immediately, though he gives Bernard a last little apologetic squeeze with his TTK in the process. The guy said he liked the pressure and the weight, so–he kinda feels like he should apologize a little for taking it away, is all.

“God, you really are just an unreasonably attractive person,” Bernard mutters, pushing himself up on his elbows and trailing his eyes over Kon’s body appreciatively. Kon’s, like–he likes that, obviously. Likes the attention and likes being complimented and likes being liked. “I was not joking before, I really did think you were Photoshop. Like very strongly did I think you were Photoshop, but I am for the record delighted to be proven wrong on that one.”

“I undress to impress,” Kon replies with a laugh before tossing the other a magazine-perfect camera-ready smug smirk, and Tim picks up the camera again and turns it over thoughtfully in his hands, then tucks it away in his jacket pocket. Kon has no idea why, but that makes him feel a whole lot of very complicated feelings he really doesn’t know how to sort out in his head, or like, on his own, or like . . . at all, even.

Tim didn’t take a picture of him that time for whatever reason, but also Tim put his camera in his jacket. Which he is currently wearing. On himself. Physically and currently and right-in-front-of-him-ly.

It’s not like it’s a big camera or anything, but Kon still feels a whole fucking lot of things about how neatly it slipped into that pocket all the same; how easily and naturally Tim slipped it into that pocket. Like maybe it belongs there, or could just be there anytime, or . . . or something like that, maybe. Like if Tim needed his hands free for something he'd just hand it to him and trust it'd be fine with him.

He doesn’t know why that feels like something that feels like–like something.

Like–he does know, obviously. But he doesn't, at the same time.

Yeah, that makes fucking sense.

“Pet,” Tim says, idle and easy, and Kon immediately stops caring about anything any more complicated than whatever he's gonna say next. “Hands behind your back. Show off those pretty tits of yours for me.”

It’s not actually a real decision, listening to that order; Kon just does it. Or–his body just does it, maybe. His hands go behind his back and one latches around the other’s wrist to keep them both there and–and he doesn’t really push his chest out all that much more than that gesture already did, at least not on purpose, but . . .

Tim told him to “show off” for him. So like–so he maybe does do just a little bit of that, yeah.

“They are very, very pretty tits,” Bernard muses, inspecting Kon’s chest with shameless admiration in a distinctly gut-heating way. Kon’s dick is definitely not gonna get any softer under these circumstances, even without anyone touching it. “I mean, we're not talking full-on Starfire levels here but we're in that weight class, seriously. My sole criticism is that you didn't see fit to pierce your nips when you put all that metal in your face and ears. Or maybe your dick, come to think of it. You'd look fucking sweet with a Prince Albert or a Jacob's ladder. Maybe both, I’m the greedy type.”

Kon feels–flustered, a little, and maybe a little flattered too, even though it’s obviously just another jokey little fantasy Bernard wants to run his mouth about. That's clearly a thing, with Bernard. Just, well . . . this jokey little fantasy . . .

“I, ah–thought about it, but . . .” he trails off with another flash of embarrassment, trying to figure out how to say but I didn't know anybody who I thought would like it without sounding like a total fucking freak and a half.

But Tim’s Tim, of course, so he zeroes right in on that and asks, “But what, pet?”

Kon turns red, and is positive he sounds like a total fucking freak and a half when he says, “But I didn’t know anybody I thought’d like it.”

“. . . ngh,” Tim says.

“Man, I could get you an online petition going right now and bet your aesthetically-perfect ass it'd go viral inside an hour,” Bernard says very feelingly and while even more shamelessly ogling his chest. Kon–flushes, for some reason, and doesn't really know what to . . . say, he guesses. Like–to that, he means.

“Sure,” he tries, not really sure why he feels so fucking flustered about the idea. About the idea of–of maybe changing something about himself like that for . . . for, like . . . or at least because of . . .

By Tuesday it literally won't even matter if Bernard thinks he'd look good with those piercings or not, but Kon can't help thinking–he can't help thinking . . . well, he could still do it anyway, right?

It won't matter anyway, so . . .

“I mean it,” Bernard says, reaching up to very pointedly pinch one of Kon’s nipples and flashing him a crooked grin as he does, and Kon feels a hot little jolt of arousal and suddenly feels like he's in this position for more reason than Tim just wanting to see it. Like he's–like they actually wanna just–just get out a needle and–tell him to make it invulnerable, tell him to let it through his TTK, tell him to–to let them–

Kon–he thinks he actually might let them, if they actually wanted to.

Oh, that is a really, really weird thought to be thinking, he recognizes, but is still pretty sure he'd go for it either way. Like–almost definitely would, if he even thought Tim actually wanted him to. Even if Tim only wanted him to because . . . because he thought his boyfriend would like it.

That is even less normal a thought, obviously, but it makes Kon flash back to the idea of Tim telling him what to do for a girl they were sharing (a girl Tim was sharing HIM with, but that part he tries not to think about so much), or the idea of Robin rewarding the stupidest, stubbornest version of him for “good behavior” by telling him how to be good; how to get all the girls off like they liked and take care of them right, or like . . . maybe . . . like, maybe telling him what to do for . . . Bart, even, if it . . . like, if Robin had actually . . . if Robin had really wanted to let him be . . .

If Robin had really, really wanted to let Superboy prove he could be good for him.

Yeah, Kon thinks, biting the inside of his lip as the smoldering fire in that empty-feeling space in him kicks up hotter again; as Bernard gives the nipple he’s still pinching a twisting little tug; as he just thinks through–what he’s thinking. Kinda. But . . . yeah, if Robin’d told him what to do for . . . if Robin’d told him how to be good even then . . .

And if Tim told him that he should get any of those piercings because his boyfriend would be into it . . . told him either now or . . . later . . .

He really would do it, Kon realizes, that fire flaring all the hotter, and barely resists the weird, senseless urge to squeeze his thighs together, even though it's not like he even could while he's still straddling Bernard's thighs. Just–the urge is there, either way, and he manages to resist it.

Doesn’t so much manage to resist the urge to push his chest out a little more for him, though.

Bernard grins; pushes the pad of his thumb up across Kon’s nipple and then drags it back down; tilts his head and very obviously admires, like–like just that. Nothing else. Not his abs or his cock or his face or–just, like, the one damn nipple that he’s basically fucking teasing right now. And Tim–Tim’s just watching, looking idly appreciative but not really giving Kon anything else to go on here. Just–he knows Tim likes to watch, now, and he definitely knows how to be something that people wanna watch, but . . .

But it’s a little different, trying to be something he thinks Tim would wanna watch.

“Seriously,” Bernard says, and pinches the same nipple again as he glances up to flash Kon another grin. “Like, cute little pair of barbells in these pretty things? Or some nice shiny rings? To say nothing of the Prince Albert idea. Hell yeah, man, the internet would unite.”

“That’d need a different color of kryptonite at this point,” Kon says, making himself smirk back at him and–and just that. Just that, and not mentioning the TTK option because that would sound . . . he doesn’t know how that would sound right now, exactly. “Or a real impressive piercer, anyway.”

“Oh please, if Batman doesn't have blue K and a piercing license I will frankly die of shock,” Bernard replies with a wider grin and a laugh, shaking his head and still just, like–alternating between pinches and little tugs and twists to the same damn nipple just, over and over and like, while just . . . Kon doesn’t know, kind of just admiring either what he’s doing or how it’s affecting his body or . . . something, he guesses.

It is really hard not to squirm over that, for some reason. Like–just the attention, maybe, or how focused it is for, like, literally no reason.

“. . . technically you don't need a piercing license in Gotham,” Tim says. “So, you know, if it ever actually came up . . .”

“Tim,” Bernard says, staring incredulously at him. “Tim, I was joking.”

“You were also not wrong,” Tim replies wryly.

“Oh my god, Tim,” Bernard says with another laugh, and Tim just looks amused.

“Undercover work gets weird,” he says with a shrug. And it’s–it is funny, Kon thinks. Like, the idea of Batman doing some weird undercover gig or whatever–that’s funny.

But . . . but if Tim were the one who . . . like, if that’s something Tim knows anything about, if it ever . . . “came up”, or whatever . . .

What would that feel like? Kon just–wonders, kinda briefly. Just–if Tim were . . . if Tim would . . .

He has to try way too hard not to say anything about that, or ask anything about it, or–or anything like that. No matter what the pink K’s doing, that’s just–that’s definitely too weird and too much. It’s just . . .

It’s just–the reason he didn’t say anything about the TTK option for getting a piercing and just joked about kryptonite was–was because he’d thought that’d maybe make it sound too much like . . . like he wanted it, maybe, and if he . . . if he wanted it . . . if he wanted it maybe more than either of them actually meant it . . .

He’s not sure what that’d mean, if Tim and Bernard were both just messing around and teasing like they were about Tim wearing his jacket, and he was the only one who was, like . . . the only one who really . . . the only one who really–meant it, he guesses.

He doesn't think he likes that thought, though.

“I realize that might be a little close to, like, an actual injury or whatever for your tastes, babe, but like . . .” Bernard starts as he rolls the bud of Kon’s nipple between his fingers, because he’s not looking at him anymore but he’s still, like–he’s still playing with it. Almost kind of–almost like that same kind of absent reflex that Tim keeps petting him with, a little. “Well, it’s still kinda a picture, right?”

Kon's still a little–uncomfortable, maybe, but it is real hard not to squirm over hearing that.

He doesn’t think he does a good enough job of not doing any squirming, though, or at least of not being obvious about the fact there’s something he’s trying not to do, because Tim glances towards him and . . . pauses, briefly. Kon half-ducks his head without meaning to and immediately feels his face redden in embarrassment, because he knows–even if he weren’t being obvious, he knows Tim would still–would still be able to tell that he–

“. . . if you actually want any new piercings, ask me when you’re not gay,” Tim says, and Kon–it is real, real hard not to squirm, because . . . because Tim didn’t say that like it was a joke, so . . . so . . .

“You’d really–do that?” he asks maybe a little bit unevenly, tightening his grip on his wrist behind his back and biting the inside of his lower lip for a moment. “Like–for real?”

“. . . ngh,” Tim says, which is not really all that clear an answer, and Kon feels–stupid, kind of, and fucking embarrassed again, and maybe Tim didn’t actually mean it and it was a joke, and he’s just being . . . stupid, again. Weird.

Too much.

“Wow, you two are actually gonna kill me before Monday,” Bernard says conversationally, pinching Kon’s nipple a little bit tighter, and Kon can’t–even embarrassed, he can’t really help the little shudder, and just hopes it’s not as incredibly obvious of one as it feels like it is. “Actually might not even make it to Sunday, at this point.”

“Kon,” Tim says, and Kon’s face burns hotter under the realization of exactly how intently the other’s looking at him right now. It’s–it’s a lot, when it’s Tim looking at him like that. “You’d let me do that for you?”

“I–I just, you know–” Kon cuts himself off to swallow, feeling weirdly mortified but way more weirdly turned-on and not really sure why those things seem to be affecting each other, and then steels himself enough to say: “I just didn’t know anybody I thought’d like it.”

“. . . ngh,” Tim mutters again very, very quietly.

“I mean, I definitely would, as previously established,” Bernard says with an appreciative snicker, flattening his hand out to cup Kon’s pec and pushing it up a little, like . . . like Kon doesn’t know what, exactly, just . . . “But like, I don’t really think me wanting to know if the barbells would show under your S-shield would do it for you the same as if a hot girl did, for obvious–”

Kon–squirms.

He just–he just really, really can’t fucking help it, this time.

And Bernard . . . pauses, and doesn’t finish his sentence.

“Um,” he says instead, and then looks sort of–weird, maybe, and Kon feels another rush of embarrassment and another rush of heat and just wants–just needs–just–

Tim reaches out and wraps a hand around his dick, which really has not softened as much as it should’ve after this long without any attention or this much embarrassment, and grips it tight. He–his palm's all slick, and Kon didn’t even notice him fucking pick up the lube, much less notice him opening and using it. It’s such a fucking Bat thing to do, and his breath hitches sharply and his hips reflexively twitch forward into Tim’s grip just–just once, before he manages to force them back and still.

And he is immediately, immediately exactly as hard as he was when he and Bernard were grinding on each other and he was watching–was feeling–the other come underneath him.

“Pet,” Tim says, watching him really, really intently again. Or–still, maybe. Maybe just–maybe just “still”. Kon swallows again, and doesn’t know–doesn’t know if Tim wants him to say something, or do something, or . . . “I’m going to talk about some things now. If you need to, you can fuck my fist. Alright?”

“Al–alright,” Kon agrees, or maybe just repeats, and it comes out stupid-sounding and stupidly faint. Tim doesn’t move his hand at all; just keeps gripping his cock with it. His grip on him is slick and warm and calloused like a fighter’s, and it’s Tim's grip on him, the same grip Tim trusts his life to every time he pulls out a grappling line, and Kon is–Kon is very, very goddamn aware of that, right now.

Or–all the time, maybe. Maybe that.

“I’m going to be honest, though, I only know what a Prince Albert is,” Tim says while holding his dick, and Kon just about falls off the bed and probably would if it wouldn’t mean that Tim wouldn’t be touching him anymore. “The Jacob’s ladder I have no idea about. Is that one of the ones that goes through the glans?”

“No, it’s a bunch of frenum piercings stacked up the underside of your dick,” Bernard says as he leans back a bit and–regrettably–takes his hand off Kon’s pec to gesture illustratively from his own lap to where Tim’s holding his cock. “So like, it looks kinda like a ladder going up it. It’s supposed to feel sorta like a ribbed condom to the person getting fucked, but just–I dunno, more drastic? Plus it makes the actual dick it’s in more sensitive where the piercings are. So like, fun for the whole . . . uh, bed, I guess?”

“Ah,” Tim says, and just barely tightens his grip. Kon can’t bite back the strangled little noise, and he–and he wants–he feels so stupid, he feels like he’d look so stupid if he just–if he actually did just fuck Tim’s fist like this, much less this easy, but . . .

But Tim–Tim told him he could. Tim said . . .

“T-Tim,” he manages, his voice just as strangled as the little noise that he couldn’t bite back. “I–you wanna–?”

“Do I want to affect the experience that every single person you ever fuck after us has, yourself included?” Tim asks him very, very carefully, watching him with that same intent look again, and Kon bites his lip roughly and feels like he’s something burning.

“. . . y-yeah,” he manages after a couple heartbeats too many, tightening his grip on his wrist again and wanting so bad to just–to just fuck Tim’s fist, just like he told him he could, but didn’t actually tell him to do. “I–yeah. Do you–wanna . . . do that?”

Tim’s eyes sharpen, and his fist tightens, and Kon makes the stupidest little mewl of a sound and just–just rocks his hips forward a little bit into it, and somehow finds an even stupider little mewl to make over the way it feels, over sliding his cock through Tim’s calloused grip, through the same damn hand Tim caught him with the first time they met and almost died about it, and–and–

And maybe it’s too weird or too much or he’s too stupid, but he feels a little–a little bit dizzy, again, and a little bit floaty, and Tim seems like . . . like maybe . . .

Even if it’s just–pillow talk or whatever . . .

“Rob?” he tries, his voice coming out breathless and uncertain despite his best efforts to sound even a little bit normal. “You–it’d feel good, right? Bernard said it would. So–so do you wanna–wanna make me–?”

“Jesus,” Bernard says.

Tim’s expression doesn’t change at all, but somehow feels a thousand times more intent and intense, and Kon can’t–he can’t help it, when he rocks his aching, too-hard dick into the other’s fist again; when he doesn’t stop rocking his dick into the other’s fist. Can’t help . . .

“Do you wanna–ah–wanna make me–make me feel good every time I fuck somebody?” he finally manages to ask, the question coming out rough and breathless and maybe–hesitant, a little, but . . .

But still coming out, either way.

“Jesus,” Bernard says, and Tim just keeps staring at Kon, and he feels–he feels like–he doesn’t know if that’s good, if Tim’s into it, if he wants him to say something else or something better, if–if he doesn’t actually–

“I’d–I’d tell you, if it did,” he stammers stupidly, because for some reason he can’t shut himself up, because he feels that almost-dizzy way, because it’s Tim and he feels like he–like he just–“If I–if it felt good, I’d–”

Tim stares at him, and then shifts his grip on his dick just enough to press his thumb up the underside of it on his next thrust, and Kon isn’t stupid enough not to remember that’s exactly where a Jacob’s ladder would go, if he–if he had one. If someone . . . gave him one.

“You’d tell me if you liked it, or if the girl did?” Tim asks, and Kon immediately feels very much like Robin just locked in on the objective.

“Tell you–tell you anything,” he manages hoarsely, and can’t stop thinking about the way Tim’s holding his dick and exactly where his thumb’s pressing up against it. “Tell you all of it. Tim, please, I–m-make me feel good, let me be good, I’ll be so good, I’ll–”

Tim’s fist tightens, and his thumb presses up and slides up, and Kon’s next too-awkward, too-pleading thrust ends with the pad of the other’s thumb slipping up over the head of his cock and across his slit, and he chokes.

“A Prince Albert would feel good for you too,” Tim says like it’s just an observation, still pressing his thumb in just where one would go. “And I hear nipple piercings can make you more sensitive the same way.”

Kon’s whole body lights the fuck up, and suddenly all he can think about is how that might feel, how fucking a girl with piercings Tim had given him to make it better for him might feel, how–how–what that’d be like, if–

Kon whimpers, his cock spitting precome on a throb, and Tim’s eyes sharpen in on his face and he says, “I like it when you feel good, pet. Would you like remembering that every time you have sex? That I want you to feel good, and how much I like knowing that you are?”

“Tim,” Kon chokes, useless and stupid, and Tim keeps watching his face and Kon can’t–he can’t help thrusting faster into his fist, even knowing how stupid he has to look doing it. Tim–Tim said he could. Tim wouldn’t–Tim wouldn’t say it, if–if he didn’t–if he didn’t mean it. Not like this.

Kon–thinks he wouldn’t. Thinks he . . .

Tim squeezes the head of his cock and then fists the shaft again and leans in just a little bit closer to him, and Kon whimpers, and Bernard half-covers his mouth with a little groan. Kon wants–he wants–he really wants–

“Kon?” Tim says like nobody else says it, just barely tilting his head, and something in Kon’s gut burns and something in his chest feels like it–cracks, almost, though he doesn’t–doesn’t really know why.

“Tim,” he chokes out again. “I’d like it. I’d like it. I’d like–please, please, please let me like it.”

Please KISS me, he doesn't say, because he doesn't know how it'd come out sounding if he tried.

“Fuuuuucking hell,” Bernard mutters under his breath, and Tim’s eyes burn like the hottest part of fire, and Kon feels something he doesn’t feel all that often, which is fucking weak, and then–and then–

“Is it taking you a little longer to come this way because you're too embarrassed to relax for it, or because it just doesn't feel as good as taking either of our cocks did?” Tim asks, his eyes trailing down Kon's face and throat and chest like–like an actual touch, and Kon nearly bites his tongue.

“I–I–” he stammers helplessly, staring back at him with too-wide eyes, and Tim tilts his head again and–

“Do you need me inside you again?” he asks, and slips two when did he even fucking slick those UP?! fingers in under the curve of his ass to brush up against his hole and slides the tips of them across the rim of it, and then just barely presses in against it, and Kon comes all over his hand like a stupid fucking virgin who's never been touched in his life before Tim even gets a single fingertip inside him with a stupid, punched-out moan, and can't stop staring at the other even as he's shaking uselessly through it.

He has half a second of the Kryptonian version of subjective time to hate himself for coming before Tim did get inside him again, and then Tim presses both fingers right up into him anyway and curls them just right to drag his orgasm out, and out, and then he's just gasping and choking and instinctively rocking back for more of them instead of forward into Tim's fist. He thinks–he thinks maybe Tim didn't expect that, from the brief way he fumbles his grip on his cock, but–but–

“Yes, yes, yes, need you in me!” he gasps out desperately, and Tim rubs his knuckles up in tight against his prostate and Kon feels like maybe he comes again before he's even actually finished coming and it just feels so fucking–so fucking good, and he just can't fucking look away from Tim's–from Tim, and–and–

“Pet,” Tim says while Kon's still shaking through the last of his aftershocks and without taking his fingers out of him or the pressure of his knuckles off his prostate or his hand away from his dick, and Kon digs his fingers into his wrist and just barely bites back a pathetic little whimper of a plea for–for him to–“I'm not going to stop. Do you want me to jack you off, or to fingerfuck you?”

“Fuck me,” Kon blurts instantly, and Tim's eyes sharpen hotly.

“Good answer,” he murmurs, and rocks his fingers in deeper as he lets go of his dick altogether. Kon ends up whimpering after all, and a lot worse than he would've before. He moves back to meet Tim's fingers, trying to tilt his hips better for the other, and Tim presses them both in deeper and strokes along his inner walls and Kon can feel the smooth leather cuff of his jacket brushing up against his clasped wrists and his ass and he doesn't get why but it is fucking him up. “Still so tight, aren't you. If you figure out a way to get Bernard inspired enough again by the next time you come, I'll let you sit on his dick after.”

“A-after?” Kon croaks, and Tim rocks his fingers in deep.

“After,” he agrees. “And if you make him feel nice, you can come on it again too.”

Kon doesn't shudder over that idea so much as he trembles.

“I can,” he manages, even though he is genuinely not even sure what he could do to get Bernard hard enough for that before he comes again, between being up on his knees with his hands behind his back and the oversensitive and overeager way he feels right now. Like–it is just not gonna be that much time, he's already fucking sure. But–“I can make him feel nice. M’still tight, yeah? I can–I can be tighter. I can–god, god, Tim, lemme make him feel nice, please please please lemme.”

“Bernard's the one you have to convince to get it up again, pet,” Tim reminds him–reminds him gently, his fingers stroking up inside him just the same–and Kon trembles again as Bernard half-covers his face with his hands underneath him. Because Bernard’s still underneath him and–and–

“Bernard,” Kon pants breathlessly, feeling that weird sort of almost-floaty way again as he looks back down at the other; trying to stick out his chest a little more and spread his thighs a little wider and just make himself look more–more inviting, maybe. “You–you wanna let me sit on–sit on your dick, right? M’still tight, and–and Tim’s gettin’ me all slick again, my ass'll feel so good, promise, promise you won't regret it, I'll keep it so tight for you, ride you fuckin’ blind if you let me, do it any way you like, just fuckin’ let me.”

“Tim, Jesus fuck, I fucking just came,” Bernard says faintly, still half-covering his face, which isn’t really all that promising a start, so–so–

“You can play with my tits all you wanna,” Kon pleads. “You liked that, right? You like them? You said you did. You can play with any–anything I’ve got.”

“Chriiiiist,” Bernard says, squeezing his eyes shut and then covering his face completely. “Just–Christ. You are literally an absolute natural disaster of a person, aren’t you. Do you legit want me dead by Sunday? I don’t have a response team in place to handle this.”

Kon bites his lip and tightens his grip on his wrist and just–just–

“Bernard,” he says, and it definitely still comes out pleading, which probably has a lot to do with Tim having his fingers still stroking inside him and making it so, so hard to think about anything but getting more of that feeling–about being good enough to earn more of it. “I–please? I’ll be good. You can just . . . I’ll do all the work, I’ll do whatever you want me to, just–just like me, please?”

“That club jacket is not gonna be enough,” Bernard mutters behind his hands, then drops them just enough to stare up at him. His eyes are brown, Kon notices from somewhere in that vague, almost-floaty place he’s not . . . not quite in, but . . . sort of this warm, melty, sweet kind of brown. Not earthy or coffee-roasted or . . .

He kind of just assumed they were blue, he thinks a little bit distractedly, wondering why he did.

“You really are even cuter than your pic was,” he says kind of–stupidly, again, and not really on purpose, and definitely not in a way that's gonna provide any actual “inspiration” or anything like that. Bernard groans into his hands and then drops them away from his face entirely to push them up Kon’s thighs instead, and Kon wants to press up against them but he also wants Tim as deep as he can get inside him and also wants at least one of their cocks inside him and–

He wants a lot of things right now.

“Do you actually just want me to not even survive tonight?” Bernard asks incredulously, and Tim laughs under his breath and shifts in to lean up close against Kon’s back and settles his free hand against his hip as he rocks his fingers up inside him, and Kon bites his lip hard against the sharp jolt of pleasure it stabs through his gut and doesn’t–doesn’t know if–he really doesn’t know if he’ll be able to be “inspiring” enough quick enough, because his stamina has just been fucking useless every single fucking time either of them's gotten their hands on him, but especially whenever Tim's gotten his hands on him, and–and it’s really–really hard to–

“I just want–I want–your cock’s so–I really liked it, I liked it so much,” he half-chokes and half-blurts, feeling stupid and useless about it, feeling–he wants to just lean back against Tim where he’s leaning against him and just feel–just feel what he’s doing to him, and just let his brain float right out of his head so he won’t have to worry about anything anymore, but . . . but he wants to be good, too. He wants to be good for Tim, and do what Tim told him he could do to–to earn . . . “Wanna come on it again. It felt really–it felt really good. Felt like–felt like so much.”

“Yeah?” Bernard says, his voice a little rough as he slides a hand down the side of his thigh and pushes himself up on an elbow again and keeps looking up at him with melty-sweet eyes that Kon for some reason feels very weird about the sight of. But he doesn’t push up close enough that Kon can really, like–touch him or anything, or . . . “You don’t actually have to remind me how good your ass feels, man, trust me, I could break my dick off in that thing with zero regrets, it would be absolutely, fully, entirely worth it. It would’ve gone out the way it wanted, long as it got you off first.”

“Nn,” Kon says, both because of Bernard saying that to him and because of Tim twisting his fingers up as he presses a third one inside him, and his thighs tremble. “I–fuck, you really should double-team me, bet I could take it, bet it’d feel so good, that sounds so fucking good, just lemme in the middle and you two can do whatever you want about it, yeah? I just wanna–god god god, Tim, Tim–!”

“Kon,” Tim murmurs quietly, petting his hip gently and grinding his knuckles into his prostate just as gently, just over and over and over. Kon makes a fucking pathetic sound about it, about the way Tim says his name, and ducks his head trying to just–breathe, just for a second, just–just breathe a little. He's so close, but he hasn't–hasn't gotten Bernard to–“You take it so good, pet, but just . . . don’t be so hard on yourself, alright? You don’t need to prove anything I already know.”

“Uh?” Kon manages, feeling a little jarred at that comment; feeling thrown-off and not sure what Tim–means, exactly. Is he not . . . ? “I–s'not good, am I not–?”

“You're good,” Tim assures him, low and soothing, and rocks his fingers and pets his hip just the same and presses a careful little kiss to the back of his shoulder. Kon doesn't–get it, then, but . . . but he feels all . . . “You just don't have to do anything like that. You don't have to do anything just because you think we’d like it. That's all. It's–”

“I meant I thought–I thought it'd feel good,” Kon says–blurts out again, really–and still doesn't . . . get it, exactly. Like–he would do just about anything Tim asked him to if he thought it'd make them feel good, but . . .

“I know, pet,” Tim says in that same soothing voice. “It’s just–you don't need to feel like you have to be–whatever you think you have to. Or try that hard. There's other ways you can make us feel good.”

Kon . . . blinks, and still feels a little thrown-off and stupid, and doesn't understand what . . .

“Oh,” he realizes, and turns his head just enough to blink back over his shoulder at Tim instead. It's hard to–hard to think right, still, but . . . “No, I–I meant I thought–I thought it'd feel good to–to me. If you both, ah–if you'd both . . . if it's not–too much.”

Bernard’s fingers dig into his thigh and Tim stares up at him blankly, his own fingers stilling inside him. Kon tries not to cringe; tries not to whimper, because he’s just so close. Bernard had–he'd said he liked the idea, before, but maybe that was a joke too and he's just too stupid to–to have realized, or gotten it, or–

“I–” he tries to start, tries to figure out how to backpedal on before he fucks this up, and Tim buries his face in his shoulder and exhales like the world’s about to blow in as his heartbeat does something Kon's never actually heard it do before and he says, very, very evenly: “Yellow.”

Kon snaps his mouth shut, because the only thing he was actually doing was talking, so he doesn't–there's nothing else for him to slow down or “proceed with caution” on, is there? Tim's not pulling back from him or anything, so . . .

“S-sorry,” he tries awkwardly, because he doesn't know what he actually said wrong, and Bernard gives his thigh a little–just a little squeeze, like he's trying to be . . . trying to reassure him or something, maybe. Maybe he did fuck this up, maybe–

“Don't be,” Tim says, not lifting his face. “I just need a second, or I won't be able to–I just need a second. That’s all.”

Kon–frowns, a little, and feels a little less almost-floaty and a lot like Tim's fingers just being inside him without doing anything is gonna make him crazy when he was so close, but–but “yellow”, so he just . . . he just tries to concentrate past that, but also maybe he fucked this up, and also then Bernard slides his hand up to the hand Tim has on his hip and squeezes it, which does not make concentrating any easier. Just–just like, he’s not really . . . he’s not used to . . .

“Want me to take over for a bit, babe?” Bernard offers, giving Kon’s thigh another little squeeze too. It’s–settling, sort of. Definitely not the same way Tim is, but . . . a little bit, at least.

“Mm,” Tim says, then–hesitates, a little, his fingers curling underneath Bernard’s and against Kon’s hip. “Kon. Is that alright with you?”

“Uh . . . yeah?” Kon tries, still a little too worried about whatever he did wrong to feel all that confident about his answer. And like–he knows what safewording is for, but he can’t help feeling like he maybe . . . like he . . . “Is–did I do something–?”

“No,” Tim murmurs, exhaling slowly again. “You did everything right. Alright? Just . . . be good for Bernard for a minute. I’m not going anywhere, just–I need a minute.”

“Uh–yeah,” Kon manages, and does feel a little bit better hearing that, at least. Just–a little bit, anyway. Still kind of–worried, maybe, but his head’s still kind of . . . kind of . . . “Okay. Um . . .”

“Good boy,” Tim says, his voice still quiet, and strokes his hip soothingly as he takes his fingers back out of him. Kon relaxes a little more even as he bites back a disappointed noise, because–Tim needs a minute, for . . . whatever he needs the minute for, and he only said “yellow”, not “red”, and he said to just let Bernard . . . take over or whatever, so . . . so he can do that. He can be patient, and wait, and . . . and whatever. Tim said he was good, still, so–so it’s fine.

Tim wouldn’t lie to him about that.

“Okay,” he repeats, a little more settled, and Bernard pushes himself up to a full sitting position and slips his arms around him and gives all of him a reassuring little squeeze this time. Which is . . . nice, honestly.

Bernard really doesn’t have to be so nice to him.

“There you go,” Bernard says as Tim shifts back, and Kon feels–weird, for a second, like . . . like it–like he just–like he just got handed over, or something. Like Tim’s–giving him to Bernard, almost. Which is just . . .

Like . . . Kon knows Bernard’s the boyfriend here, fucking obviously, but it’s just–yeah. It’s definitely not that Tim’s sharing Bernard with him; it really is that Tim’s sharing him with Bernard.

It’s–not that different, maybe, but it’s different.

“C’mere?” Bernard asks, squeezing his arms around him again–still reassuring, but also kind of coaxing, this time–and Kon lets himself lean into him a little bit, though . . . though he doesn’t let go of his wrist or take his hands out from behind his back. Tim put them there, so that’s where they’re staying ‘til he gets told different. Bernard presses a kiss against the corner of his jaw, then down against his pulse. “Yeah, like that. Lemme like you for a bit, alright?”

Kon . . . blinks, a little, and then ducks his head down against Bernard’s shoulder as a weird little warm twist curls through his gut and prickles along his skin. That’s . . .

Yeah. He definitely wants Bernard to like him.

So it’s–distracting, hearing that.

“There, yeah,” Bernard hums, then loosens his arms and puts his hands on the small of his back; strokes across it once or twice and then slides both hands down to cup his ass and sort of–grip, and squeeze, and knead. “Unf. You are, for the record, several kinds of a handful, you know that?”

“Oh yeah?” Kon half-snorts, half-laughs, and tries to keep his voice sounding normal and his TTK from reaching back for Tim. He just–he can’t see him right now, is all, so . . . it’s fine, he can still feel him and all, just . . . just it’s a little hard not to be a little . . . clingy, maybe.

“Oh definitely,” Bernard says with a grin against his temple, giving his ass another appreciative kneading. It makes Kon feel even warmer, and he presses back into the other’s hands pretty appreciatively himself. It helps. Gives him, like–something to focus on. “Double handful, even. Nice and thick.”

“Mm.” Kon buries his face in tighter against the other’s shoulder, biting his lip again. He still really wants to touch Tim; really wants Tim in against his back again. Wants to be between them both, and wants one of them inside him again. At least one of them.

He doesn’t say that, though, because Tim said “yellow” right after the last time he did, and then changed his mind about touching him at all. So like–yeah. No, he doesn’t say it.

He does think about it a little, though. Like, if Tim just decided he’d had his minute, and then just slipped back in against his back and pressed up against him so he could feel leather against his skin and Tim’s hands–on his hips, maybe, or his thighs, or maybe up to his chest to play with his pecs the way Bernard was earlier, or maybe just on his ass and sliding his fingers back inside him.

Or maybe on–maybe on his hands, maybe.

Kon burns in quiet mortification over that thought, digging his fingers into his wrist and keeping his face hidden down in Bernard’s shoulder. He’s not really sure what either of them’s expecting from him anymore, or what he’s supposed to do right now, or what they want him to do right now, or–just, if he did something that made Tim safeword, but Tim said he was still good and didn’t get, like–upset, or anything . . .

Kon feels very weird, actually, about the fact that Tim just safeworded and it was just . . . a thing, and not like . . . a thing. Like–that hasn’t always been how that went, with other people he’s tried this kind of stuff with. Like, when he’s safeworded, he means, or . . .

It just–hasn’t always been a thing.

“Wanna play, boy?” Bernard asks lightly, lifting a hand to give the back of his hair a light little scruff, and Kon–blinks, sort of, because that tone's a little . . . different, and the other just called him . . .

And then he realizes–Bernard asked if Tim wanted him to take over, and Tim told him . . . told him to be good for Bernard.

Oh, Kon thinks, very slowly, because his head’s a little disconnected-feeling still. And then maybe he kind of, like, boils alive.

So–yeah. Yeah, Tim is sharing him with his boyfriend right now.

Fuck.

Kon buries his flushed face in as tight against Bernard’s shoulder as he can without bruising the guy and then just–nods, kinda, and tightens his grip on his own wrist again.

“Super. Then let's play,” Bernard hums all easy and steady, and Kon can't help the little shiver that goes down his spine.

Tim really did give him to his boyfriend, he thinks, and feels so warm he could fucking melt into a syrup.

That's . . . he . . . just–Tim trusts and cares about Bernard enough to give him to him, and Tim gave him to someone he trusts and cares about that much. Like he's something useful, or nice, or that just looks pretty all wrapped up in a bow, or–or whatever.

Like he's something Tim thinks someone else would want.

Maybe he didn't fuck up, actually. Maybe Tim's rewarding him for “good behavior” after all.

“Please,” he manages against Bernard’s collarbone, which he has no idea how he doesn’t stutter over, and Bernard nuzzles his temple and scruffs the back of his hair again; squeezes his ass again too. Kon bites back the noise his mouth wants to make. He doesn’t know what it'd actually come out as.

“Yeah,” Bernard says, giving him another nuzzle. “Aw, you’re just a big ol’ sweetheart, aren’t you, boy. Real friendly.”

Kon buries his burning, burning face, and Bernard laughs and scratches the nape of his neck.

“Real friendly,” he teases–teases gently, which Kon is apparently just not fucking capable of handling. “Hmmm. Think you can keep cuddled up to me this good if I fuck you, boy? I like you in close like this.”

“I can,” Kon swears, embarrassingly breathless and instinctively leaning into the other a little heavier. Tim gave him to–this is who Tim gave him to. There is literally not a damn thing that he can’t do for someone Tim gave him to.

Especially when that “someone” is someone like Bernard.

“Hmmm, yeah?” Bernard asks, sliding one hand down the back of his neck to cup it and the other down to brush a testing finger in against his slicked-up, empty hole. “Are you wet enough? All nice and ready for me? Wanna cuddle my cock just this good too?”

“Please,” Kon chokes immediately, tilting his hips for the other just as instinctively as he’d leaned into him.

“Good boy.” Bernard presses a kiss to his temple again and presses a couple fingertips against his hole in a way that makes it feel like the same thing, somehow, and Kon stifles a whine against his shoulder. It–it feels–

Bernard nuzzles the tip of his nose against his temple; nuzzles the tips of his fingers against his hole. Kon moans embarrassingly loudly and his whole spine prickles with heat. Okay, so–so the “kiss” thing was intentional, apparently. Fuck.

Fuck.

“Good boy,” Bernard repeats, and sounds–affectionate about it. “Wanna play fetch? Just need a condom so I can give you a nice stick to play with.”

Kon burns alive, then nods helplessly against the other’s shoulder.

“I–okay,” he manages. “I–yeah.”

“Good boy,” Bernard hums in that same flusteringly affectionate tone, pressing another kiss to his temple–another fingertip to his hole–and then says, “Fetch.”

Kon burns alive.

“Yeah,” he manages again, and then he shifts his center of balance back and, regrettably, Bernard drops his hands off him. He does it kind of slow, though, and draws the process out with long strokes of his palms down Kon's thighs before he takes them away completely. So that's a little–better, honestly. A little easier to . . . brace for, maybe.

Kon feels just . . . warm. Just warm and good and just . . . just warm.

Bernard flashes him a grin, and Kon in fact feels nothing but warm.

Tim’s sitting just a few feet behind him on the bed, settled back against the headboard again and still wearing his jacket, and Tim gave him to Bernard–gave him to Bernard to reward him for being good, maybe, or just because he thought Bernard would like him, or maybe for both those reasons at once–and Bernard’s talking to him like he does like him, and . . . and it’s all . . .

It’s a fucking lot, is what it all is.

And Kon–Kon needs to make sure he makes them feel even half as good as they’ve made him feel, for all that.

So . . . “fetch”, he thinks, and feels out where the condoms ended up. The box is sitting on the nightstand, laying on its side with a few condoms spilled out onto the top of it, so . . . not anywhere inconvenient or anything, obviously. Like, pretty close, given how small this bed and this room really are.

Though neither of them’s told him to take his hands out from behind his back, so . . .

He can do something with that, probably, Kon thinks, and licks his teeth as he glances back over his shoulder at the nightstand.

So like–he does something with that.

Kon can feel exactly how far away the nightstand is without looking, is the thing, and it’s not like it’s a big space, so he just makes a point–a show, really–of shifting and centering his weight, spreading his knees a little more to keep his balance as he adjusts his position on the bed, and then takes full and shameless advantage of his super-strength in a way he definitely does not usually do and just dips straight back into a slow, stretched-out backbend all the way back to the nightstand. He doesn’t cheat any of it with his flight; doesn’t even use his TTK to cheat any of it. He just uses his actual muscles, because he knows that’ll be a better show–that’ll flex and stretch and display him like flight or TTK wouldn’t.

And Tim said “yellow”, not “red”, so Kon thinks it’s still probably cool to spare the guy a smug smirk and a wag of his eyebrows before tipping his head back just enough to bite one of the spilled strips of condoms right off the edge of the nightstand. Tim makes a slightly strangled noise, and Kon very quickly figures out how to preen in the middle of a backbend with a strip of condoms in his teeth and grins sharp and languid around them.

“Uh,” Bernard says weakly. Kon sits back up; still does it slow and stretched-out, and still doesn’t use anything but his muscles to do it.

“Ngh,” Tim says from behind him. Kon wants to look back at him again; wants to smirk and preen and fucking peacock for him again; make himself the exact kind of show Tim wants, however he wants it.

But Tim said “yellow” and gave him to Bernard, so what he actually does is shift back forward on his knees the step or two it takes to let him straddle Bernard’s lap again and tilt his head down to offer him the strip of condoms in his mouth.

A pet would do that, if they were playing fetch.

“Jesus fucking goddamn Christ,” Bernard says roughly, then grabs the back of his neck and kisses him hard without even taking the condoms. The strip crushes between their mouths and Kon barely manages not to drop it.

Well–it’s at least easier than not dropping the candy was, he thinks, and mostly just cares about the fact that he’s getting kissed, even if he can’t really kiss back right.

“I legitimately have no idea how anyone ever fucks you without getting, like, sexy anxiety attacks about it,” Bernard mutters between kisses, and kisses him harder each time, which really makes Kon want to preen. “Is that a thing? Should we be worrying about that being a thing?”

“You said ‘fetch’, man,” Kon reminds him, grinning sharper around the condoms. Bernard mutters several curses and kisses him harder again. Kon’s skin buzzes and his brain buzzes and–

“I definitely did, yeah,” Bernard says faintly, finally reaching up to take the half-crumpled strip of condoms from him, and Kon’s everything buzzes at the sight of it between the other’s fingers and he forgets every single damn way to tease or flirt he’s ever known.

“C’mon, I was good, right?” he half-pants, half-pleads, dropping his face to nuzzle into Bernard’s throat and leaning in tight against him; even tighter and closer than when Bernard’d said he’d liked having him “cuddled up” to him. He can feel Bernard’s cock straining against his jeans–feel it both ways, from this close. “Got you the condoms. Didn’t take my hands out. Aren’t you gonna play with me?”

“Actually, make that sexy PTSD, because I think you just fundamentally changed my brain chemistry,” Bernard mutters under his breath, fisting one hand in the back of Kon’s hair as he tears a condom off the end of the strip with his teeth. “Again.”

Kon hears the compliment more than the actual words, and feels a purr rumble through his own chest where it’s pressed in close against Bernard’s. Bernard makes a strangled noise; Kon nuzzles in tighter, rocking down against the other’s cock and into his lap. It feels nice. Bernard feels nice. He wants him to play with him like he said he would. Wants him to call him good again.

“M'still tight,” he reminds him with a breathless shudder, pressing in as close as he can get. “Rob said so, yeah? He's always right. He said m’still tight an’ got me all wet an’ gave me to–”

“Condom,” Bernard cuts in quickly, fisting his hand tight in his hair. It isn’t enough to pull his head anywhere, obviously, but Kon leans into it reflexively anyway. “Lemme put the condom on.”

You don’t have to, Kon isn’t quite floaty enough to say, though he really, really wishes he could. Just–safe sex. Responsible threesome. They are having a very responsible threesome right now and he is being very responsible in said very responsible threesome.

Tim said he and Bernard don’t always use condoms, though. Only when they wanna avoid–when they don’t wanna make a mess.

Kon pictures that for, like, half a second or a literal eternity and bites down on his tongue hard to keep himself from saying . . . words. About that. Or–any words at all, maybe, at least for right now. He still knows he's the entertainment here, obviously, but . . . would they let him watch that, if he asked nice enough? If he earned it?

He thinks he could ask nice enough, if Tim’d tell him how to.

Kon makes himself lean back in Bernard’s lap enough to let the other get at his cock properly and doesn’t even try to figure out if he could maybe kiss his neck or collarbone or something while he’s getting it out to get the condom on. Because they are having safe sex and he is being responsible about that fact. They’re both being way too damn nice to him, that’s the least he can do on his end.

And because he needs to be good enough to earn . . . anything else he might wanna ask about later, maybe.

“Good boy,” Bernard says, and the words are a warm little buzz that trips along Kon’s skin and soaks into and through his muscles. When Tim says it, it goes straight to his fucking veins, but coming from Bernard it feels . . . slower, sort of stretched-out and lasting; something that kinda just sinks into him like he’s being fucking, he doesn’t know, soaked or marinated or something. Something electric versus something . . . grounding, maybe.

Tim can calm him down through anything, Kon already knows, but this just feels calm already. Just feels–easy already. Not something earned the hard way, just a sort of . . . click. So like–not better, obviously, because literally nothing ever could be, but–definitely good, and also definitely different.

He doesn’t really know what he means by any of that, but watching Bernard rip open the condom–a blazingly bright orange that makes him think of candy, after his “treat” earlier, which Kon knows Bernard did not do intentionally since he’s the one who grabbed the damn strip to begin with, but apparently pink kryptonite is just determined to kill him and also kinda, like, make his mouth water a little bit–watching Bernard rip open the condom is the most interesting thing in the fucking world right now, mouth watering or not.

“You really shoulda sprung for the flavored ones,” he mutters under his breath, eyes caught on the bright orange latex and the sense-memory of sour-sweetness on his tongue; of that same sour-sweetness sticky with something sweet and metallic. He licks his lips without really meaning to, and Bernard lets out a breathless laugh that’s half a groan as he tosses the wrapper in the general direction of the trash can and moves to–“Can I do it?” Kon blurts unthinkingly, feeling his skin prickle at the thought.

Bernard’s laugh is probably just a groan this time, actually, and then he takes a rough breath and taps the unwrapped and still-rolled condom against Kon’s stomach, which should probably not stab a little spike of heat through his gut but does, definitely, stab a little spike of heat through his gut.

“You can help,” Bernard says, which stabs a much bigger spike of heat through his gut.

“I can do that,” Kon agrees immediately, barely keeping himself from pitching forward in the other’s lap again. His fingers twitch around his wrist reflexively, and then he remembers–neither of them told him to take them out, still. So . . . mm. “TTK’s alright, right? Like–s’okay?”

“Yeah, you can pick the hotter option, feel free,” Bernard says with a laugh, dropping his head forward against Kon’s chest for a moment, and Kon bites his lip.

“Just, uh, figured if I used m’mouth it’d be . . . distracting,” he says.

“. . . for me or for you, Kon?” Bernard asks his chest. Kon maybe turns a little red about it, but like, he’s also fucking shameless, so–

“Definitely me,” he says. “Though, like, I’d wanna distract you too.”

“My boyfriend sure does have some interesting friends, huh,” Bernard muses conversationally, not lifting his head as he moves to put the condom on himself, sparing a moment to give himself a couple strokes to make sure he’s hard enough for it. “Like that sure is a thing, isn’t it, it’s very–ah.”

Kon’s assuming the “ah” was directly related to him wrapping his TTK around the guy’s hand and dick both and, like, squeezing. Like–just a little bit. Tim told him to be “inspiring” and all; make sure Bernard was hard and make sure he was into it. So–falls under the same thing, right?

“Good?” he asks, biting the inside of his lip for a moment. “I like how it feels. Wanna make sure you like how it feels too.”

“Yeah, I think you’re doing okay there,” Bernard says faintly, still not lifting his head. “You like how it feels?”

“Yeah,” Kon says. He kind of wishes he could nuzzle into the other’s throat again from this position but settles for nuzzling his cock with his TTK. Which–shit, that’s not even “settling” anyway. Maybe only because he’s not getting to do both at once, he guesses.

“Fuck,” Bernard says under his breath, and Kon twists his TTK up in a loose spiral and then brings it back down tight. Like–just tight enough to–“Fuck.”

Just tight enough to get a reaction like that one, yeah.

“Good?” he asks again, back to nuzzling telekinetic touches against the other’s dick; back to squeezing his hand tighter around it for him. His skin’s already starting to prickle again, and starts buzzing as soon as he focuses in on what Bernard’s heart rate is doing right now. It sounds–

It sounds real good, is all. And it still sounds good with Tim’s, too.

Kon really likes it, that their heartbeats sound good together. Like . . . it’s nice, that they sound good together. Not really something he can put in his folder of things to look at when the world sucks, but . . . definitely still nice, yeah. Definitely something he’d want to put in that folder, if he could.

Tim deserves things that nice, so–yeah. Obviously he would.

“Definitely good,” Bernard says, just barely breathless, then lifts his head to flash him a wryly affectionate smile as he lets go of his cock to actually get the condom on. Kon holds it for him and reinforces the condom reflexively as Bernard unrolls it, because if it breaks or tears and Bernard has to get another out, he is gonna regret the delay. “Man, you are–you are a fucking experience of a person, seriously.”

The satisfying buzz of those words and the unexpected hints of affection in that smile sinks straight into Kon’s muscles, and he feels his face flush brightly and like his head could just float away entirely, superpowers or no.

“Yeah?” he asks, more than a little breathless himself; dropping his head to nuzzle him again now that he’s got the opportunity again and maybe pitching forward a bit too tight up against Bernard, but–“M’a a nice thing, right? You like getting nice things? Present from your boyfriend, he thinks you'll like me, got me all set-up and ready so you can do whatever you wanna, just please like me–”

“Okay, yeah,” Bernard says a little faintly, then buries a disbelieving laugh in Kon’s shoulder as he grips his hips again and gives them a guiding little tug. “Yeah, you’re definitely a nice thing. Mmph. Good boy, c’mon, c’mere and take a ride. Still all riled, huh? Still need to burn off all that energy? Go ahead, have some–gngh.”

That time was definitely because Kon used his TTK to guide the other’s cock in against his hole instead of, like, waiting or anything, but god, he really just–he just–

“Fuck,” Bernard wheezes, and Kon feels the muscles in his hips just start to shift, and immediately moves down into them and Bernard’s cock just slides in so deep and so easy, and Kon moans loud about it. It’s like–it’s like there’s some itch inside him, some weird unfamiliar craving, some–just a different kind of wanting, maybe. Just–just that, maybe.

It makes him fucking melt, whatever it is.

“God, that’s still so good,” he manages, half-panting and half a laugh, and Bernard’s hands squeeze his hips and his cock twitches inside him and he feels buzzed. “God, god, can I–can I move, s’it too soon, can I–?”

“Oh, you know, if you wanna,” Bernard says, voice a little faint again but letting out a half-laugh of his own before he slides his hands down and grips Kon’s ass again; grips it and squeezes, lifting his cheeks a little. “Just make sure you do it pretty, yeah? Tim’s gonna want to see his boy feel good.”

“Gnk,” Kon says, which is definitely not a word, and the buzzing flares into a burn, and he rocks his hips down fully into Bernard’s lap and back up again even as he’s reflexively–adjusting, kind of; shifting his center of balance and his weight and rolling his shoulders back a little; spreading his knees a little farther apart on the mattress. Just–all the instinctive little details he learned at shoots and that kind of thing; flexing his muscles and displaying his back and shoulders better and drawing attention to his ass and thighs; making himself–“pretty”, he guesses, for Tim to see.

Because Bernard told him to, but also because, like–because it’s Tim, and Tim likes to watch, and Kon is very, very happy to put on a show for him.

“Yeah, there you go, boy,” Bernard says approvingly, squeezing his ass again, and Kon pushes it back into his hands a little on the next rock of his hips because–because that’ll look good for Tim too, right? Look–“pretty”, or just whatever Bernard wants to call it. “Just show Tim how good you feel right now, alright? You got my dick all inspired for this, buddy, so let him see what a good job you did on it. And what a good job you're doing on it, too.”

“Your dick, yeah,” Kon gasps out half-senselessly, rocking his hips a little faster and trying so hard not to use any super-speed or anything he can’t reinforce Bernard’s body–and the bed–enough to handle. But if–if he’s supposed to be giving Tim something to watch, he doesn’t have to watch what he says so much, so–so–“Feels so good in me, wanted it so bad, thank you thank you, feels so good, fuckin’ love it, wanna come on it again, please lemme, lemme come on it an’ I’ll be so good, be anything y’want, lemme come on the whole thing.”

“God, your fucking mouth,” Bernard groans before burying his own in Kon’s neck, and Kon's skin buzz-buzz-buzzes and–“Oh, you’re so cute, boy, go on, you can stay right in my lap and beg all you want.”

“Please,” Kon moans back immediately, rocking his hips down a little harder than he means to, and Bernard hisses appreciatively against the tendon in his throat and then drops his mouth down to his collarbone and then down to–his chest, which Kon abruptly remembers promising Bernard he could play with all he wanted and immediately has to stifle a whine over. “B-Bernard, please, I really–”

Bernard bites his sternum; kisses the upward curve of one of his pecs. Squeezes his double-handed grip on his ass again and really spreads his ass with that squeeze, which makes Kon realize that the guy's doing that spreading on–like, on purpose, and he probably did the lifting thing on purpose too, because that's when Kon also realizes just how much Tim must be seeing of the greedy, pleading way his hole's all clenched up around Bernard’s dick as he rides it. Just, like–just between the angle and the grip Bernard has on his ass and the obvious effort that the other is obviously putting into making an easy view of that for Tim, which–fuck, how did he not realize that immediately? Or at least a little sooner, if nothing else? He's the one who’s supposed to be fucking good at showing off.

How well he takes dick just isn't exactly the kind of thing he's usually showing people, he guesses.

Kon flushes at that thought, half-choking on another moan while he's trying not to obsess over what Tim's seeing right now or what Tim thinks of what he's seeing right now, of what he’s showing him right now, and just–just rocks his hips down a little bit farther into Bernard’s lap and tries so hard not to be–not to be–too greedy or too much or–or–he’s supposed to be–he’s supposed to just–

Does Tim like it, though? Like how his ass looks split open for–

Bernard had said Tim’s cock was his favorite, Kon remembers, so . . . so Bernard’s would be Tim’s favorite, then. Right? Like–it's gotta be.

So–so does Tim like how his ass looks split open for his favorite cock?

How his–how his boy’s ass looks split open for his favorite cock.

Kon manages to have that thought for one very brief and almost coherent moment, and then nearly spontaneously combusts. Or maybe just kind of loses his mind a little, or maybe experiences a full psychological breakdown, or maybe all three of those things at once. He doesn’t know, though, because definitely he does not actually have enough brains left in his head to figure it out either way.

This is what Tim wanted to see, though, right? He wanted to see . . .

Does Tim think–does Tim think he’s being . . . being pretty enough for him? He’s not saying anything, still, but–but Kon can feel him watching, and–and he doesn’t know what Tim’s thinking, obviously, but he’s already getting embarrassingly close again, because–because Tim gave him to Bernard, because Tim wants to see this, because Tim thinks he’s something worth giving. Tim thinks he’s something worth giving his boyfriend. His really cute and hot and sweet and nice boyfriend who makes him get all cute and flustered and smitten and smiley and shit and hadn’t even let any of them even meet yet–Tim thinks Kon’s something good enough to give to that boyfriend, and thinks Kon can make that boyfriend feel good and can make him happy and make him come, and thinks he’s something that boyfriend will like–

And he feels like Bernard does like him, right now. Right now–right now he feels like Bernard really, really likes him.

But also–but also, he has literally not even gotten his dick touched again and still feels like he could come like this, if he just–if he just keeps it up just a little bit longer; if Bernard just stays inside him just a little bit longer. That’s–that’s really–

Bernard said he was good at this, some hazy, sticky-warm part of Kon remembers, somewhere in that floaty place that he’s not quite reaching but really feels like he wants to reach, and just keeps sort of . . . sort of almost getting to, and then not quite managing to stay in. But–Bernard said . . . said he was good at this, and . . . and said he was made for . . .

“Really, really cute,” Bernard murmurs against his chest, and Kon bites the inside of his cheek and shudders. Bernard said he’s good at this. Bernard thinks he’s–thinks he’s cute, which is still not something he’s ever gotten off on hearing before getting in this bed but is also still definitely something he’s getting off on hearing right now.

Actually, he’s pretty sure the only reason he can last at all for any of this is because no one is touching his dick.

“Please,” he manages again, and it’s so fucking hard to not just–to not just ride him exactly as “too much” and greedy as he’s trying not to, and so fucking hard not to think about Bernard’s mouth nipping at his chest and Bernard’s hands on his ass, making sure–making sure Tim can really see just how “inspired” Kon got him and just what they’re both doing about it, and–and–“Feels so good, feels so good, wanna come, wanna make you come, want you to do it inside, please do it inside, don’t pull out, fuck–”

He hears Tim take a very careful, doors-blowing-in breath, and Bernard laughs raggedly and then buries a groan against his collarbone and grips his ass tighter.

“Hey,” he says, just as ragged and sounding like he’s had the air knocked out of him, which makes Kon feel–makes him feel pretty good about how he’s doing, even though he’s not even really all that good at, like–at riding somebody like this, hard as he's trying to be. “Gimme your hands, alright? Keep ‘em behind your back, just–”

“M’kay, I–yeah, ‘kay,” Kon stammers, letting go of his wrist and dropping his hands down towards Bernard’s, since he assumes that’s what the guy means and all, though he doesn’t know what he actually wants with–

“Good boy,” Bernard says, letting go of his ass to reach up and catch his hands. He gives them both a squeeze, which Kon melts a little over and also feels stupidly horny about, and then the guy guides his hands down and puts them on his ass right where his own were and gives them another light little squeeze. “Make sure Tim gets a nice view back there, alright? Show him how much you like it.”

“A-alright,” Kon manages, and actually fucking blushes over the fucking idea, which is fucking ridiculous, but–but he definitely does, yeah, even as he grips his cheeks just like Bernard did and lifts and spreads them just like Bernard did too and–and definitely blushes about it, fuck. “I–like–?”

“Yeah, like that. Good boy,” Bernard says again, pressing a little kiss against his collarbone as he lets go of his hands to skim his own up his hips and sides and ribs. Kon shudders roughly, mostly in his thighs, and clutches up tighter around the other’s cock. It feels–good to. It feels really, really good to.

Bernard maybe agrees, he thinks, given how the guy groans over it.

“Fuck, seriously, so cute,” he says both breathlessly and feelingly, curling his fingers against Kon’s ribs for a moment and then pushing his hands up under and over his pecs and pushing them up a little too. Kon feels way too into how it feels to have someone just pushing his body around, even just in little ways like that. “Jesus, you ride dick like you want the whole thing first thing.”

“I do want it,” Kon begs, which is maybe kind of stupid since he’s the one doing the work here and the one forcing himself not to be greedy, but–“Want it, want the whole thing, lemme have it, please lemme have it, m’tight, right? Your dick feels so good, does my ass feel good too? You like it? Like me? Really want you to, you’re so nice to me, I don’t get it, you’re so nice and you’re so fucking hot and I just want you to like me.”

“I like you,” Bernard says a lot more feelingly, and rolls his hips up to emphasize the point as he slides his hands up over Kon’s chest. It definitely, definitely emphasizes the point, and Kon’s gut burns and his cock throbs. “I like you a lot. And my dick really likes you. My dick is now actually seriously considering the ‘become a pink kryptonite-themed supervillain’ plan, in fact. I assume the other Supers might not be into that but I figure they’d just let you handle me, all things considered.”

“They would absolutely have to lock me up in the Fortress to keep me from being the one to handle you,” Kon laughs breathlessly, feeling warm, warm, warm. Bernard’s just–he’s really funny, and he’s cute, and he maybe gives “instructions” more than “orders” but he gives them so easy, and Kon still doesn’t get why he’s being so nice to him.

He is absolutely the opposite of complaining about the “nice”, obviously, but it’s just–he doesn’t know. It’s not like he thought the guy wouldn’t be nice or anything, just–just he’s being nice to him.

To–him.

Kon doesn’t even really know what’s going on in his head about that right now, but . . . but there’s definitely something going on in his head about that right now. Just–something.

Definitely, definitely there’s something.

“Hmmm, might need to be a little sneaky about it, then, wouldn’t want ‘em doing that before I got you all collared-up and warmed-up,” Bernard says with a little grin, giving Kon’s pecs an appreciative squeeze and then rubbing both his thumbs across both his nipples. Kon bites his lip and stutters–just stutters his hips a little, maybe. “Aw, that’s cute. Did you like that, boy? You got really tight for it.”

“I like it,” Kon says, then bites his lip again and digs his teeth in a little harder this time, and maybe pushes his chest just a little more into Bernard’s hands. The jokey fantasy idea, yeah, but also–“I–just feels really–”

It’s not even that the actual, like, physical part feels that good, though it definitely does, just–Bernard paid so much attention last time he was touching his chest, and he seems to, like, really like his chest, or at least keeps coming back to it, and that feels . . .

That’s the thing that feels “really”, Kon guesses. And also the thing that makes him maybe wanna get a couple of those piercings after all, and get to wonder if Bernard is looking at his S-shield to see if they show, next time he sees the guy. Which is probably a stupid thought since it’s not like he’s even gonna find that idea hot once he’s done being gay and who even knows the next time Tim’s gonna let him come over when he’s busy hanging out with Bernard anyway, but also, like–also he just likes the idea of getting checked out no matter what, sue him, and also, like . . .

Well. Bernard would still think it was hot, right? And Kon really doesn’t see a reason to mind the idea of making himself a little bit better eye candy for the guy, after how fucking nice he’s been to him already. And like–maybe Bernard would think it was hot he’d gotten those piercings specifically because of him, too, and not just because of the eye candy part.

And maybe Tim would like it, if Kon did something like that for his boyfriend.

Alternately, maybe that’s weird and insane and way, way too much to ever actually seriously do. But Kon has very little concept of what counts as “too much” to normal people and–well–and Tim already said he could ask once he wasn’t gay anymore, so like . . . Tim would tell him if it was too much, he figures. Right? Like–he’d tell him if it was okay to do or not.

And if it was okay, maybe he could also tell him if Bernard would be more into gold or stainless steel.

Or, like–if he thought there were maybe a couple other piercings he should get too.

“I realize I am not letting this one go, but what do you think, are you more into the barbell look or should we put a ring on it?” Bernard muses, giving both his nipples a meaningful pinch as he does, and then a tight little twist. Kon genuinely can’t figure out if it’s more embarrassing to have someone pay so much attention to a part of his body that just about all of his other partners haven’t had more than a passing interest in or if it’s more embarrassing how affected he is by someone paying this much attention to anything about him. How affected he is by the idea, even.

Or if it’s more embarrassing that he feels more flustered over getting his fucking nipples played with than he was over getting his ass fucked ‘til he came for it.

That just cannot be a normal reaction that a normal dude would have, Kon thinks.

“Told you I was the kept boy type, man, c’mon,” he says, trying for a laugh as he says it, and Bernard grins at him and cups his pecs and pushes them up a little bit again. Kon tightens his grip on his ass like–a reflex, maybe, or maybe more like a response–and lifts his cheeks a little bit more too. Bernard probably doesn’t, like, see that or anything, but–but it’s kind of embarrassing to realize, and he knows, like–obviously Tim saw, but since he’s straight behind him maybe he didn’t realize it was, like–like why he . . .

“Yeah, so what if we kept you?” Bernard asks, his grin turning sly, and Kon stops overthinking because he is suddenly literally just incapable of thinking. That–that is–

It doesn’t help that he heard Tim’s heartbeat accelerate when Bernard said that.

“Just saying, libido like yours, you’d do better if you were doing the kept boy thing for a couple,” Bernard mentions casually, since it’s apparently blatantly obvious that Kon is likelier to fall off his dick and also the bed than string together a coherent reply right now. “Or, you know, just getting regularly gangbanged by an entire superhero team, but that seems harder to arrange on the daily, you know? Like, more a special occasions kind of thing.”

“I–you–” Kon attempts, face blushing and gut burning as his hips stutter, and Bernard just keeps up the light, easy chatter like he’s not literally on the guy’s dick right now.

“Like normally I’d suggest the Birds of Prey or just any Amazonian expats, obviously, but right now I guess you’d be more into . . . I dunno, Young Justice’s always seemed pretty femme-heavy and I feel like Tim would have some weird feelings about letting Batman Inc borrow you, so maybe see about finding yourself a few nice Titans?” Bernard suggests, squeezing his pecs again; rubbing and massaging at the muscles there for a few moments. Kon is pretty sure he’d be boiling in the literal vacuum of space, hot as he suddenly feels. “Or maybe check if anybody in the Green Lantern Corps has some job-related stress to work out? Or like, what’re the Outsiders up to these days, actually, that’s also–”

“Please,” Kon half-chokes, not even sure what he’s asking for, and Bernard takes his hands off his chest to wrap an arm around his waist and tug him in closer against himself, which isn’t even something the guy’s actually physically capable of doing but also isn’t something Kon is any kind of capable of not letting him do, and then Bernard wraps his other arm up around his neck to grip the back of it, and Kon somehow ends up less riding the other and more just–just rocking a little bit in his lap, pulled down fully onto his cock and just–just full of it. All of it. Just–all of it, while Bernard coaxes him into just–just barely rolling their hips together over and over and . . .

“How’s that, boy?” Bernard asks breathlessly, scruffing the back of his neck again. “Comfy?”

Five seconds before the first time Bernard fucked him Kon would absolutely not have had any concept of having a dude’s entire dick up his ass be something that could count as “comfy”, but right now . . .

“Don’t pull out,” he half-pleads, half just begs, and Bernard tugs his head down just enough to let him press a kiss against his temple and squeezes the arm around his waist again; rolls his hips up again. Kon stifles a whimper.

“Naw, not gonna,” Bernard promises. “Not ‘til you’ve come again, at least.”

“Not even then,” Kon half-mumbles, feeling a little bit–dizzier, kind of, every time Bernard’s nails scritch the back of his neck; slumping down heavier into him without really meaning to or anything. “Please? Please just lemme keep it a little longer? Feels so–feels so good, makes me feel like you want me.”

“Aw, of course I want you, boy,” Bernard coos, his voice still all light and breathless, and then just starts petting him outright. “You’re super cute. Super fun to pet-sit, too. And I already told you you could cuddle my cock if you wanted, didn’t I?”

“Wanna,” Kon pleads, feeling all warm and melty and heavy and barely remembering to roll his hips in counter to Bernard’s; barely remembering to keep his hands on his ass where the other put them. “Wanna–lemme cuddle it, lemme cuddle you, I’ll be a good boy, promise, promise, promise–”

“‘Course you will, boy,” Bernard hums, rubbing a flat palm up the underside of his fade. “Robin told you to be, didn’t he?”

Kon melts.

“Yeah,” he says breathlessly, burying his face in Bernard’s shoulder; feeling syrup-sticky and slow and warm and sweet. “Robin told me.”

“That’s right,” Bernard says, pressing a kiss against his temple and petting the back of his head; stroking a hand across the small of his back too. “Mn. Fuck, you really are tight. Still this excited to get played with, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kon pants against the other’s shoulder, rolling his hips a little faster, and everything in the whole world just feels liquid. “Play with me, Rob said you could, said I could be good for you, I’ll be so good for you, pleasepleaseplease–”

“C’mon, yeah, just like that,” Bernard sighs even more breathlessly, tightening his grip on him a little more; rolling his hips up into his a little harder. “So cute. You can hold onto me with your hands too, boy, you don’t have to do it with just your ass. Or do you wanna hold my hand again, it’s alright if you–”

“Mn” Kon chokes, rolling his own hips a bit too hard, and he knows he needs to keep the super-speed out of bed with baseline humans as much as possible, but his hands just snap to Bernard, one grabbing the hand of the arm the guy has wrapped around his waist where it’s curling around his hip and the other grabbing onto his back and just–clinging, maybe, kinda, sorta.

Definitely.

“Fucking cute,” Bernard mutters, then presses another kiss into his hair. “Good boy, best boy, how’s it feel? You like it? Wanna come like this?”

“I–your shirt,” Kon manages stupidly even as he clings tighter to the other and nuzzles tightly into his neck, because, like–he’s probably already gotten pre on it by now being pressed in this tight against the guy, but if he actually comes right now, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to concentrate enough to keep it off his–

“S’okay if you make a little bit of a mess,” Bernard hums, nuzzling him in return; curling his fingers against his scalp and shifting the hand he has underneath his to grip his, and Kon muffles a moan against his shoulder, and there’s just no space left between them and Bernard just keeps talking and–“S’what I’m here for, right? I’m taking care of you ‘til Tim gets back. You don’t need to worry about anything else. Just lemme make you feel good.”

“I–I–” Kon chokes, clinging to him even tighter, and Bernard nuzzles in behind his ear and bumps a couple of his earrings with his nose in the process and rolls his hips up into his without pulling back out of him at all and gives his hand the softest little squeeze, and Kon’s stamina is apparently just fucking gone because he immediately comes all over both of their stomachs with a gasping keen of a sound and–and Bernard keeps nuzzling him, keeps his arms around him, keeps his hands on him and his hips pressed up into his, and Kon literally did not even get his dick touched properly again, just kind of not-even-deliberately rubbed up between their stomachs at best, and he–and he–why’s he so–he managed to keep his TTK from letting his come get all over Bernard’s shirt, barely, but he really doesn’t even know how he did, because everything’s just so–“Fuck, fuck, fuck, I–please don’t–please–”

“Not gonna take your toy away, boy, you can play long as you want,” Bernard murmurs, then gives his hips a pointed roll up. Kon makes an absolutely pathetic embarrassment of a sound this time, body shaking and face buried in tight against the other’s shoulder and everything just–just liquid, even as he makes the reflexive little gesture that flicks the mess of his come out from between them before it makes an actual mess, though he can’t make it all the way to the trash can with it this time and has to just–just settle for the sheets, this time.

He’s just–he’s just all oozy, syrupy, melty liquid, all molten in his bones and bleeding through his veins and muscles and guts. The only thing he can feel that doesn’t feel like liquid right now is Bernard’s rock-hard cock hilted up so deep inside him; hilted up so perfect inside him. Literally nothing else even feels worth feeling, right now.

“Bernard,” he whines, and can’t even be embarrassed anymore. “Bernard, Bernard, s’so good, feel like I’m gonna–feel all–Bernard.”

“You’re so cute playing with your toys,” Bernard coos just a little bit roughly, scritching lightly behind his ear. “Cutest boy, and so eager, and so pretty in pink.”

Kon just moans uselessly into his shoulder again, too liquid and boneless in the other’s lap to keep clinging to him with anything but his TTK; feeling like something Bernard could fold up and put at the bottom of the bed for whenever he wanted it, like just some useful little gift Tim got him, like something worth the using. Like he could just stay right here as long as Bernard wanted him here, and just be useful right here as long as Bernard wanted him here. Something weighted, something warm, something Bernard can just push around and use how he likes and come in as many times as he feels like, something–

Fuck, Kon thinks dizzily, and can’t really think anything more coherent than that. Bernard squeezes his hand and it feels like the only thing that’s keeping him from floating right up to the ceiling, except for maybe the other’s cock, and Bernard squeezes his arm around his waist too and Kon still can’t even be embarrassed, even with the sticky mess of his come only making it to the sheets and his barely-softened cock pinned between them all oversensitive and aching and the way he can’t seem to stop shuddering. He–he’s–he’s really supposed to be better at this, he can last all night when he wants to, but he just–he just can’t–

He can’t help it, Kon thinks, and then manages to find a little bit of embarrassment again after all. But–but it’s just–

It’s Tim, and Tim Domming for him, and Domming him maybe better than anybody else ever has just because–just because Tim’s so obviously into it too, it’s not like–like, it’s not a trade-off of different kinks he’s gonna have to pay back later or something that Tim’s doing just to humor him, or only feels like once in a blue moon, or just wants to use as an excuse to just be an asshole to him, or . . .

No. It’s something Tim really likes. Like–clearly. Obviously. Very muchly.

It’s something Tim really likes, and he wants to do it for him. Wants to do it–do it with him.

Wants to do it with him enough to melt him down into useless syrup and let him be good for his boyfriend, even.

“Jesus, you didn’t go soft at all, did you,” Bernard says, letting out a half-marveling laugh and sounding kind of out of breath about it. Kon . . . thought he did a little, but . . . maybe not? It’s kind of–it’s a little hard to remember, with his head all smothered in floaty thoughts and thoughts about Tim liking this maybe even close to as much as he does and about how nice Bernard’s being to him and–and stuff like that. Just . . . just his body’s all heavy and his head’s all floaty and he just wants . . .

He just wants.

“Mm,” is about all he can manage, and shifts just enough in Bernard’s lap to attempt to get the other to go back to rolling his hips. He just–he really can’t move his own like that right now, but Bernard said–said to let him make him feel good, and not worry about anything else, so . . . so . . .

“Jesus,” Bernard says under his breath, then squeezes both arms around him and scratches the nape of his neck with his nails and halfway rambles: “So, so cute. Good boy. You know when you did that truly unfair backbend earlier I have never wanted to try spitroasting somebody so bad, so like, just saying, depending on how comfortable holding that position would actually be for you, we should definitely put a pin in that idea. Like, it didn’t look like you were uncomfortable, but I don’t wanna assume and also, like, longer period of time for holding it and all, so–”

“C’n hold it,” Kon mumbles into the other’s shoulder, too dreamy-floaty to remember to let him finish talking first, and Bernard’s nails dig into his neck just a little bit. “Get y’both at once? Hold anythin’ t’get y’both at once.”

Bernard’s nails dig into his neck less a “little” bit and more, like . . . a lot-bit, maybe. But also, Bernard’s still not doing that all that hard or dragging them or anything like that, and it still just feels–gentle. Just . . . gentle, and good, and nice, and like he’s getting scratched and petted for being, like–for being good. Like Bernard thinks he earned it or something.

“Oh, sure, yeah, that’s not gonna permanently engrave itself into my psyche or anything,” Bernard says, his voice a little bit faint again. He’s still not moving his hips anymore, and Kon isn’t sure if it’d be bad to ask for it again, but . . .

“‘Anything’?” he repeats in another mumble, just barely managing to tighten his grip on the other again; tighten his body around him again.

Like–all of his body.

“Dionysus would be so proud,” Bernard mutters under his breath, sounding less like he’s out of breath and more like he’s gotten the breath knocked out of him, for . . . some reason, Kon guesses? Doesn’t seem important, if he’s not hurt or anything, so . . . “Gngh.”

. . . oh, yeah, he moved his hips a little again, Kon realizes belatedly.

Mm.

It’s good. It’s really good. Not the sliding friction of really getting fucked, but a hot and steady-solid pressure up inside him, making space for itself inside him, making itself comfortable there like it wants to stay there and just–and Bernard’s holding onto him, and holding his hand, even, and–and it’s like–

“Y’mean it?” Kon asks not really on purpose, still not able to shake the disoriented, wandering mumble in his voice even as he tries to nuzzle down into Bernard’s collarbone again; tries to keep himself tight and heavy and easy for him. “Y’really wanna fuck me that bad? I look that good t’you?”

“Because you are that good to us,” Tim corrects gently as he settles in against his back; puts his hands on his hips and presses a little kiss to his spine just below Bernard’s scritching fingers. Kon didn’t even notice him move, but like–fuckin’ Bats, and all. And it doesn’t matter anyway, because all that really matters is the ember of heat in his gut that just flared into fire again over finally hearing Tim’s voice again, and his dick’s immediately back to aching and Tim’s pressed in against him like this again and they put him between them again, folded him up inside them or just wrapped him up like–like the “gentle” thing, kind of; like they feel like he’s actually somebody who needs that.

Or–or just should have it, maybe.

Kon feels a half-second of mortification over thinking that before Tim slides the hand on the same hip Bernard’s holding his against up to wrap around both of them, just for a moment, and give them both an approving, affectionate little squeeze, and then that’s the only thing he’s thinking about at all.

The “affectionate” is definitely what wrecks his useless-ass brain the most, but he’s not exactly normal about the “approving” part either.

He really thinks about the idea of maybe holding Tim’s hand for, like–maybe the first time since the other picked up the phone for him to begin with, and then has to bury a stifled groan in Bernard’s shoulder. That–why is that so–

Why’s that making him blush?

“Hey there, babe,” Bernard says, and Kon feels him flash Tim an easy grin as he rubs his fingertips up the back of his neck in little strokes. “Color?”

“Green,” Tim says, simple and matter-of-fact, and Kon apparently actually still had some brain left to wreck because hearing Tim’s voice again and hearing Tim’s voice say “green” just reduced it all to bubbling glop.

“Nice,” Bernard says, then adds conversationally: “Your boy was really good, just stayed cuddled up to me all cute the whole time and got real excited for playtime. He definitely missed you, though. Pined a little bit at the window and all, you know how pets get.”

“Tim,” Kon says without making any real conscious decision to, and it comes out fucking breathy. Tim drops a kiss in behind his ear; squeezes his and Bernard’s linked hands once more before dropping his hand down to his thigh and stroking down to hook underneath it. Kon makes some kind of a noise, he thinks, but can’t hear it over his own thrumming heartbeat. “Tim, I–Rob, can I–”

“Stay, pet,” Tim murmurs, steadier than any other voice he knows, and everything in Kon’s head that isn’t about him instantly dissolves into nothing. It’s–nothing. It’s all nothing. There’s nothing else there at all.

“Seriously, you two are way too good at that,” Bernard says, which Kon’s pretty sure he only actually hears because Bernard is Tim-adjacent enough to count as a thing that’ll stay in his head right now. Tim kisses his pulse; squeezes the underside of his thigh.

“Practice makes perfect,” Tim murmurs, and Kon’s whole brain evaporates and takes everything that isn’t floaty melty-soft rightness with it. They’ve never–they’ve never done this before.

They’ve done this too many fucking times to even count.

“Clearly, yeah,” Bernard says with a breathless laugh, and Tim’s fingertips brush in along Kon’s rim and up against where it’s stretched open around Bernard’s cock. Kon feels too blissed-out to even react for the contact, but it feels good. Not quite as good as the cock inside him and arms around him, maybe, but still really, really good.

It’s Tim, so obviously it does.

“You did a good job, babe,” Tim observes musingly, rubbing just one finger in along the seam right where they’re joined. Kon moans this time, though it’s so quiet he barely even hears it himself, and Bernard buries a rough huff in against his hair. “He’s a lot more relaxed.”

“Feels like it, yeah,” Bernard says, still a little breathless as he presses a kiss in against Kon’s temple and squeezes his arms around him a little tighter. “Like I’ve got an entire friggin’ punching bag sitting on my dick, except sexy. Dunno how that works but I’m into it, not gonna lie.”

“Not really surprised to hear that, considering,” Tim says, and then very gently presses a fingertip up into Kon’s body beside Bernard’s dick, easy as anything. Kon is definitely not the only one who hears himself moan this time. “Mm. He took that really well, didn’t he.”

“Jesus, Tim,” Bernard says, his voice a little strangled. “Did you not just color over this idea?”

“If I hadn’t taken a minute, I wasn’t going to be able to do it the way my boy deserves,” Tim replies. Kon feels . . . blurry, a little, and isn’t sure what they’re talking about. But then Tim just gently works another finger up inside him and Bernard makes a tight little noise against his temple and he buries another moan in the other’s shoulder and decides he doesn’t really care anyway. It’s fine. All fine. Tim’ll tell him if there’s anything he needs to do. Or . . . know, he guesses.

“Oh, but I’m supposed to last for this?” Bernard says, and it comes out practically wheezing.

“You’ve got better stamina than me on a normal day, babe,” Tim replies, sounding amused, and Kon feels him take a moment to give Bernard an affectionate little smile that he really wishes he could actually see.

It’s not . . . it’s not like it’s for him anyway, but . . .

“Now he tries to win me over with flattery,” Bernard grumbles, then laughs even more breathlessly than last time and curls his fingers against the back of Kon’s neck and around his fingers. “I’m getting Batted right now, aren’t I.”

“You’re getting Timmed, babe,” Tim hums, leaning up over Kon’s back to press a kiss to Bernard’s mouth. Kon can feel that too, and it’s a soft and familiar and lingering thing, and they both clearly know how to expect the other to kiss; clearly’ve done it–clearly’ve done it–

Too many fucking times to even count, Kon thinks.

His gut sort of–tightens, a little, something weirdly longing twisting up inside it, and he wants . . . he thinks he wants . . .

He really wants kissed right now, he thinks, and buries his face in even tighter against Bernard’s shoulder.

They’re being really nice to him. He doesn’t need to be–greedy, or whatever.

Tim keeps kissing Bernard just as easy and appreciative as he slides another fingertip lightly along Kon’s rim all slick and warm, and Kon realizes he must’ve grabbed the lube again at some point. He didn’t really–notice, before. It feels . . . it’s good, and his body opens right up for it the same as the last two. Feels–feels warm, and a little bit tight, and like just enough of a stretch to notice. Feels full, and like he’s doing something right; doing just what Tim wants him to be doing; being just what Tim wants him to be.

He concentrates on that, and not the part of him that wants to get kissed like that by somebody again.

“I think actually getting Timmed might be worse,” Bernard half-mutters, and Tim laughs, and Kon’s chest tightens up in a weird way.

He likes how they feel around him; inside him and against him and wrapping him all up. He likes how they kiss each other, and how Bernard makes Tim laugh like that, and how they look in cute couples’ selfies together, and just how happy and easy Tim gets whenever Bernard comes up in conversation. Really likes how their heartbeats sound together. Likes it all.

It just hurts a little right now, for some reason.

Kon doesn’t . . . he doesn’t get what about that’s . . .

“Kon,” Tim says, stroking his free hand up his ribs, and Kon’s whole head all reorients from top to bottom, just like every time Tim ever says a single thing to him at all, and especially every time Tim says his name. “Do you remember what you asked for?”

Kon . . . frowns, a little, and can’t . . . he asked for something?

“Dun . . . dunno,” he manages to mumble, and Tim’s fingers stroke up inside him, and between them and Bernard’s cock he really–he really–

It must be the pink K, Kon thinks just a little bit vaguely. Like–it must be, right? That he wants specifically cock right now, and wants specifically cock this fucking bad. He doesn’t wanna get out of Bernard’s lap at all, even with Tim’s fingers inside him again too. And like–there’s being invulnerable enough to make it easier to take cock and there’s, like–obsessing over wanting cock, which is definitely not the same thing.

But, like–he does always get real into the girls he fucks too, and specifically real into their cunts, so . . . like, it’s the same theory, right? He always wants to take his time and go back to them again and again; eat them out and fuck them as many times as they’re willing to let him and even stay inside them even after they’ve both come, sometimes, and . . .

So it’s just–it’s the same thing as that, right? Just–reversed, or whatever. Just the other way around.

. . . well, that’d definitely explain how hard it’s been to stop thinking about sucking Tim off again.

He wonders if–like, if he could maybe spend as long doing that as he’s spent eating out some of the girls he’s slept with. Like, definitely not as long as he could with Cassie or anybody else on that level of endurance and invulnerability, and definitely not as long as Cass was nice enough to let him, especially since Tim’s not gonna be able to come as many times as a girl anyway, but maybe . . . maybe if he takes his time about it, he could get somewhere a little closer to how long Anita’d rode his face the last time they’d fucked around or the couple of times Cissie’d told him to just stay under her desk in her dorm through her midday break while she’d done the reading for her afternoon class.

He wonders if Tim would let him under his desk, if . . .

His brain trips through all that all at once or over a few minutes, and he tries to remember–there was a question, or . . . Tim asked him a question, and . . .

“What’d I–ask?” he asks with a little bit of a frown, because he can’t remember and also really can’t stop thinking about how much he wants–about how–“If it’s . . . just want–just want–”

“Tell me, pet,” Tim coaxes, gentle and certain as the stroking of his fingers inside him right along Bernard’s cock, and he–and he–

“Want your cock,” Kon blurts, stupid and clumsy and with his gut gone molten again, and he doesn’t know the best way to tilt his hips for Tim without getting off Bernard, which he doesn’t wanna do at all, and Tim hasn’t told him how to, so–so then he can’t figure out how to stop talking, either, and half-stutters out–“S’just so good, feels so good, wanna feel it, whatever y’want, just please, I’ll be good, be so good, just–just please, Rob.”

“Ngh,” Tim says very, very quietly as Bernard’s fingers dig into Kon’s neck and hand and Bernard’s dick twitches inside him, which makes Kon make a little strangled noise and cling tighter to him without really meaning to.

“Sorry, sorry, I don’t–don’t mean I don’t want yours, I–I just–” he stammers, and Bernard rubs the back of his neck a little tighter.

“You’re good, man, don’t worry about it,” he hums all quiet and easy and weirdly–reassuringly, maybe. “Trust me, if I were you I would also be having a real hard time keeping my ass off Tim’s dick right now.”

“S’just Robin,” Kon whines helplessly, burying his face in Bernard’s shoulder all over again. At least the guy gets how he’s feeling and isn’t taking it the wrong way, but–“You’re still being so nice to me, why are you so nice to me, I don’t get it, I just–m’sorry, sorry, was yellow, I didn’t–didn’t mean to–”

“Shhh, pet,” Tim murmurs, sliding a hand down his back and rocking his fingers a little deeper inside him, and Kon chokes on his voice. “That just means ‘slow down’, remember? Not stop.”

“Sorry,” Kon whimpers anyway, hunching his shoulders and keeping his face hidden in Bernard’s. He’s stupid. He’s stupid. He doesn’t remember what he asked for and Tim said he needed to slow down and stay and–and he–and he’s stupid, and he doesn’t remember what he asked for, and he doesn’t wanna let Tim down or make him think he’s too much or make Bernard think he’s weird or mess this up or–

“Kon,” Tim says quietly, catching a hand on his hip and sort of–tugging, a little, just a gentle little thing, and Kon follows him reflexively and gets guided into rocking down in Bernard’s lap and on Tim’s fingers a couple of times, and–and–“You didn’t ask for anything I don’t want to do too. Or that we don’t. Okay?”

“O–okay,” Kon stutters, but he doesn’t–he doesn’t really–

“All you have to do is be good for me,” Tim says in Robin’s voice, and Kon’s body and brain both just–listen, and suddenly everything’s just . . . empty. The tension and the circling thoughts and the anxious tripping nerves just all vanish all at once, and the only thing that’s not empty is his gut that’s full of something molten, and his hole that’s full of Tim’s fingers and Tim's boyfriend’s cock.

And all he needs to do is be good, Kon remembers in some dizzy, distant way, and Tim presses in against his back and Bernard presses his mouth against his cheekbone and he gets all folded up between them and just moves his hips just how Tim showed him how to and it’s–it’s–

“Just like that, pet,” Tim says, and it’s still Robin’s voice, but it’s gentle. Gentle, like Tim promised they were gonna be with him. “I just wanted to know if you still wanted both of us to take you together.”

Kon doesn’t even remember getting hard enough to come again, but his TTK locks around them both and his body seizes up and he thinks he maybe does come again, just from a few rocks of his hips and those words and that thought, or at least it feels like he maybe does, and–and he–

“Oh,” Bernard says, his breath catching, and Kon chokes and stutters out–“Green, green, please green, Robin–”

“You still think I look good in it, right?” Robin asks casually–Tim asks casually–and Kon hears him manage to tear open a condom wrapper one-handed and feels him lean heavier against his back and Tim only pulls his fingers out then, and rolls the condom on quick and efficient, and Kon tries not to unroll it down his shaft faster with his TTK but probably does, he thinks, from how sharp Tim hisses.

He wants them both. He wants them both together.

He wants to know how their heartbeats are gonna sound like that.

“Good,” Kon chokes, clutching desperately at Bernard’s back as his brain tries to fry alive again. “Yeah, yeah, so good in–”

“Here, boy,” Tim says, and tugs at his hips again as he shifts back in close, and Bernard huffs out a heated breath and they both shift and shift him up between them and also both press in tight against him, and Kon forgets what he was saying, thinking, all the other stuff, because the only thing that even remotely matters is–“Sit, boy.”

Kon drops his hips without even deciding to do it–sits without even deciding to do it–and then they’re both inside him at once again.

Except this time it’s both their cocks inside him.

“Jesus fucking holy–Tim,” Bernard hisses, somewhere between incredulous and accusing as he grabs Kon’s ass again and grips it tight, and Tim slides his own hands up Kon’s thighs and breathes very, very carefully.

“Yeah, babe?” he asks.

“I–you–fuck you, Tim!” Bernard half-protests and half-laughs, still sounding incredulous and accusing, and Kon can’t even really process any of the things he’s feeling right now, but . . . but he’s . . .

Both their hearts are pounding.

Both their hearts are pounding, both their chests are pressed up close against him, and he can hear them in perfect stereo.

“Mmm, I think Bernard wants you to move, pet,” Tim says, and Kon can’t do anything but listen.

He doesn’t want to do anything but listen.

Kon doesn’t wait or hesitate, just immediately lifts his hips again and just as immediately drops them again, and their cocks both fill him up all deep and full and the stretch and pressure of them both inside him and splitting him open makes him choke on some kind of a noise, makes him wanna lose his fucking mind, makes his head spin more and more on every rock, every ride, every–

“Good boy,” Tim rasps, sounding as rough as if he’s just taken a hit, and burned-in instinct prickles along Kon’s skin and his adrenaline spikes like there’s something he needs to protect, get in front of, cover–“Just like that. Don’t stop even if you come.”

Kon whimpers, and doesn't stop, and absolutely isn’t gonna stop ‘til Tim fucking orders him to. Every little bit of slick-stretched fullness and friction and drag and rock makes him feel like there’s fireworks going off up his spine and inside his skull and behind his eyes, and the way they both hold onto him and fill him up is–is–

“Tim, babe, I think I hate you,” Bernard wheezes feelingly, sounding like he’s taken a way harder hit than Tim and gripping Kon’s ass even tighter as he screws his eyes shut. “I think you’re maybe a supervillain. I think you’re maybe evil.”

“But aren't you having fun with my boy, Bernard?” Tim asks, somehow managing to sound lightly neutral despite still sounding like he’s just been sucker-punched. Which–isn’t new, really, Kon knows perfectly goddamn well, but that thought just burns even hotter in his gut. Tim always sounds like this. Tim always–“I really like being inside him with you. Isn't he so tight? And this way I can feel how hard he makes you.”

Kon whimpers.

“I hate you, I’m literally gonna kill you, oh my god, Tim, Tim, Tim,” Bernard curses vehemently, and Tim nuzzles the back of Kon’s shoulder and presses his palms down lightly against his thighs like that’s even enough pressure for Kon to notice, much less actually be moved by.

So it moves him, obviously, and he drops his hips even harder on their next rock down, and Bernard curses.

“Pet,” Tim hums against the back of his shoulder in a sticky-sweet little murmur that doesn’t sound anything like his “always” and makes all of Kon’s nerves light up all at once. “I can’t reach Bernard that well from here, so kiss him for me, alright? Make sure he knows how much I like being inside you with him. How much I like him.”

There isn’t enough of Kon’s brain left for anything to happen to it, but the inside of his skull buzzes like a bolt of electricity ricocheting around a pinball machine, and he immediately throws both arms around Bernard’s neck and lunges in and down to kiss the fucking life out of him, and keeps riding them both through it the best he can.

Tim asked him to. Tim wants him to.

Tim trusts him to tell Bernard how Tim is feeling right now.

“F-fuck!” Bernard chokes into his mouth, and then he kisses him back eager and messy and and Kon’s electric-pinball skull lights up like it just scored the jackpot.

“Good boy,” Tim rasps all low and punched-out against his shoulder, and digs his fingers into his thighs; pulls him down harder onto the full stretch of their cocks inside him. “You can tell him how much you like him too, while you’re at it.”

Kon’s electrified skull feels less like a pinball machine and more like a lightning strike, hearing that.

And also, just a little bit, feels the tiniest little spark of a thought that–that maybe–

Did Tim tell him to do this because he figured out how bad he wanted kissed earlier?

And as soon as he’s thought that–as soon as Kon’s thought that, he can’t help trying to kiss Bernard anything like the same way Tim did. He–felt it. Felt exactly how they did it. Couldn’t not feel it from in this close, really.

And it’s definitely coming off more frantic and urgent, the way he feels right now, but . . .

“Fucking fuck,” Bernard chokes again, and Kon kisses him in the best imitation of the way Tim did that he can manage and wraps the other up tighter in his TTK and–

“I like you, I like you, I really really like you, you’re so so nice and you’re so hot and your cock feels so good, I like feeling how hard I make you too, wanna feel it all weekend, want you to keep me all weekend,” he babbles all buzzed and half-coherent between copied kisses, clinging tighter to Bernard with his arms and tighter to both of them with his TTK and tightest to both of them with his hole, he’s pretty sure, though that part’s not on purpose, really, it’s just–it’s just–“Want you to keep me all week, please, please please please, lemme stay, keep me, please, Bernard, please, you said I needed kept, can I stay?”

“Fucking hell, Tim, why didn’t you let me meet any of your friends sooner?!” Bernard sputters, and he yanks at Kon’s ass maybe-reflexively, which shouldn’t move him any more than the light little pressure of Tim’s palms pressed down flat against his thighs did, and also moves him exactly as much as the light little pressure of Tim’s palms pressed down flat against his thighs did. “Fuck!”

“I like you, I like you,” Kon keeps gasping out as he rides them harder, because Tim told him to, because it’s not even hard to, because he really, really does and it’s so easy and–and Tim gave him to Bernard and let him hold his hand and gave him both their cocks at once and wore his jacket when he asked and got him his favorite candy when he didn't even ask and–“Bernard, Bernard, ROBIN!”

That’s about when Kon comes, but Tim told him not to stop even if he did, so he doesn’t; so he rides them just as hard even as everything goes all oversensitive and overwhelming and his body wants to shake apart right down to the bone and Bernard keeps kissing him and Tim presses another soft, gentle little kiss against the back of his neck and either Kon's still coming or he just comes again, somehow, and it’s all he can do not to sob about it.

He doesn’t know how long the other two last after that, because he absolutely forgets how time works for all of it. He doesn’t have a sense for it, a sense of it; everything’s just the too-much, too-intense, too-perfect pressure and heat and fullness and how their hands hold onto him and how their cocks fill him up and how they both kiss him, kiss his mouth and spine and throat and collarbone and treat him like they maybe would let him stay for the week; everything’s just him trying to make his body work right, make his body keep working right–keep riding them the same, and keep kissing Bernard back, and keeping his TTK from doing too much, except that part he’s not so sure he manages, but it just feels so fucking good, but–

But Tim didn’t tell him to keep his TTK from doing too much. Tim just told him not to stop.

So that’s the only thing Kon can actually be sure he’s gonna manage, one way or the other.

He thinks Tim comes first, maybe–thinks he feels Tim come first, maybe–and Bernard comes a few seconds or minutes or hours later, and Tim’s gasping and panting against his neck in a way he doesn’t during the literal end of the world and Bernard’s groaning appreciatively into his mouth as they both fuck up into him through their orgasms, as he rocks down onto the both of them, as they both come inside him–inside him–and all he can do is clench up tight and cling to them and be tight for them and–and–

“Pet,” Tim rasps against his pulse, the hot puff of breath that comes with the word enough to make Kon moan louder than either of them did coming, and takes a hand off his thigh to wrap around his cock again. Kon didn’t notice himself getting hard again. Didn’t notice if he ever actually went soft to begin with.

Either way, it’s still only a stroke or two before he’s coming again, and Tim’s saying something to him, and Kon’s brain’s not there to hear it but his body listens and shakes through its orgasm and slows its rocking hips under Tim’s hands, or maybe Bernard’s, or maybe both of theirs, and stops riding them, and then just feels them both inside it–inside it and just starting to soften, but still just about as deep as they can get like this–and almost sobs about it again. Everything’s buzzing and electric and Kon’s whole head feels like a cloud, or a thundercloud, feels all sparks and electricity and lightning and barely there at all, feels like the perfect stereo-thunder of the complementing heartbeats in his ears, and everything left of him’s gone all soft and all lit-up and all perfectly empty and all perfectly perfect.

And then Tim wraps a hand under his jaw and tugs his face back just far enough to kiss, easy and reflexive and gentle, and everything else in the world just stops existing.

There’s nothing else in the world at all.

Bernard says something, maybe, and Tim definitely says something too, but Kon doesn’t understand a word of any of it. He doesn’t think he can. He’s just this melted, empty, electric buzz, and nothing else. There are hands on his back, he thinks, and arms wrapped around him, and he forgets when it happened but he’s just sort of . . . slumped forward against . . . something, he thinks, or maybe someone, and everything feels like so much, and everything feels so good, and his vision’s all blurry and his skin's all buzzy and his body feels as warm and lit-up and full as the sun makes it feel, and . . .

And there’s nothing else he has to do or be, so he doesn’t, and he isn’t.

He thinks he purrs a little, maybe, or maybe a lot, and he thinks his TTK's maybe gotten away from him a little because he feels like he can just feel everything, and all that everything just feels so good.

So–he thinks he's purring, yeah.

“Fuck, that’s cute,” he thinks he hears, and thinks he hears a soft, affectionate chuckle too. There’s a hand in his hair again, stroking and combing through it, and arms around him still. His eyes are closed, maybe, and his body feels heavy and loose in the best, best way, and his head feels like it could just float away and drift off into the sky. He doesn’t remember how to open his eyes or lift his head or anything like that; doesn’t really remember how to move at all.

It’s fine, he knows from some distant, different place. Tim would tell him how, if he needed him to do it. Of course he would.

Kon thinks he maybe wants to cry again, maybe? Like . . . just a little bit.

Or maybe a lot.

He doesn’t really get it, because he feels really good. He feels so good he thinks he wants to cry about that, maybe. Or maybe something else, but just . . . it feels like it’s about that.

But it feels like it’s about something else too.

The hand in his hair strokes again, and Kon just sinks into it and stops trying to think. It doesn’t matter, whatever he was thinking about. He’s just–here, right now. He’s here, and he feels good, and he was good, and that’s all. If anything else matters, Tim will tell him.

Like–of course he will.

Chapter 6

Kon wakes up all wrapped up in another set of clean sheets and a big thick squishy comforter that he doesn’t remember being on the bed before and with a hand petting absently through his hair. He cracks an eye mostly-open, even though he doesn’t need to do that to know it’s Tim. He can feel him, and he can hear his heartbeat.

It feels nice. And sounds nice. And . . . it’s nice.

Tim’s sitting on the bed next to him, his back against the headboard and a tablet in his lap that he’s doing . . . something on, Kon guesses. Though he’s only doing it one-handed, because the other’s in his hair, doing that absent, reflexive petting.

Kon wonders how long he’s been doing that for.

“Mm?” is about the most coherent question he manages to ask, his eyes and muscles and bones and body all feeling all . . . heavy and warm and sunken-in. He should . . . he needs to . . .

“Stay,” Tim says, and Kon’s head goes effortlessly empty and he just tilts it into Tim’s hand. “Good boy.”

Kon melts.

“Open your mouth,” Tim says. Kon does, obviously, and Tim strokes the hand in his hair down the side of his face and then rubs his thumb across the corner of his mouth. Kon half-wonders what he’s doing, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s Tim. He can do anything he wants to him.

He kind of hopes what Tim wants is to fuck his mouth.

Tim’s still wearing his jacket, he realizes, and then feels even warmer.

Tim slips two fingers into his mouth; pets down his tongue with them both. Kon feels pleasantly hazy, still kind of sleepy and a little bit dreamy, and like, obviously his mouth wouldn’t need prepped to get fucked like his ass would, but the petting does make him feel like maybe Tim is thinking about doing it anyway. He has a sleepy, dreamy flash of a thought about Tim pushing him onto his back and straddling his chest to just lean down over him and slide his dick into his mouth and just use it–use him–however he wanted.

That’s nice too. The thought, Kon means. Though also it’d be nice if Tim actually did–

“Color?” Tim asks as he takes his fingers back, and Kon’s head empties out all over again. He doesn’t have to think about anything; doesn’t have to worry about anything. Tim’s here; Tim’ll tell him if there’s anything to think or worry or even care about.

“Green,” he rasps out quietly, because that’s the only thing he needs to say, and Tim pets the side of his face again. He keeps his mouth open, because Tim didn’t tell him to close it.

Tim smiles at him, slips a couple fingertips under his jaw, and taps it shut.

Kon feels blissed-out and perfect, and he’s vaguely aware that normally he’d probably want something, but right now the only thing he wants is whatever Tim wants.

Just . . . whatever Tim wants. Nothing else matters at all, the way he feels right now.

Tim strokes a hand through his hair again, languid and easy, and Kon purrs about it. It feels good. It feels so good. And he feels . . . warm, he thinks. Warm and nice and good and . . . warm, yeah.

Though something’s–is something . . . missing, or . . . ?

Tim pets his hair again. Kon’s head empties out, and he just exists for a while with Tim’s fingers drawing through his hair over and over again; sometimes rubbing in behind his ear a little, sometimes scratching lightly, sometimes just stroking through or playing with it.

It’s nice.

Tim hums on and off and pets him steadily, time and again, and does whatever he’s doing with the tablet in his lap at the same time. Kon maybe keeps purring, or maybe doesn’t. He feels good. That’s all. He feels good and he’s warm and Tim’s petting him like it’s a reflex, like it’s something he’d just do whenever, any time, and his whole head’s all empty and still and quiet, and he doesn’t have to worry about anything. Doesn’t have a single thing to worry about at all.

He doesn’t get to feel that way all that often.

Or . . . ever, really.

Tim strokes his hair again and again, and again and again, and everything stays warm and syrupy and lazy and perfect, and Kon doesn’t have to leave that feeling at all.

He kind of wishes . . .

“Thanks, babe,” Tim murmurs, and Kon feels–his gut does some confused twist or . . . something, and he doesn’t–did Tim just call him–?

“Well I wasn’t gonna let you do it, you’d have come back with stale cereal and nothing else. There’s not even any frickin’ bread in your sorry excuse for a pantry!” Bernard scoffs teasingly, and then Kon’s eyes blink open with another weird little jolt through his gut and he realizes–Bernard’s not in the bed. Hasn’t been in the bed. He’s not even actually in the bedroom; just standing in the doorway with . . . a tray?

Huh?

“In my defense, the cereal’s only stale because Nightwing’s in outer space and hasn’t been here to eat it,” Tim says, looking amused. “And Red Hood used all my bread making French toast on Monday.”

“Well, you had Tuesday and Wednesday and half of Thursday to get more and clearly even longer to get a new box of cereal, so that’s no excuse,” Bernard huffs, coming over to set the tray he’s carrying on the nightstand. There’s . . . plates on it, which–like, obviously Kon could feel that before he saw it, and he can also smell, like . . . the food on said plates, but he didn’t really . . . register any of that, ‘til he saw Bernard set it down. “Also, excuse me, Red Hood made you French toast? The, again, crime lord? Still that Red Hood?”

“He did not, he made himself and Red Arrow French toast after they used my living room to give each other stitches and disassemble Red Arrow’s arm before it could start sparking again,” Tim replies, even more amused. “Though he did clean up after himself, at least.”

“Oh, well, I'm shit at stitches and also I made waffles, but I am willing to share sooooo I assume that means I win?” Bernard says. “Like, at breakfast, I mean, not at first aid. First aid I definitely do not win at. Also I don’t have a cute matching superhero name to wear with yours either, sorry, that’s my bad.”

“Don't wanna rock a Maid Marian vigilante theme or nurse me back to health, babe?” Tim asks with a laugh. “Wow, I see how it is.”

“Listen, I’m ride-or-die for my pink kryptonite-themed supervillain career until . . . well, maybe the next time we have sex without anyone who's got ‘medical shit’ as one of their hard no’s,” Bernard muses consideringly, then laughs too. “Though that miiiiight be a few days. Weeks. Years. Seriously, your boy is so lucky he’s into pussy because all pillow talk aside I genuinely do believe one dude could just not handle him and that would be incredibly tragic for both said dude and your sexy bestie. Like, seriously, just not a thing that would work out long-term.”

“I mean there's always toys,” Tim says, sounding half-musing, and Kon immediately feels a rush of heat to his face and glances up at him. Tim’s still petting his hair, but isn’t looking at him. Which–it’s Tim, so like, obviously he knows he’s awake and paying attention and all, but . . .

“Babe, you do not actually need to solve this thought problem, you realize,” Bernard says with another laugh. “For one thing, pretty sure it would’ve come up before now if you did?”

“. . . just saying,” Tim mutters. “It’d probably be doable, if the guy planned it right. Or if he was a metahuman with complementary powers, or–well, Tamaranean would probably be best, for obvious reasons, but–”

“Babe,” Bernard says, laughing harder, and Kon tries not to feel weird or insane about the idea of Tim trying to, like–logic out what kind of guy could . . . “handle” him, exactly, or . . .

“I mean Wildfire is a fuckin’ snack, I’m not gonna pretend otherwise,” he says, pushing himself up onto his elbows a little and making a show of making a little shrug. Mostly he does it in self-defense, because if he doesn’t say something he’s gonna have to think about the stuff they’re both saying. “Kara says he kisses like a solar flare, so that’s, like, apparently a thing.”

“Oh, shit, didn’t realize you were up yet,” Bernard says, then looks considering. “Kisses like a solar flare literally, orrrrr . . . ?”

“Very, very literally,” Kon confirms.

“Damn, must be fun to be Kryptonian,” Bernard muses, then gives the tray on the nightstand a quick little tap. “You hungry, man? I mean, Tim’s already explicitly math-ed out the calories we should be feeding you based on a bastardization of your team training sessions and thinks you should be flat-out ravenous by now, apparently, but like, seems polite to ask and all.”

“I mean, I could eat,” Kon says with another little shrug, because he is low-key starving, which like . . . yeah, no surprise Tim knew he would be. Like, Tim is probably more intimately aware of all the little nitty-gritty details of his appetite and dietary needs than, like, even Cadmus ever was.

Though he doesn’t actually know why Tim’s paying that much attention to his calorie intake right now? Like . . . to the point of apparently doing actual math about it, even?

Or, like . . . why there’s three plates on that tray. Because, like, Bernard making Tim a plate makes sense, but they coulda just, like . . . let him grab something for himself, or whatever. Or at least just go to the kitchen and get his own plate, since Bernard bothered making enough to share. Like–same theory as Tim not rigging the Zesti to explode in his face when he steals a can or two out of his fridge. It’s not like he’s never raided Tim’s ridiculous selection of protein bars for breakfast or a midnight snack before, if nothing else. So like–same theory, yeah?

Like . . . why wouldn’t it be?

Bernard is definitely not being serious about the math thing, Kon decides–like, clearly that was just supposed to be a milder version of the kinky fantasies the guy’s been running his mouth about and the joking about wanting a club jacket and, like . . . all that, and he’s just still, like, a little bit slow on the uptake. Just . . . he usually gets a little stupider than usual after he gets Dommed real good, and a little sensitive, sometimes, and a little . . . weird, sometimes. Like getting sick or maybe getting a hangover, if hangovers are, like . . . anything like people’ve described them to him.

Like getting a concussion, maybe?

So–yeah, Kon very much does appreciate not having to go rustle up his own breakfast right now, even if he doesn’t get why Bernard bothered doing it for him, but . . .

But he doesn’t get why Bernard bothered doing it for him, and since he’s a little sensitive and stupid and weird right now, the thought’s kinda stuck in his head, for . . . whatever reason.

“Awesome, then happy breakfast,” Bernard says, clapping his hands together triumphantly, then tilts his head to the side as he makes a face and half-shrugs. “Well, brunch. A very late brunch. Okay, more like . . . linner, at this point. Ew. Ew, pretend I didn't say that. Uh. Lupper? Never mind, that is not an improvement. Actually I think that's worse. Definitely that's worse.”

“Uh–what?” Kon says, blinking at him.

“It’s almost four, dude. As in four PM, since I realize you might be feeling a bit distracted from, like, literally everything about the passage of time,” Bernard clarifies as he half-gestures around the room, and Kon . . . blinks. “You’ve been down. Actually did not realize you weren’t still down when I got in here, to be honest, kinda figured Tim was gonna need to talk you up. Or just feed you, I guess. That would also have worked, I assume.”

“Uh . . . you thought I was asleep?” Kon asks, not really understanding, like–literally anything Bernard just said. Like, the “better-translated for the outside people” thing is currently not a thing.

Or he’s just, like–stupid. Maybe it’s just that.

“No, we thought you were down,” Tim says, shaking his head a little; threading his fingers lightly through Kon’s hair. Kon is obviously not complaining about that, but it’s a little–distracting, maybe. “You’ve been awake for a while now.”

“. . . I have?” Kon asks skeptically, because he does not actually remember being awake for all that much of “a while”. But also, like, that would be a very weird and pointless thing for them to lie to him about. Though it still doesn’t explain–“Then what do you mean, ‘down’?”

“Do you know what subspace and sub drop are?” Tim asks.

“Uh . . . no?” Kon says, then frowns a little as he remembers–“You were talking about me dropping something when I was, like, all out of it before, right? So like–is it something with that?”

“Yes,” Tim says. The way he’s petting Kon’s hair sort of–changes, a little, and Kon gets this weird little thought that it’s suddenly kinda more like Tim’s petting him for himself, more than anything else. Like, as a little–tic, or compulsion, or just something that he’s using to keep his focus on something else. So that’s . . . weird, kinda. Yeah.

Kon doesn’t even know where that thought came from, really, but . . .

He’d like to be something Tim could use for that, he thinks, and bites the inside of his lip as he feels his skin prickle and gut heat over that thought.

“Did you feel different, when you were subbing?” Tim asks carefully. It’s his “assessing my teammate’s psychological condition” voice again, and also pretty obviously an “I know the answer to this question but I don’t know if you know the answer to this question” kind of question.

So that's embarrassing, definitely.

“Yeah,” Kon says, and shrugs a little. “Like–I usually do, when it’s, you know. Good. I just get, uh–a little weird sometimes, I guess? Sorry.”

Tim frowns. Kon bites his tongue before he can say anything too stupid.

“Do you feel . . . mm. Detached? Lightheaded? Or emotional, maybe?” Tim asks, still careful. It is absolutely another “I know but I want to know if you know” question. Like, for absolute friggin’ certain it is. “When it’s–good, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Kon says, because he feels all that and a whole lot of other things besides, when it’s good. And even more when it’s this good, really, including a few things that would be sorta embarrassing to admit to and a few things that would be sorta mortifying to admit to. He doesn’t really know why Tim’s asking any of this, but the guy’s asked him weirder shit for less reason, so it’s whatever. Like–still kind of embarrassing, but whatever. “Um. Is that, like . . . I mean, that happens to me sometimes, yeah. Just didn't know it was like, a thing? You know, like–with a name and all.”

“But you do feel that way?” Tim asks, still just barely frowning. It makes Kon a little bit worried, like maybe it’s a bad thing and he’s–well, it kinda is a bad thing, he guesses. Like . . . definitely not a safe one, even if it makes him feel, like . . .

Well. Safe, he guesses.

“Yeah, I mean–I guess I do?” he says, and shrugs again. It’s a little more awkward this time, maybe, but it feels like a stupid thing to be evasive about or whatever. “I mean, like I said, I just get a little weird and all. Like, I try not to, think I kinda freaked Wonder Girl out once or twice that way. And like, she said it was okay, but . . .”

But he hadn’t felt okay about it. Like–very much he had not felt okay about it. He’d felt like a problem, and like he was being weird and selfish and too fucking much and she was finally gonna get sick of him being too much and–

. . . wait, Kon thinks, and frowns a little himself. He does usually try not to get so, like . . . weird, yeah.

But like . . . did he try not to get weird this time? He doesn’t, like . . . remember, if he really . . .

“You try not to feel like that during the sex, or you try not to feel like that during the aftercare?” Tim asks, which seems like such a bizarre little thing to even bother caring about and kinda makes Kon feel . . . not weird again, but . . . a little . . . lighter, maybe. Like . . . somehow.

He can’t help thinking about how goddamn fucking good Tim is at Domming, and just how quick he and Bernard had both rattled off their hard no’s and safewords and everything at the start, and how neither of them’s forgotten any of his or acted like they were stupid or annoying, and how much they both talk–how much they both talk during the actual sex, even–and how, like . . .

When Tim safeworded earlier it was just a thing, and not a thing. And neither Tim or Bernard’s gotten freaked out by him getting weird or getting . . . weirder, even.

So that’s . . . something that Kon can’t help thinking about right now, for whatever reason.

“Um,” he says, not sure exactly what the fuck he’s feeling about . . . all that shit he can’t help thinking about, he guesses. Just . . . all of that. “Dunno what ‘aftercare’ means either. What’s, uh–that one?”

It’s probably just something else he already does and just didn’t know had an actual name, Kon figures. “Aftercare” he guesses sounds like something he’d do after, like, the typical morning-after walk-of-shame home–okay, the morning-after flight-of-shame, and also he has zero shame either way so it’s whatever–so maybe it’s something about dealing with the kinda, like–hangover kinda thing that he gets, usually, or just the hangover thing itself, even, maybe that’s a thing that actually isn’t just–

“That's the part where everyone checks in with each other and makes sure no one's upset,” Tim says, and Kon . . . blinks, very slowly.

The–what?

“Uh . . . upset about what?” he asks, and belatedly tries to make the question jokey by adding, “I mean, I’m definitely upset your dick’s not in me right now, but that’s just me being a greedy fuck, you know?”

“Ngh,” Tim mutters under his breath, his fingers very briefly tightening in Kon’s hair, and then lets out a doors-blowing exhalation. “Upset about how the scene went. Sometimes people talk about what they liked and what they might want to do differently next time; sometimes it's just making sure everyone's comfortable and gets some food and water in them before they fall asleep and wake up feeling gross later.”

Kon–blinks, again. Remembers Tim coaxing him into drinking the water bottle and feeding him the protein bar bite by bite and not even like a come-on, and even kind of the thing with bringing him the candy, and–well, and there’s that third plate of breakfast on that tray, too. Like . . . that Bernard brought to him.

Oh, he thinks, and feels . . . weird.

“It usually involves taking care of the sub for a little while–like if they need some time to come up or if the Dom needs something to calm themselves down doing, for example–but there’s other ways and reasons to do it,” Tim says, stroking his hair just a little bit more carefully as Kon once again tries and fails to figure out what the fuck he’s feeling right now. “That’s just what most people think of first when it comes up. But it’s really just doing something to make it easier for everyone to settle down and level out and check in on each other, basically.”

Tim’s been petting him all this time, Kon realizes, biting the inside of his lip again.

And then he realizes–Tim’s also been the only one talking to him about this. Like, it’s mostly the “polite intel-collecting/light interrogation” kind of talking–which is a very Tim way to be talking in bed, of all the fucking places, but is also, like . . . a very deliberate way to be talking. And again, it’s very definitely just Tim who’s doing it.

So, like–Tim thinks this is something to be careful about talking about, and apparently so does Bernard, given how much the guy’s had to say otherwise.

. . . weird, Kon thinks, ducking his head just enough to hide his mouth against his folded forearms as he bites his lip outright, and doesn’t know how he feels about that either. He thinks maybe Tim and Bernard are trying to do the whole “gentle” thing again for whatever reason, even though they’re not even actually fucking around right now. Like . . . like just being in bed together at all is reason enough to do it, or something. Like it’s just–like it matters enough to keep doing it either way. Just because they told him they would, or just because . . .

Kon knows exactly how he feels about that, but that’d be a whole hell of a lot more than just “mortifying” to admit.

“Um . . . sorry,” he says, half-worrying about what Tim means by needing to calm himself down. The times he’s tried to Dom had all made him feel anxious and nervy and filled his head up with even more useless circling thoughts than usual, so like . . . does that happen to Tim too? It hadn’t seemed like it was, but . . . “Should I be, like–doing something for you, you mean? Because I can–”

A flash of stress flickers across Tim’s face, and Kon cuts himself off and feels a little–stupid, maybe, like he’s said something wrong or just messed up something obvious or . . .

He bites his lip harder and a weird little–reflex, almost, has him glancing towards Bernard for . . . he’s not even sure why, just . . . Bernard would know what Tim needs right now, wouldn’t he? Like–he’d have to, right?

Bernard’s still just standing by the nightstand and the breakfast tray, but the moment Kon looks at him he gives an easy shrug, scoops up the middle plate, and manages to neatly deposit it in Tim’s lap even as he lays down on the other side of him, stretched out on his own stomach and propped up on his elbows. Kon feels–something, kind of, and thinks about how that puts them both kinda . . . just puts them both parallel to each other, kinda. Just . . . mirrored, a little, both lying on either side of Tim’s legs while he’s still sitting back against the headboard.

That’s . . . kinda something Kon feels something about, he thinks, but it’s another one of those “something”s he can’t seem to really pin down, because everything he thinks it’s making him feel is, like . . . not actually something that makes sense for him to be feeling.

Kryptonite, he remembers abruptly. Right. So like . . . that. That’s probably . . . why he thinks he’s feeling . . . that kind of thing. Like–how Kara was saying, and all.

Right?

“Yes, you should be lying right there and letting Tim fuss over you for a while,” Bernard informs him matter-of-factly, crossing his ankles behind himself and resting his chin in one hand. “He likes doing the fussing. Though personally post-subbing is literally the only time I don’t wanna cuddle, I just wanna eat the fridge and pass the fuck out on the couch, so it’s really always been an unfortunate waste of the opportunity for me and also, like, not Tim’s favorite way to spend a scene’s afterglow either.”

“Oh,” Kon says, mildly bemused by the idea of going off to pass out on the couch after subbing instead of taking the chance to cuddle up with someone who was feeling like indulging in some afterglow time and wanted company for it. Like–wanting to pass out on the couch, at least. Like, that is just very much not how he feels after subbing, is all.

But, well . . . if that’s all Tim needs him to be doing . . . like, it’s not exactly an imposition or anything.

“Seriously?” he asks anyway, feeling like he must be–he doesn’t know, like he’s gotta be missing something or something. It just . . . doesn’t seem like much to be doing, he guesses. “Just . . . the fussing?”

“Seriously,” Bernard confirms with a nod without bothering to lift his chin from his hand. “Tim literally always wants to do the fussing. Like he is definitely the ‘needs to calm down’ guy, and also the ‘subtly make sure he didn’t accidentally hurt or upset you when you were too high on endorphins to communicate it’ guy.”

“Yeah, sounds like Tim,” Kon says, lifting his own head a little more again just to spare Tim a wry look. “‘Aw shit, that went way too well, lemme get all Bat-paranoia up in here and overanalyze the whole thing’.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Tim says, looking a little wry himself, and Kon–like, yeah, he’s teasing the guy about it, because when would he not take the opportunity to give Tim shit in any given situation, up to and including during apocalypses and on Apokolips. So obviously he’s teasing him about it. But also, he still definitely feels some shit about the fact that Tim would bother worrying about him like that. Like–just the whole “gentle” thing again, he guesses.

It’s just . . . not something he needs, and obviously Tim knows that, because a) virtually invulnerable outside of incredibly specialized circumstances and b) they’re literally just fucking around for the weekend, it’s not like they’re doing anything serious or whatever. So the fact that Tim’s bothering to do it anyway is just . . . yeah.

He just–doesn’t have to, is all. He doesn’t have to, but he still is.

Still is, and still told his boyfriend to.

“You really are a total fucking Bat, man, but hell if I'm gonna complain about scorin’ some free attention,” Kon tells Tim with a teasing smirk, and gets a wry smirk in return. Even if “getting attention” wasn’t half the foundation of his core personality, getting Tim’s attention would still be a goddamn treat, any time. Like–it always is, seriously. So yeah, Kon is in no way above indulging in a little extra of it. As far as doing something for Tim, it’s basically the easiest thing the guy could possibly ask for.

Hell, normally Kon’d say it was the best thing the guy could possibly ask for, but given the radioactive gay space rock that is currently influencing his preferred flavor of his favorite pastime, any current contenders for the “best” thing Tim could possibly ask for would definitely need the other’s dick to get involved again.

Like. To the fucking hilt levels of involved, specifically.

Definitely to the fucking hilt.

“Jesus, that noise is godsdamn adorable,” Bernard mutters under his breath, which is the only reason Kon notices himself purring again, which–oh. That wasn’t, like . . . on purpose or anything. Generally he tries to avoid any of the “don’t sound entirely human” vocal tics, though admittedly he probably does purr the most. Just, like . . . usually he decides to let himself do it, is all.

Possibly those “to the fucking hilt” thoughts kinda influenced that, maybe.

“Vegas party favors don’t do ‘adorable’, man,” he hums around another purr, because . . . well, Bernard seems like he’s kinda into it, or at least doesn’t mind it, so it’s not like he’s gotta, like–stop, or whatever. And Tim’s heard him do it before and not gotten weirded-out either, so . . . it’s whatever, yeah. No big deal or anything.

Anyway, it feels nice to, sometimes. Especially when he feels like this does it feel nice to. And, like, extra-especially when Tim’s still petting his hair for it.

It’s just, like–been a little while, maybe, since he had a reason like this to do it.

“I think I can literally feel the bed vibrating a little,” Bernard says, looking low-key delighted about it. “Definitely tell me how I earn this level of purring while TTK-cuddling, because that is very much my new goal for this long weekend.”

“Mmm, s’secret lore, man,” Kon hums, letting his eyes close as he settles in a little heavier against the bed with a pleased little buzzing feeling in his gut and along his skin. It’s just–nice, is all. “Y’gotta grind enough hours to level up and earn it.”

“I will grind on you for all the hours that my standard-build-human stamina can handle and Konami code your ass if I gotta,” Bernard swears, and Kon laughs into his arms. Why is this dude so funny, Jesus.

“That sounds kinda fun, what’d that involve?” he muses speculatively.

“Some very specific and very decisive button-smashing, pretty much,” Bernard says, and Kon laughs again. “Maybe some converter cables and a rumble controller.”

Kon sniggers. Goddammit, the bastard really is so funny, what the fuck.

“Figure the gay space rock’s already done plenty of converting, but if you really wanna plug something in . . .” he hums, making a point of stretching out a bit more against the mattress, and accidentally purrs a little deeper without meaning to.

“Desperately, yes,” Bernard says, sounding very feeling about it. So like, that’s another nice little bit of flattery. “Hey babe, how long do I have to wait to plug and play with your bestie? Like, ballpark it for us.”

“Maybe eat breakfast first?” Tim suggests wryly. “I hear the chef makes pretty good waffles.”

“Honestly they’re pretty mid compared to the cake that’s currently taking up a truly impressive amount of real estate in this bed,” Bernard replies frankly, making a point of reaching across Tim’s legs to grab Kon’s ass and give it an appreciative jiggle as he says “cake”, and Kon laughs helplessly into his arms. But, like–also tilts his ass up into said hand, obviously. Like, just a little. Bernard’s nice enough to give it an appreciative squeeze in response to that, so Kon figures that’s a win. “On that note, Tim, your bed is just not worthy of this long weekend, you really should upgrade. Like, no rush or anything, just maybe by Valentine’s Day. Your birthday at the latest.”

At this rate, Kon isn’t gonna manage to stop laughing long enough to eat a single damn waffle, no matter how good Tim says they are.

“Oh, should I? In all the spare space I’ve got in here?” Tim asks as he tilts his head towards the rest of the bedroom, still sounding wry.

“Buy a bigger boat, babe, I don’t know what to tell you,” Bernard says reasonably. “How’re we gonna keep a kept boy without a bigger boat, huh? You wanna have a big pet around, you gotta have a big space for him. Give him the room to really stretch his legs, you know? Or spread ‘em, whichever.”

Kon buries another laugh in his arms and Tim rolls his eyes, smiling fondly. And like, jokes aside, they really are crammed in pretty tight on the bed–it is just not that big a bed to be fitting three people in–but Kon minds literally nothing about that. Not even a little bit does he mind that, in fact.

He likes it, more like. Likes being all up in someone else’s space even without anyone actually fucking each other or even making out or like–just, anything, he guesses. He doesn’t get to do that often enough, it always feels like. Everybody’s always–busy, or moving, or . . .

He just wants to, like . . . get to do this kind of thing more often, he guesses.

Doesn’t hurt that it’s Tim whose space he’s currently all up in, either. Like–he has definitely not gotten to be all up in Tim’s space too many times that weren’t directly related to one of them saving each other’s ass in a crisis situation. Or, like, occasionally being transportation to a crisis situation; that has also been a thing more than once.

. . . actually, fuck, thinking too much about being Tim’s usual designated transportation or just being all shoved up in each other’s space with the whole stupid shitty world trying to end while he’s gay is not something Kon is gonna be able to be normal about, huh.

Like . . . wow, yeah. Not even a little bit normal. Jesus.

He might need to revisit some of those thoughts later, Kon privately reflects. Though like, un-visiting them might be harder, considering.

“Oh, I see, so this is just another excuse to try and get me to trade in my perfectly functional and perfectly-outfitted boat,” Tim says, which at least kinda distracts Kon from his brain’s own personal Chernobyl: Horny Edition. Like . . . sorta, anyway. “Is there literally anything that we have not managed to do in this bed? Genuinely, please tell me what position you have in mind, I’m honestly curious.”

“Well, what about letting your boy sleep at the foot of it?” Bernard asks even more reasonably, which actually just made Chernobyl: Horny Edition like, twelve billion times worse, probably. Just–Jesus, again, Kon thinks fervently. “You think you’ve got the real estate for that on this mattress? No you do not, because you’ve failed to plan ahead and you should be ashamed.”

“Yeah, Rob, shouldn’t you have a Bat-contingency plan for that?” Kon teases past more laughter and the nice warm buzz that’s prickling under his skin again, and Tim just sighs.

“You know, I kinda worried if you two’d get along with each other or not, but I think it’s worse that you do get along with each other,” he muses, picking a peach slice up off the plate in his lap and eyeing it assessingly, because Tim is literally incapable of not assessing things, apparently, boyfriend-delivered breakfast or otherwise. “Actually, no, scratch that: it’s worse that you encourage each other.”

“I’m a very encouraging person, man, what can I say?” Kon says, flashing him a sharp grin. Tim rolls his eyes again, but with that little fond smile again, and Kon feels warm and heady and a little bit desperate to get his mouth on his cock again or to, like–get kissed again, maybe.

It’s maybe a little stupid, how he can’t really tell the difference between those things. Like–which one he really wants, he means. But like, in his defense, he is still experiencing his own personal Chernobyl right now and he’s just doing his best with the resources he’s got available, okay?

“Oh absolutely, yes, I’m always so encouraged in your presence,” Tim says wryly. Kon grins at him, then sticks his tongue out at him instead. Tim drops the peach slice on his tongue like a total fucking weirdo, and Kon represses another laugh and pulls it into his mouth. What, it tastes good. And it’s not any weirder than getting hand-fed a protein bar was, either way.

Well–maybe still a little weird, but whatever.

Tim picks up a piece of waffle–Bernard cut them up in quarters, Kon guesses–and holds that out to him, and that . . . that Kon hesitates a bit over, because . . .

“Sorry,” Tim says. “Don’t want it to get cold.”

“That’s, like–your plate, man,” Kon says, his face feeling a little hot as he flicks his eyes up from the offered chunk of waffle to glance at Tim’s face, because for some ridiculous reason his brain’s gotten stuck on that fact over a friggin’ waffle, even after not even thinking of it with just the peach. Though that seemed . . . less deliberate, maybe, so . . .

“No it’s not,” Bernard replies matter-of-factly, shaking his head as he picks up a banana slice off his own plate and pops it into his mouth. “Tim’s plate has way fewer waffles on it and blueberries instead of peaches. Also oh my god, Tim, don’t just feed your boy a dry-ass waffle with nothing on it. There’s whipped cream and caramel sauce over here, you want any, Kon? Also butter, if you’re feeling basic. I won’t judge, sometimes the vibe is just butter.”

Kon takes a long moment to process the fact that Bernard put the plate he made for him on Tim’s lap, and also the fact that Bernard went to the effort to make his plate different, for like . . . whatever reason.

“. . . um. Caramel, if that’s cool,” he answers maybe a beat or two late, wondering if Tim, like–told Bernard that he likes peaches, or . . . well, he’s pretty sure peaches and caramel sauce aren’t really standard waffle toppings, or at least not standard in most people’s usual breakfast setups, so like . . . “Uh–thanks.”

“Gotcha, man,” Bernard says easily, reaching over to the tray and coming back with, weirdly, like a little, like–carafe, or whatever? pitcher? like the kind of thing people put coffee creamer in, except just full of caramel instead–and passing it to Tim. Which . . . okay, low-key weird that Bernard felt the need to pour out the sauce bottle into a fancy little pitcher, but Kon isn’t gonna lie, he’s a little charmed by it. Like, it’s just a funny little quirk and honestly probably the kind of thing Ma’d do to make the table look all nice or whatever, but . . .

“You’re so fucking cute, man,” he says, laughing again and then grinning at Bernard in amusement. “Like, A+ hosting job, don’t get me wrong, totally killer hospitality, but I wasn’t gonna knock down Tim’s Yelp rating if the bottle was sticky or whatever.”

“Huh?” Bernard asks, wrinkling his nose with a puzzled expression, then seems to realize something and clarifies–“Oh, naw, dude, Tim only has the shitty cheap syrup that makes a shell when you put it on ice cream or whatever. I wasn’t gonna put that shit on waffles, so I just made this instead.”

“You made it?” Kon says in bemusement, a little startled by the idea. That’s like–a thing? “Like–what, from scratch?”

“Yeah, Tim said you liked caramel but again, the only caramel he had on deck was the shitty cheap stuff,” Bernard replies with a shrug as Tim pours some sauce onto–Kon’s plate, apparently–and swipes the waffle quarter he’s holding through it. “Personally I’m more the whipped cream type but like, caramel is way less annoying to make from scratch than that when you don’t have a stand mixer, which your bestie continues to refuse to invest in because of some nonsense about ‘limited counter space’. So like, normally he whips the cream, because it’s his fault I gotta do it by hand anyway and also, you know, he’s got all those sexy cream-whipping vigilante muscles that I was pretending not to notice as being statistically unlikely for a civilian who doesn’t work out that much to have but was not above taking advantage of the statistical unlikeliness of. But we didn’t want you to come up without somebody around, so today my arm is sore, fuck you, babe, buy at least a hand mixer already.”

Kon . . . blinks, once or twice, and feels–weird, maybe, because maybe he heard it wrong or whatever, but that rattled-off chatter made it sound like . . . like Bernard made that sauce, like–specifically for him? Like . . . just because of him?

Did he?

Tim takes the obvious opportunity that Bernard chattering and Kon being a little bit dumbstruck gives him–because like, of fucking course he does, he’s a Bat–and offers Kon the caramel-dipped waffle quarter again, and Kon, like . . . okay, well fucking obviously he’s gonna eat it, Bernard made the damn caramel from scratch and Tim is offering it to him. Like, there is not a world in which he does not eat that.

He takes a bite, mostly distracted by what Bernard’s going on about with whipped cream and hand mixers and whatever and idly having some related kinky thoughts because, like, in his defense, whipped cream, and then forgets completely about what Bernard’s going on about with . . . whatever Bernard’s going on about.

“Oh my god what did you put in this,” Kon blurts, half-covering his mouth with a hand before he accidentally spits out any waffle crumbs and staring at Bernard for a moment. Like, the waffle is warm and basically the perfect mix between outside crunch and inside fluff, and also, bullshit, how was Bernard even implying this might be fucking dry, but also-also it tastes like–what the fuck is in this, seriously, is there sex pollen in this or something? Do Gothamites put sex pollen in their waffles, is that a thing?

. . . like, if anybody would . . .

“Oh, it’s actually basically my banana bread recipe, so . . . banana? Like a significant amount of banana, and then some sour cream, and a little cinnamon, brown sugar, and vanilla,” Bernard ticks off, gesturing with a waffle chunk of his own before spooning some whipped cream onto it. Because Bernard apparently just made . . . everything on this breakfast tray from scratch, okay. Like . . . yeah. Okay then. “And also there’s some chocolate chips and chopped pecans folded in there, because like, literally what is not better with chocolate, seriously. Admittedly I don’t actually know how good it is with peaches, haven’t tried that one before, but I figure at least the caramel should be good.”

Kon stares blankly at the dude and resists the instinctive marriage proposal currently warring with his natural “kept boy” instincts, then just takes another bite of waffle when Tim offers it. It keeps tasting, like, fucking delicious, and also now he can break down “fucking delicious” in a little bit more detail than, like . . . just “fucking delicious”, basically.

. . . will Ma kill him if he asks another cook for their waffle recipe? Is that a thing he might have to worry about?

. . . . . . could be worth it, honestly. And she might let him live if he shares.

“Do you, like, cook a lot, or . . . ?” he asks, half-trailing off when Tim feeds him more fucking deliciousness, which is in his defense pretty distracting. Like–Jesus, how did Bernard get an alleged banana bread recipe to make waffles this fluffy? Like, what fucking witchcraft was involved in that one?

“Constantly and all the time and nowhere near as much as I wanna, so honestly the excuse to make an extra sauce was kinda nice, not gonna lie, it’s very relaxing,” Bernard replies frankly, stacking up some banana slices on his waffle chunk and then making himself a little waffle sandwich to stuff into his mouth effectively whole. The little waffle sandwich is weirdly adorable. Like, to the degree Kon would probably find it adorable even if he weren’t high on pink kryptonite right now, but like, maybe that’s the banana bread waffles’ fault. “Well, actually caramel is low-key the devil because you cannot ever take your eyes off it ever without it burning to shit and ruining your godsdamn pot, but it’s not like I didn’t have time to baby it so it’s whatever. Why, do you cook?”

“Um . . . naw, just I help, um . . . well, there’s, like–I help bake, a little?” Kon replies hesitantly. Which, like, is mostly just him fetching shit and kneading stuff for Ma so her arthritis doesn’t act up as a dumb little excuse to, like, hang around the kitchen and living room area while she and Pa are down there, sometimes, but . . . technically it counts, he guesses? Like, technically?

Bernard perks up, like–instantly at hearing that, though, and to a really surprising amount, which is a little weird. Kon isn’t sure what that’s about, exactly?

“Oh, so the most evil culinary art then, wow,” Bernard says, sounding impressed. Which is definitely not what he actually is, unless Kon has somehow given him a very incorrect impression of his baking skills, but still feels a little flustering to hear in relation to, like, something besides being good in bed. Like, just given the nature of this particular long weekend and all.

“Uh–what?” Kon asks, trying to figure out what Bernard’s actually talking about here, and Bernard starts making himself another little banana/whipped cream waffle sandwich with an easy little shrug.

“You know, like how the first rule of cooking is have fun and be yourself and the first rule of baking is stay calm because the dough can smell fear, is what I mean,” he replies reasonably.

“I mean it’s not that hard, honestly, I can kinda like, just feel when it’s baked enough without having to open the oven and let all the heat out, so . . .” Kon shrugs himself, feeling a little awkward about it. Like–it’s kinda cheaty, honestly. “Or like, proofed or whatever, depending.”

“I hate you, come work at the restaurant I’m gonna open when I’m thirty-two, you can make all our bread in-house,” Bernard says very feelingly, and Kon forgets the awkward feeling to start snickering, because this dude is ridiculous, and still funny as fuck on top of that.

“I literally just help out, man,” he says. “I am at best the actual baker’s errand boy.”

“You just told me you can feel when the bread’s risen enough, you bastard, I am gonna press-gang you into this restaurant if I have to,” Bernard retorts huffily, then pauses, looks speculative, and asks: “Does that work on souffle, actually?”

“I mean, I guess it would?” Kon replies with a frown, tilting his head a little. “Never tried, but–”

“Hey Tim, I’m press-ganging your boy, so good news, you won’t have to deal with me ranting about how much I hate my pastry chef every morning over coffee when we’re thirty-two,” Bernard informs Tim casually, and Tim’s mouth quirks in amusement and Kon just laughs helplessly again.

“Oh my god, dude, I am the last person you wanna get to make pastry, much less restaurant pastry,” he says, still laughing. “Like even if it tasted okay, it’d look like shit.”

“I don’t know, your presentation skills would be pretty good, I’d think,” Tim says reasonably, which totally derails Kon’s cracking up. “You’re pretty artistic when you want to be. And definitely creative, and good with your hands on top of that. And just as good with your TTK, obviously.”

Kon feels briefly startled–like, startled enough to not even make a sex joke about the “good with your hands” comment–because he like . . . basically never does anything that’d really count as “artistic”, as far as he’s concerned, and he’s really only “creative” in terms of coming up with creative new ways to curbstomp bad guys or whatever, not . . .

He bites the rest of the waffle quarter out of Tim’s hand, mostly to give himself a second to process all the weird things he’s feeling about Tim saying something like that–about Tim thinking something like that–and then has some more weird feelings when Tim swipes the pad of his thumb across the corner of his mouth to get up a smudge of caramel and then taps it lightly against his lips to like . . . invite or offer, maybe, Kon’s not sure which.

Though like, obviously he licks it clean either way.

“Ohhhhh, hey, so how delicate does the TTK get?” Bernard asks, his eyes gleaming.

“Uh–I mean, borderline atomic-level, depending?” Kon replies, a little bewildered still. “But like, that’s kinda an adrenaline-fueled apocalyptic sitch kinda thing, so mostly just . . . I dunno, tweezers? Mini-screwdriver? Somewhere in there?”

“Okay, so when every single fine dining establishment in Gotham tries to poach you from me, I need you to remember how much you liked my dick when you were gay and pay that favor back by not accepting their disgusting amounts of money and prestige,” Bernard says, and Kon can’t help laughing again, or feeling, like–kind of warm, again. Like, kind of in the horny way, but also kinda . . . not, maybe.

Seriously, it’s so weird how much hanging out with this dude feels like getting a crush on a girl he’s just met. Like–very, very much so. Increasingly much so, at this point.

“I dunno, man, unless your fine dining establishment has a pink K chandelier . . .” he counters teasingly, and Bernard looks straight-up delighted by that idea, or at least by getting a “yes and” kind of answer. Kon really does not know how he could not give him “yes and”, as an answer.

“Ooo, I bet that lighting would be sick, very romantic ambiance for the customer base,” Bernard says with a grin. “What do you think, I could do my supervillain career in Metropolis and then retire to Gotham with all my ill-gotten gains and invest in a chandelier or twelve. You totally wanna get fucked after-hours on my prep counter under flattering rosy lighting, right?”

“Come on, man, I look good in any lighting,” Kon scoffs, making a show of preening. “Or on any counter, as a matter of fact.”

“Valid,” Bernard agrees with a sage nod, and Kon feels a totally ridiculous level of heat on his face and in his gut but grins at him again anyway. Like–whatever, it’s the kryptonite; doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the ride.

“Yeah, I’m sure the health department would love that, you two,” Tim says wryly, the corner of his mouth ticking up in amusement.

“Oh my god, Tim, like we wouldn’t clean up after,” Bernard huffs, making a show of rolling his eyes. “Like I don’t know basic food safety standards. But fiiiiine, I’ll put in a special counter just for fucking your boy on when I’m doing the initial remodel, would that make you feel better?”

“You designing your future professional kitchen with a specific place reserved to have sex with my best friend in it?” Tim asks, tilting his head slightly with a briefly speculative expression.

“Yes, obviously,” Bernard says.

“If you made sure the security cameras’d have a good view, I guess,” Tim allows.

“Why would I need to, look at him, the cameras will be magnetically attracted to him,” Bernard scoffs, and Kon feels sort of–flustered, maybe, and flushed, and kinda–flattered, almost? Just . . . something about that particular sex fantasy is . . .

Like, it’s just–it's still just a jokey fantasy, yeah, but it's one that sounds like, like . . . like an actual plan would, almost. Like, obviously still just a joke, but . . . he doesn’t know, just a more flattering joke, somehow. Kinda. Also, if he’s really thinking about it . . . well, obviously there’s sex in it, but it’s really less a sex fantasy than it is just, like . . .

Well. Just . . . a fantasy, Kon guesses. Like . . . like they’ll all just still know each other in their thirties and know each other well enough to wanna hang out that much and . . .

Just–yeah. So it’s a little more flattering, kinda. Like, as a fantasy and all.

It is also making it real fuckin’ hard to concentrate on breakfast, under the circumstances.

Tim offers him another slice of peach, and Kon bites his lip and glances up at his face again.

“Rob, man, yours is gonna get cold,” he points out.

“Really not worried about it,” Tim says, which is sort of hard to argue with.

“But–” Kon starts reflexively anyway, and Tim taps the peach slice against his lower lip.

“Eat your breakfast like a good boy, and I'll give you something good while I eat mine,” he says, and Kon’s brain fritzes out completely and his gut goes absolutely molten. “Open up.”

Kon doesn’t even take a moment to actually say anything or even nod, just immediately opens his mouth. Tim smiles down at him soft enough to really fry his brain and sets the peach slice on his tongue.

There’s some caramel sauce on it, and Kon flashes back to Tim doing the same thing to him with the candy with his own damn come on it and kind of, like, spontaneously combusts or explodes into a supernova or just melts down into caramel himself. Tim taps his mouth shut with two fingers under his jaw, and Kon just about fucking swoons over it.

So–yeah, he is definitely not gonna be arguing about the temperature of anybody’s breakfast right now.

Tim feeds him bite by bite out of his hand and off the plate in his lap, and like–it really is fucking good. Kon barely even manages to get his brain together enough to make a point of flirtily licking the caramel off the other’s fingers a couple times in there, and honestly only manages to get his brain together enough to manage it a couple times. Like–that’s about it, yeah.

Though then Tim just slips his fingers into his mouth for him himself, so like, that’s not a big deal or anything.

“Jesus, babe,” Bernard says, sounding maybe-impressed again for, like . . . some reason, Kon guesses? He’s a little too distracted by the way Tim’s currently petting down the length of his tongue with the caramel-sticky pads of his middle and ring fingers and the process of, like, gently boiling into a syrup about it.

“Hm?” Tim says. Kon feels way too warm to really pay attention to what they’re talking about. The little brushes of Tim’s fingers against his tongue and face and the sugar-sweet taste they keep leaving in his mouth are really the only thing he can make himself care about right now.

“Oh, nothing,” Bernard laughs, his voice a little heated. Kon decides he can care about that, maybe; maybe he can care about that. Bernard’s voice sounds really nice, when it gets all heated like that. “You two remain ridiculously hot and ridiculously good at this, even over fucking waffles.”

“They’re pretty good waffles,” Tim replies with a light, casual little shrug, and drags the pad of his thumb down the center of Kon’s bottom lip. “You like them, don’t you, Kon?”

“Yeah,” Kon mumbles maybe a little bit drunkenly, because he likes absolutely everything right now. But like, also the waffles are objectively fucking delicious. Like–seriously delicious.

Which like–so is the situation, so no surprise there.

“Good boy,” Tim says, curling his fingers under his jaw, and Kon melts. “Open up.”

Kon does, obviously, and gets another caramel-sticky peach slice set on his tongue for it.

And thinks about the candy again. Obviously.

Tim feeds him the whole damn plate bite by bite, and Kon melts into an increasing mess about it, and his gut gets warmer and warmer and his head feels lighter and lighter, and he can hear Tim and Bernard talking to each other about something through the quiet buzz vibrating under his skin and inside his ears, and it’s just so damn good. Just–all of it. Really, really good. The caramel is sweet and Tim’s voice is steady and Kon doesn’t have to do anything but what he’s been told to do; anything but what Tim’s told him to do. What Tim wants him to do, to earn that “something good”. To deserve it.

Tim pets him, once or twice. Like a reflex.

Kon buzzes away into liquid or melts into something electric, and doesn’t hear a single word ‘til there’s a hand cupping his jaw and tugging his face up to kiss and Tim’s murmuring that single word against his mouth.

“Color?” he asks, and Kon feels perfect.

“Green,” he breathes, and gets kissed again. Heat thrills up his spine and coils in his gut and spreads through his bones and sparks along his nerves, and Tim’s fingers curl under his jaw again, and this is something Kon really, really wishes he could put in his folder of things to look at when the world sucks.

He’d wanna frame it, if he could.

Tim leans back from the kiss, or guides Kon back from it, and sets the empty plate aside on the nightstand. Drops a kiss against his hair. Kon feels buzzy warmth and heady electricity and want.

“Good boy,” Tim murmurs into his hair, and Kon is just lit-up electric warmth and the lingering taste of sticky-sweet sugar and whatever Tim’s about to tell him to do, and nothing else at all. He doesn’t know if he’s ever felt this good in his whole stupid life, even once. “Open up.”

Kon opens up, obviously. Tim keeps his fingers curled in under his jaw, and Kon’s vaguely aware of him–shifting, just slightly, but there’s nothing else his senses are paying any attention to; not even anything else his TTK is paying any attention to. Tim told him to open his mouth, so his mouth is open. Tim’s fingers are curled under his jaw and Tim’s breath is soft and warm against his hair and nothing else exists; nothing else is happening at all.

Not until Tim shifts his grip on his jaw just enough to tug it down and Kon’s brain reengages just enough to catch a flash of Tim’s open jeans and other hand wrapped around his latex-wrapped cock, anyway.

Kon has literally no idea when the bastard even got his dick out, much less got a damn condom on it, but he does not even slightly care about whatever weird Bat-trick got that done without him noticing a thing. All he cares about is finally getting permission to get at it again himself.

The condom’s pink again, too, and if Tim didn’t fucking do that on fucking purpose, Kon’s a fucking Arrow.

It makes him feel a lot of things, the idea that Tim’d do something like that on purpose.

Tim guides him down with just the hand on his jaw and Kon has a mostly-controlled collapse face-first into the other’s lap under that hand and nothing else, and gets a completely fucking blissful mouthful of cock for it. Just–that is legit the only way his buzzy, hazy brain can describe it, or even wants to describe it: just blissful.

Tim’s letting him have it, so–yeah, why would it be anything else?

“Good boy,” Tim says, light and casual and like the doors are about to blow in. “You can keep that ‘til I’m done eating.”

Then he pets Kon’s hair again, and does it deliberately, and not like a reflex at all.

Kon melts like goddamn butter, and Tim draws his fingers through his hair twice, long and slow, and then reaches over to the nightstand with his free hand to pick up a fork off the tray and stick it in one of the waffle quarters waiting on his neglected plate. He keeps petting through Kon’s hair with the other hand, and Kon kind of just . . .

If Tim’s going to keep petting him like that, Kon doesn’t wanna do anything that’d make Tim stop petting him like that, so he just sort of . . . settles in, and rolls his tongue up flat and tight against the other’s cock and does the best he can to shift into the right angle to slide the shaft as far into his throat as he can, and only has to use his TTK a little for it. Just–takes as much of Tim as he can, but doesn’t try to bob his head or leave Tim the space to fuck his mouth, really. Just . . . takes him.

Technically, Kon could literally pin a baseline human down like this. Like, even without the TTK, he’s more than strong enough to pin any baseline human like this. And Tim said he could keep his cock ‘til he was done eating, so Kon definitely wants to get to keep it that long. He wants to have it as long as Tim’ll let him have it.

So until Tim tells him otherwise, he’s just . . . gonna do that, yeah, Kon thinks in a heady, hazy buzz, and then snakes an arm around between the headboard and the small of Tim’s back and makes sure he’s pinned right there, and swallows slow and tight around his cock without giving him any space to pull away.

Tim hums; scritches his nails against his scalp and takes a bite of waffle. Kon is melted butter. Kon is melted everything. Kon has a throatful of Tim’s cock, and Tim’s letting him have it.

Tim wants him to have it, because Kon was good enough to deserve it.

“You know, babe, for some reason I feel like you’re not gonna be appreciating those waffles like you could be right now,” Bernard teases with a snicker. “Though I’m impressed with your restraint on not pouring caramel in your lap before you poured your boy into it, because I would not have been able to resist that particular temptation myself.”

“The temptation of having to scrub caramel sauce out of my pubes later, you mean?” Tim asks dryly.

“I mean, the dude did ask about flavored condoms,” Bernard reminds him reasonably. “So I think finding out what he’d think of getting to try one would be worth it, personally?”

“. . . ngh,” Tim mutters very, very quietly, his fingers curling briefly in Kon’s hair. Kon maybe purrs about it. Like . . . just a little, probably, but . . . definitely he purrs about it, yeah.

And maybe also a little bit about the caramel idea, he’s not gonna lie.

“Jesus,” Bernard says under his breath. “Do I even wanna know what that feels like around your dick?”

“Like I’ve got an overclocked and overheated Sybian in my lap,” Tim replies frankly, then takes a real careful bite of his waffle and draws his fingers through Kon’s hair again just as careful. Kon’s not really sure why Tim feels like being careful about that? Like . . . why that’s a thing, he means?

Maybe he’s just still doing the gentle thing, Kon guesses, and feels warm about the thought. And about the hand in his hair, and the cock in his mouth–the cock down his throat–and the way it feels to hold Tim like this, when Tim knows exactly how easily he could snap his spine or crush his pelvis with a completely effortless or even accidental squeeze. Tim knows that better than anyone, after that fucking awful–after he broke his arm, and–

Kon’s gut twists uncomfortably at the memory, and then Tim draws his fingers through his hair a little heavier, and Kon just–he just sinks into that feeling, and not the shitty thoughts that’re trying to drag him down into them instead. That’s–that isn’t what Tim would want, he knows. Definitely isn’t what Tim would want right now.

Tim knows better than anyone how much he could hurt him, and he still wants him here. That’s the only thing that matters, far as Kon gives a fuck. All he cares about is Tim letting him have this, thinking he deserves this, and how good it feels to get it.

How good this all feels.

Tim’s heartbeat is accelerated and spiking here and there, not held down into something too-steady, like all it’s doing is responding to the way it feels to have his cock inside something hot and wet and tight that really wants it there. Which–Kon very, very much wants Tim inside him right now, yeah. Any kind of inside him, really, but . . .

It just feels really good to just keep his head in Tim’s lap like this; to just suck and swallow around his cock and not really move or anything; not really have to give up anything. To listen to Tim’s heart skip a beat or two, and feel Tim’s fingers in his hair, and feel Tim’s body under his body and the warm, smooth leather of his own jacket where it’s hanging down Tim’s back and pinned against the inside of his bare arm. Kon had really liked waking up and finding out that Tim hadn’t thought of a reason to take it off.

Or, maybe, waking up and finding out that Tim might’ve come up with a reason not to take it off.

Kon really likes that idea.

“Do they make meta-grade Sybians, you think?” Bernard asks speculatively, and Kon hears Tim laugh and feels him smile in obvious amusement; feels him smile fondly in obvious amusement, the exact same way he smiles when he’s texting or talking to Bernard on the phone. The exact same way, except for how this time Kon can feel Bernard smiling back.

It’s really–it’s really nice, being able to feel that. Both sides of it. He thinks he was thinking about that before, but . . . yeah. It’s really nice, same as the way Tim and Bernard’s heartbeats sound together. Just–nice.

He’s probably thought that before too.

“I mean, probably,” Tim replies with a casual shrug. “Meta-grade sex toys, at least. Somebody must be by now.”

“I find it very hard to believe you don’t know for sure either way,” Bernard says, snickering again. Tim shrugs again too, lightly twisting Kon’s curls around his fingers like he could get Kon himself to do anything just as easy as he can do that, and Kon wants to be exactly that easy for him. Wants to be easier than that for him.

“Why would I?” Tim asks. “The two of us don’t need anything meta-grade.”

“I mean, I do feel like you currently have something ‘meta-grade’ purring like a fucking motorcyle engine around your cock,” Bernard points out practically past a little snicker. He reaches over across Tim’s legs again to give the back of Kon’s neck a little squeeze in illustration of his point, and Kon feels warm. “Like I do very much feel like that’s a thing. And also c’mon, Backup-Plan Wonder, you seriously never looked into the possibility? Not even once? You were the one who brought up the thought problem to begin with, Tamaranean snacks and all.”

“I didn’t know anybody I thought would like them,” Tim says, twisting another one of Kon’s curls through his fingers, and Kon’s gut flashes hot. That is . . . definitely a choice of phrasing that Tim just made, considering. Was that . . . ?

It’s some pretty specific phrasing to use and also Tim who just used it, so it must’ve been on purpose.

Like . . . it must’ve, right?

“Okay, well, given what somebody may or may not’ve said to Power Girl in cold, un-kryptonited blood, is that actually true?” Bernard teases, rubbing his thumb in behind Kon’s ear for . . . no real reason, as far as Kon can tell, which just makes him feel even warmer. “Even if there's not a theoretical dude failing to keep up with him in need of an assist, your boy might still wanna get pegged sometime.”

Kon’s whole body flashes hot, and he tightens the arm he has around Tim’s back without even thinking about it, feeling his skin prickle and face burn. That–that’s–

“Are you suggesting I actively source sex toys for my best friend like I'm his personal shopper?” Tim asks wryly. “Is that the actual conversation here?”

“I mean, he already wants the piercings, right?” Bernard shrugs easily, sliding his hand down Kon’s exposed spine, which is suddenly feeling even more exposed than it already was. “Finding the dude a nice hard toy to ride every now and then would definitely have less effect on his sex life than helping him pierce his tits would, gotta say, much less helping him pierce his dick. Although maybe if you got him a strap to pack for his next date . . .?”

“Not even the kinkiest introvert alive would count a four-day four-way with a radioactive mineral as a date, Ber,” Tim snorts at the exact same moment Kon makes an embarrassing sound around the other’s cock, and then Tim . . . pauses, and curls his fingers in just a little bit tighter against his scalp. Kon’s face burns with worse embarrassment and–just–he tenses a little, maybe, but–

But Bernard said “next” date, like he was thinking of this as a date. And then, like–then–

This isn’t a date. Like, Tim is in no way wrong about this not being a date. Like–obviously. Unless the “date” is just Tim and Bernard doing an activity together, which like, Kon kind of is an “activity” in bed, he knows, so just–

He knows it’s not a date, because he was in no way ever under the impression that it was, but–but it felt really weird, when Tim said that like the idea was–stupid, or . . .

It is stupid, so Kon doesn’t know why he felt that way. Kind of–feels–

Kon tries to duck his head, which would definitely work better without a dick in his throat, and then he just tries to, like–to not–

“Oh,” Tim murmurs, his voice sounding a little–tight, now, and Kon doesn’t–he–

Tim tugs lightly at Kon’s jaw and Kon follows the tug awkwardly and shifts back just enough to let the other’s cock slip out of his mouth and Bernard’s hand slide off his back, still feeling embarrassed; ducks his head after all and feels–weird, still. Way, way too weird.

Dammit, he thinks, and then just hopes Tim doesn’t know what he was thinki–

“You know you’re not a joke to me, Kon,” Tim says quietly, cupping Kon’s face in his hands, and Kon hates being so fucking obvious and–and too weird, he–he–“You’re never a joke to me.”

Kon tries to say something back, tries to tell him he does know, he’s just being stupid, he’s–but he’s just–he’s so fucking embarrassed, still, and the floaty feeling that was slipping through his head starts feeling like–like vertigo, he guesses. Like, when he was capable of getting vertigo. He is not actually capable of getting vertigo anymore, but it’s a very distinct feeling and not exactly mistakable for anything else, so it’s not like he’s forgotten it or whatever.

Just–he felt floaty, and now he feels–weird, instead.

“Kon,” Tim says even quieter; quiet enough to count as soft.

“S-sorry,” Kon stutters, staring down at . . . nothing, really. Too weird. Definitely too weird. Freaked-out-Cassie-like-an-asshole levels of weird. “I–sorry, I'm not trying to be–I'm trying not to be–”

“You don't need to be sorry,” Tim cuts in gently, stroking both sides of his face. “You aren't doing anything wrong. That was my fault, I should’ve been more careful with what I was saying.”

“I’m–that isn’t–you don’t have to be,” Kon manages uncomfortably, keeping his eyes downcast. It’s not Tim’s fault that he’s . . . “I’m the one being–weird, man.”

He’s definitely the one being weird. Weird and oversensitive and–and that’s not what he’s supposed to be. He’s supposed to be–not that. Just . . . better than that. Not–stupid, like that.

“You’re not,” Tim says, still stroking his face. Kon feels–weird, still. Kind of . . . weird, and like something’s wrong with his skin. He–why does he–he isn’t supposed to be–“I know to be more careful. Especially when we’ve spent this much time scening after never having done it together before. Especially with, well . . . I mean, I know how this must . . . feel, considering.”

Kon doesn’t get that, exactly. Tim said–like, what does . . . ?

“‘Considering’?” he repeats, feeling like a fucking idiot because Tim says it like it means something obvious, but he . . . like, he doesn’t–get it, he’s . . .

“Ah,” Tim says, and then–hesitates, a little, before saying: “You let me risk your life, Kon. Regularly. And you trust me not to risk it unnecessarily, or for anything that you wouldn’t consider worth the risk. So . . . I’d imagine that might feel a little . . . different, from other times you’ve subbed. Even without taking any of the new experiences involved into account.”

That’s–true. That’s . . . a thing, yeah. And Kon’s thought about that himself more than once during this. Like–obviously he has. But like . . . but it’s . . .

But it’s–

“Sorry,” he says stiffly, and can’t figure out why something in his head’s trying to stick on the word–on the word “different”, or . . . or something . . . about it, maybe. It’s just . . . it's not different for Tim, Tim feels how he always feels right now, so–so it shouldn't be different for . . . it's not–it isn’t really–“No, I–that’s not–sorry. Sorry, I’m–weird. I’m being . . .”

“Kon,” Tim says, and he really does say it nothing like anyone else does.

And Kon feels much, much . . . weirder. Much . . . he feels much . . .

He remembers, abruptly, thinking about–he remembers Tim taking pictures while he was touching himself and thinking that he’d be fine with anything, if it was Tim wanting it from him. Thinking it while knowing it wasn’t true, but not feeling like it wasn’t true.

And now he feels–not like that, maybe. Now he feels–weird and stupid and, like–vertigo. Just . . . just that.

But it’s Tim, and–and feeling like that feels wrong, feels like he’s doing something wrong, like he doesn’t trust him or something, when–he trusts him, he’d trust Tim with anything, it’s Tim, Kon can’t even–how could he not trust Tim, after–after all the–after everything, how could he–he can’t even trust him not to laugh at him, after all that? How can he not do that, of all the goddamn things? He–he’s–

He’s wrong, Kon thinks like he’s about to panic or something, and he doesn’t feel “weird”. He feels–what he feels is–

He doesn’t feel–he doesn’t–he doesn’t feel–right. He feels stupid. He feels wrong.

He feels . . . bad.

“Sorry,” Kon chokes again, useless and–and ducking back awkwardly, half-sitting up on his haunches, and not–not knowing why he’s–not knowing what’s wrong with him, why he’s being this stupid, this–he’s just, he’s fucking up, he’s fucking this up, he’s fucking this up like he fucked up things with Cassie and maybe it’ll stay fucked-up even after this like it did with Cassie ‘cuz now Tim knows what a–what a freak he really is, how pathetic and stupid and weak he really is, how fucking weird and weird and weird he really is, and–and maybe Kara was right, maybe this was–

It’s Tim. It’s Tim and he’s messing up, and he can’t even trust him, and he–and he’s wrong and bad and how can he not trust Tim over something so small and stupid as–as knowing Tim wouldn’t laugh at him over . . . over . . . that he wouldn’t think he was . . . a joke, or . . .

But it’s Tim, and Kon is gonna mess this up. He’s gonna mess it all up, just like every other time. Ruin it, just like every other time. Wreck it just as bad as always, be just as bad as he always is, because he always does; he always messes it up, he always ruins shit.

And he doesn’t know what he’s gonna do, if he ruins shit with Tim.

“Kon, that’s not–” Tim tries to say, but Kon can hear the note of concern in his voice and–and he is ruining it, he’s upsetting him, he’s–he’s–he can’t, he needs to not, not with Tim, not–that’s not what he’s supposed to do, and he didn’t get invited into this bed to be a fucking freak about things and cry all over everything and be so fucking desperate about–about–

“I’m sorry,” Kon blurts helplessly, and he knows he’s not even really answering anything Tim’s been saying, but he’s not supposed to do this, fuck, what the fuck is wrong with him, he’s just–he’s just supposed to be fun, just something fun to do, just–why can’t he be–what’s wrong with his stupid fucking–

Kon’s not looking, but he can feel it, when Tim’s expression turns pained.

He can feel it, and he hates it.

He's supposed to be fun, he's supposed to be–not be a fucking problem, not be acting like a fucking freak over just a–just–

He's supposed to trust Tim for anything and he–and he couldn't.

“I promise, you didn't do anything wrong,” Tim says, and it doesn't fix it, and Kon feels small and stupid and ashamed. It should fix it. Tim can fix anything. So if Tim can't fix his stupid head it's his own stupid fault and he's being a fucking problem again and–“Kon. Just–take a breath for me.”

That's Robin's voice, Robin's orders, but Kon can't even listen to that.

He doesn't–he–it wasn't even anything, it was such a stupid little nothing of a comment, Tim didn't say anything that was shitty or mean or that wasn't true. He shouldn't be upset right now, he shouldn't have gotten upset at all, but he couldn't even trust Tim not to be laughing at him and he–and–

Tim had been a little jokey about wearing his jacket too, Kon remembers abruptly, and feels so stupid. He knows, he knows Tim wasn't laughing at him. He knows he wasn't.

But all he can think is but maybe he was and but you couldn't even TRUST him not to be, and he doesn't know which thought is worse, and they won’t balance out in his head, and he can’t even stop swinging from one to the other and then back around again. He feels nauseous and weird and vertigo-dizzy and all wrong and like such a fuck-up and now he's upsetting Tim who didn't even do anything and hasn't done anything but be so fucking nice to and patient with and–and gentle with him, like–like he–and Kon can't–he doesn’t–

He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, and he doesn’t know how to stop upsetting Tim, and he . . . he doesn’t . . .

It's–a reflex, again. Maybe. Almost. But the last time he upset Tim, he–when he upset Tim last time, because he's the worst and he just wrecks everything all the time and–

Kon remembers–when he’d upset Tim by not knowing what to do for him for the whole “aftercare” thing, and when Tim had needed to safeword after he'd asked for too much at the wrong time, and . . . Bernard'd known what to do, when those things had happened. And it'd been fine, ‘cuz Bernard had known what to do.

So it's a reflex, Kon thinks, when his eyes snap over quick towards Bernard again.

Bernard’s still stretched-out on the bed next to Tim, and startles a little when Kon catches his eyes, like he’s–surprised, or something. Like he didn’t expect–something. Kon doesn’t know if–is that bad, is he–like, did he make a mistake, is this just too much to ask for again, or–he just thought–he just–

“Oh,” Bernard says, and kinda . . . blinks a couple times, and Tim shifts a little bit and Kon can feel the expression on his face and he–and he needs to stop putting that expression on his–on his face, on–“Hey, no, it’s cool. C’mere, bud.”

Bernard rolls fully onto his side and holds a hand out towards Kon, and Kon–doesn’t get how that’s supposed to fix this, but . . . but Bernard had touched him when Tim'd needed to safeword, so maybe it’s . . . like that, or . . . or . . .

It’s really hard to think right now, he thinks, and then less takes Bernard’s hand than just, like–shifts away from kneeling half-across Tim’s legs and–he doesn’t know, actually, if it’s something he does himself or something Bernard pulls him into, but he ends up laying half-across him, his face hidden against the side of Bernard’s and his arms wrapped around his neck and his TTK maybe wrapping a little bit around him too as Bernard slips one arm around his waist and drags that big thick squishy comforter up over them with the other.

Kon feels–stupid, and embarrassed, and . . .

“Too much?” Bernard guesses, and strokes up the back of his neck, and Kon nods helplessly, because–because it is, and that’s right, and . . . “Yeah, I get that. S’alright. It really has been a lot of play, huh. Just a lot in general, right? ‘Cuz it's Tim.”

Kon just nods again, useless and helpless as before, and doesn’t . . . doesn’t really . . .

“Yeah,” Bernard agrees, and strokes the back of his head. Kon kind of wants to cry, for–some reason, or no reason, or way too many reasons. “You’re good, man. Really good, to ask for the assist when you need it.”

He didn’t even really ask, Kon thinks in embarrassment. Didn’t say anything, or . . . he didn’t actually ask or anything. He just . . . he . . .

Bernard strokes the back of his head again and Kon feels him glance up at Tim, and feels Tim looking down at them, and feels–stupid, and selfish, and all wrong and fucked-up and . . . and . . .

Bernard slides his hand down and squeezes the back of his neck, and Kon buries a choked, overwhelmed sound in his neck. He–he doesn’t know why–why he’s so–so fucking weird, so fucking emotional and all over the place and sensitive, why–w-why–

“Man, you really are made for this,” Bernard observes a little bit distractedly, the words muttered under his breath and sounding half-musing, and Kon feels . . . feels a little tension sort of . . . unwind, kind of, and just . . . “Like I’m hugging gravity or something, dunno how else to put it.”

“Sorry,” Kon croaks reflexively, and Bernard squeezes the back of his neck and squeezes his arm around his waist too.

“Naw, you’re good,” he hums, nuzzling his temple. “I like you like this, remember? All cuddled up nice in best-boy mode. It’s cute.”

Kon blinks a little too quick, maybe, and then buries his face in even tighter against Bernard’s neck and tightens his arms around him. That’s–yeah. Bernard'd said that, before. Said he–liked that. The . . . cuddling, and the weight, and . . . yeah. That.

Called him “cute” before, too.

Kon sniffs, feels stupid and embarrassed about it, and then nods a little jerkily in response to the sort-of question, because–he does remember, yeah. He feels Bernard’s hand slide back up his neck, and feels the insignificant and impossible-to-ignore weight of it, effective as an anchor.

More effective than an anchor, for him.

“You good too, babe?” Bernard asks as he glances up at Tim again, and Tim . . . exhales, slowly, and–and okay, Kon thinks. Okay. Bernard’s handling it. Knows how to handle it.

So he isn't gonna be able to fuck it up, if Bernard’s handling it.

“I’m–yeah,” Tim says, a little stiffly. “I just . . . didn’t mean to do that.”

“I mean, kind of an understandable mistake,” Bernard says, stroking a little heavier up into Kon’s hair again and just barely shrugging underneath him. Kon hears the words, but doesn’t really think about them. They’re just–words. And they’ll tell him if he’s messing up. “You guys really have been doing this forever, but like, you know . . . little bit different, like this. No matter how good at it you two intimidatingly hot weirdos are together.”

“I . . .” Tim–hesitates, and then shakes his head a little, a strange-feeling smile tightening one corner of his mouth. Kon can’t tell if it’s a real one; can’t focus enough to really figure it out. He feels all–feels too sensitive, and too . . . like too much. Just–too much. “I know. I didn’t know Kon was–I didn’t realize he’d be interested in submitting. Not–this interested, anyway. I should’ve broken things up more. Just–more breaks, or slower, or . . . I just let myself get . . . because it felt so . . .”

“Easy?” Bernard guesses.

“. . . natural,” Tim murmurs. “Or familiar, maybe. Just . . . I didn’t think about the hormones or endorphins or any of that enough or give him enough time between rounds or . . . anything, really. I know better than to do that with someone I haven’t scened with before. I should’ve paced it slower for him.”

“Or yourself?” Bernard suggests pointedly. He’s still petting Kon’s hair, and Kon’s still just . . . here, but not really. Tim huffs, low and quiet.

“Or myself,” he agrees. “I got . . . carried away.”

Kon–told him to do that, he remembers. Told him to get “carried away”. Did he mess up, asking for that? Like when he asked for them both at once? Was that–?

Bernard’s fingers scritch lightly at the base of his skull, just above his spine, and then he’s not . . . Bernard wouldn’t still be being so nice to him if he’d fucked up that bad, right? And Tim would tell him if he was fucking up anyway. He told him not to bite, before; told him it was okay to hold Bernard’s hand before, too. He–Tim tells him, when he’s fucking up. And Bernard barely knows him, so there’s no reason the guy would keep being so fucking nice if he didn’t, like–didn’t deserve it. If he wasn’t earning it, at least a little.

Even if Kon did kinda fuck up some, Bernard’d said–he’d said it was alright. Said it was–“good”, that he’d asked for . . . the “assist”, or . . . or whatever. So he didn’t fuck up that bad.

Not yet, anyway.

“Yeah, maybe a little bit,” Bernard says, sounding like maybe he thinks something’s funny, and then lets out a huff and curls his fingers against Kon’s spine in a way that is very hard to think past. “My bad too, sorry, I shoulda been lookin’ out for you two a little better. Like, just spotting you, you know?”

“You don’t–” Tim starts, and then–hesitates, and pulls his knees up a bit, folding his arms on them and leaning on them a little. He’s still looking at Bernard, head half-turned towards him where it’s resting on his arms. Well–looking at both of them, maybe, but Kon doesn’t really know if he should think too much about that. “I didn’t ask you to.”

“Well, you should’ve,” Bernard snorts. “Actually you both should’ve, but I’m cutting Kon more of a break on that one because clearly whoever taught him to play did not do a thorough job in said teaching and I’m guessing he didn’t know, you know, what he didn’t know. We should probably buy the dude a book or something. Sign him up for a workshop, I dunno. And anyway, I should’ve been doing the looking-out whether you asked or not, so yeah, we all kinda collectively dropped the ball there.”

“Mm,” Tim says. “Kon? Are you listening?”

“Kinda,” Kon mumbles, though he can’t bring himself to lift his face out of Bernard’s shoulder or unwrap his arms or unravel his TTK from around him at all. Just . . . he really needs to be holding onto him, it feels like. Like he’ll just–fall right off the bed, otherwise. Fall right off his head, otherwise.

“Are you okay to talk?” Tim asks gently, and Kon thinks about, like, having an entire mental breakdown over the gentle thing. Just–just he–“Just a little.”

“‘Kay,” he mumbles, though it maybe comes out a little quieter this time, and maybe his TTK’s wrapped a little tighter around Bernard too. Bernard’s still petting him, so he doesn’t seem to mind. So . . . it’s fine, if Bernard doesn’t mind. And at least there’s not as much to fuck up there, if he fucks up there. Like–with Bernard, he means.

There’s so much he could fuck up with Tim.

“Do you need anything?” Tim asks. “Anything we can get for you. Or do for.”

Kon needs to not be asked what he needs, when he’s the fuck-up who didn’t just–who couldn’t just trust that Tim wasn’t laughing at him or thinking he was stupid or–he’s being stupid, so Tim should think he’s–

Bernard slides a hand up the back of his head and nuzzles his temple again, and all Kon’s shitty, stupid thoughts stutter unsteadily, and don’t quite stop, but . . . but stutter, a little. Stop . . . building, maybe.

It feels–stupid, and too much, and not at all what he’s supposed to be like, but . . .

But Tim–asked. And there’s not really . . . Kon doesn’t want to lie to Tim about–anything, really, but especially doesn’t want to lie to him with the way he feels right now.

But the answer to that question isn’t . . .

“S’not fair askin’ me that kinda shit, man. I’m just supposed to be a body,” he mutters roughly, and hates himself for even thinking, but–but it’s–but that’s all he ever was supposed to be, just a body, something for other people to control, to . . . that’s what he was made for, more than anything else he was made for. More than . . . than . . .

It wasn’t fair when Tim’d asked him how long it’d been since he’s fucked somebody who really cared about him, either.

“You’re not just a body to me,” Tim says, or Robin says. It sounds like both of them–both of him–at once, somehow, or maybe Kon’s just stupid enough to think it does.

“Yeah, whoever told you otherwise is clearly either a liar or just has shit judgement and therefore is not to be trusted either way,” Bernard agrees matter-of-factly, and says it lighter, and a lot easier to hear. Kon still can’t take the weight of any of it, though, especially not when–when–

“You don't have to be so fuckin’ nice to me,” he chokes into Bernard’s shoulder as both of his own shake a little, as maybe a couple tears escape his screwed-shut eyes, because what the fuck is he gonna do when he goes back to normal and–and–

Nice just isn't something Kon really gets even out of bed, because, like–why the fuck would he, he’s just this big loud stupid asshole musclehead who isn’t even good for anything but what his body can do–the powers, the strength, how he looks and how he fucks and what he’ll let other people use it all for–and he doesn’t even ask for–for fucking nice, he doesn’t fucking need it, just like he doesn’t need–need gentle, or–or for them to be so fucking careful, or to keep asking him his color or remembering his whole “no”s list like it’s easy or putting up with him being a total freak or–or–

Kon doesn’t need any of that. It’s–when he gets it, it’s something rare and passing, not . . . not this much, not . . .

He’d freaked out Cassie and embarrassed himself, when he’d gotten like this. And Cass–it’s basically never been more than a few hours snuck in between his day and her night, with Cass, and Greta was actually pretty fucking mean, and Anita and Cissie and Steph all just aren’t the type to waste time on that shit, really, and they weren’t even dating so like–so obviously he wasn’t gonna ask them to, for just a little fucking around, and Tana he was always the one who was trying to–to be–to–and Knockout was definitely–and there’s been a list of other girls as long as his fucking life, and the nice was never–never lasting, never–

Lophi was nice, but also she’d cried about it. So like–it hadn’t really been him she’d been being nice to, he knows. But like–Kon’s used to people seeing someone else when they look at him anyway, so he hadn’t–minded, or . . . it hadn’t been him she was being nice to, so it hadn’t–mattered, if she was . . . if she . . . and Cass has just never stuck around that long, so it doesn't matter if she’s nice either, and . . .

Kon’s not somebody who needs “nice”. So he doesn’t ask for it. Because he doesn’t need it, and anyway, what the fuck, like he didn’t learn from the times he was stupid enough to ask? And it never lasts anyway, and it’s never something he gets to keep. Like–that’s just not how it works.

So that’s staying true to form here, he guesses, given this whole thing is just, like, some accidental kryptonite-ing and a long weekend and nothing else. But with how weird and stupid and sensitive he’s being right now . . . with all that . . .

It feels worse to know it won’t last, with all that. Especially because he didn’t even ask, and Tim and Bernard just–did it. Just . . . like it was just something they’d just do.

Like–a reflex, or whatever.

“You are really not the kind of person I would not be nice to, man,” Bernard tells him, and Kon tries really hard not to let his TTK get any tighter around him. It’s–he doesn’t–

He doesn’t need the “nice”. The–gentle.

He doesn’t need it, so it doesn’t matter if he doesn’t get it.

So it’s–not fair, to get it like this.

“You shouldn't, though,” he mutters into Bernard’s shoulder. Which is . . . stupid, objectively. The guy can be as nice as he fucking wants to whoever the fuck he fucking wants to. Obviously he fucking can. Like–obviously.

Kon just–he just doesn't get why the guy's been being this nice to him.

Honestly, if Tim wasn’t here, he'd think it was either a trick or just Bernard fucking with him. But Tim wouldn't–he wouldn’t let someone fuck with him like that. Kon knows he wouldn’t. He–does know that, just . . .

Just it feels–wrong, for someone to be nice like this. Like–to him, he means.

Obviously.

“Is there a yellow or a red attached to that ‘shouldn’t’?” Bernard asks, pausing mid-stroke of his hair, and Kon . . . hesitates, because . . . there’s not, no, but . . . if he says there’s not, that’s like–that’s asking, pretty much. And asking for too much. Asking for . . .

It feels like asking for too much, anyway.

But, like . . . safewording is already hard enough when he actually needs to, and doing it when he doesn’t need to is, like . . . a whole other thing, and if he does do it when he doesn’t need to . . . like, that’s almost as bad as not trusting Tim. Or–pretty close to, one way or the other.

He–thinks it is, anyway.

“No. Not . . . not either of those,” Kon manages to murmur very, very quietly against Bernard’s shoulder, and Bernard cards his fingers the rest of the way through his hair. It feels . . . nice. And so does Bernard’s body under his, and the soft weight of the comforter on his back, and . . .

Bernard and Tim’s heartbeats are nice too, but Kon still feels like a total asshole right now. Like–very much so, does Kon feel like a total asshole right now.

“Yeah, me neither, best boy,” Bernard says, easy as anything and like it’s something simple, and keeps carding his fingers through his hair. Kon keeps his face hidden, and maybe blinks a little too quick a couple of times.

It feels–different, in a weird way, that Bernard doesn’t think he’s too fucked-up, he thinks. Or apparently doesn’t, anyway. Because, like–at least Tim is also kinda a freak. Tim very much is also kinda a freak. They did not all grow up and become asshole supervillains together because Tim was such a normal, reasonable, proportional-response kind of dude.

Bernard is just some normal dude, though. Like, a lot more normal than anybody else Kon’s been hanging around for . . . basically his entire life, pretty much.

So it’s kinda–different, if Bernard doesn’t think . . .

Kon doesn’t even know if he’s supposed to ask before he takes a Zesti out of his best friend’s fridge when he comes over to hang out, for fuck’s sake, much less anything about how not to be too fucked-up or too much around anyone who’s actually normal. Like–even just a little bit.

“Kon,” Tim says carefully. “Who’d you learn to sub with, anyway?”

“Um . . . I dunno, just wherever,” Kon says, a little confused by–that’s a weird question. Isn’t it? What, like he friggin’ got a tutor for this shit? Like, who’d even do that?

. . . or is this something else where he’s the weird one?

“Mm,” Tim says, and Kon–hesitates, for a second, and then lifts his head up just enough to glance up at Tim again. He still feels like an asshole, but if Tim wants to . . . talk, still . . . “Just ‘wherever’?”

“I guess,” Kon says. “Like–I really meant it, about not doing it all that often. Honestly probably some of the times I’m countin’, like, don’t even really count.”

“Don’t count why?” Tim asks, just barely frowning.

“‘Cuz I definitely did not know what safewords or hard no’s were when I was fucking around with Knockout, for one,” Kon replies with a shrug, half-ducking his head and not really . . . not really sure why, he guesses. Just–he does it. “And Tana was just, y’know, kinda bossy more than anything. Not actually really kinky stuff or whatever. And like, so were a lot of chicks I’ve slept with–like, definitely Spoiler, and Empress and Arrowette too. And Wonder Girl’d never even done, um, any Domme kind of stuff before, so I kinda had to explain how it, uh . . . worked and all, and y’know . . . that went kinda . . . not great.”

“‘Not great’ how?” Tim asks.

“Like, I dunno, I just freaked her out a couple times,” Kon says, his eyes fixed maybe a little too intently on the collar of Bernard’s shirt. He’d–he’d really liked it, but . . . like, that’d kinda been the problem, there. Like–pretty much the entire problem, pretty much. “Like–I got weird on her. Was too much. That kinda thing.”

“Did she say that to you?” Tim asks, his frown just barely deepening.

“No,” Kon says with a shrug. “It was, like, just pretty obvious.”

Tim frowns a little more. Kon keeps his eyes on Bernard’s shirt. It’s . . . a shirt, he guesses. Like . . . not the shirt he was wearing yesterday and not one of Tim's, so Kon guesses the guy must’ve had a spare or two in Tim’s closet. Which, like–makes sense, really. Bernard probably crashes here all the time. Like–there’s definitely been more than a few weekends Tim couldn’t hang out for that weren’t actually Batman’s fault, Kon knows.

“She, um–I mean, I let her risk my life too, man,” he reminds Tim quietly, letting his TTK wind through the threads of Bernard’s shirt and along the fingers Bernard’s winding through his hair too. It’s just . . . something to do. Not anything else. “Like–also pretty regularly. But, uh . . . she didn’t, um, like doing the Domme thing as much as you do, I guess? Like–she tried it ‘cuz I . . . asked, but . . . like, I just kept getting too weird on her for it.”

He’d really tried not to, but . . . he’d just really, really wanted . . .

He doesn’t really know why he’d wanted it from her so bad. Like, he really likes getting bossed around–likes getting shoved around, even–but they could’ve done that kind of shit without, like–all the rules and shit making it weird and complicated and . . . whatever. Without putting all those, like, weird expectations on shit and whatever, or giving her a list of shit she could and couldn’t do, or any of the, like–the performance, basically.

Or wanting her to tell him he was . . . like . . . worth it, or good for it, or good to use for it, or . . .

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been into the sex they’d already been having. Wasn’t like there’d been anything to complain about there. Like, for sure there hadn’t been. He’d just . . . he’d just really wanted to just . . . to do that too, sometimes, and maybe just . . .

He doesn’t really know how to finish that sentence, even in his own stupid head.

“Hm, yeah, I kinda get that,” Bernard says. “Usually I hear people recommend people try subbing before they actually try to Dom, so they have a better idea of what they’re doing to someone when they do try to Dom. And like, also I guess it’s probably less intimidating to not be the one taking the lead and all first thing?”

“Oh,” Kon says, feeling–stupid, a little. “They, uh–do?”

“Less pressure, I guess,” Bernard says with a shrug, twining his fingers through his hair again; stroking down the back of his fade again after. “Also less, like, worrying you’re going too far? Like, if you've been on the other end of it yourself, I mean.”

“Oh,” Kon repeats, biting the inside of his cheek. “I, uh . . . I never heard that.”

He really doesn’t like how it feels to Dom himself, though, so like . . . he doesn’t know how good a job he could’ve done at that, even just to show Cassie how it worked. Like, he has very rarely gotten through Domming somebody without feeling like he couldn’t shut up his head and just calm down about shit and stressing himself the fuck out about every little thing. It’s a lot easier to just be the one getting told what to do, and knowing what’s expected of him, and . . . like, that kind of thing and all. To just empty out his head and not have to think about it.

There’s just–it feels so, so much better to just . . . just know what to do, and just have to do it, and know that was gonna be . . . good enough, for once.

At least–good enough most of the time, anyway.

Kon ducks his face to hide against Bernard’s shoulder again, and Bernard strokes the back of his neck; tugs the comforter up a little higher over his back. Kon feels . . . stupid, again. But the comforter feels nice, soft and easy and light, and so does . . . pretty much everything about Bernard, really.

“Yeah, I’m kinda not a natural at this kinda thing, personally, so we took some classes,” Bernard says, then amends: “Well, Tim had already taken some classes, more specifically, but y’know, Tim. If Tim has not taken a class, it's because they don't offer it and he's already doing independent study so he can teach it himself next semester. Like, mostly metaphorically, but definitely literally at least once.”

“I wasn't teaching anyone, it was a study group,” Tim says with wry amusement; says the same way he says his usual response to any old, unimportant argument the team only has because it's funny to have it again. Like he's said it a thousand times, and fully expects to say it a thousand more.

It's . . . different, a little, hearing it from the outside.

“That you totally did not have a syllabus and two supplemental textbooks for,” Bernard counters with a snicker in an agreeable tone, curling his fingers lightly behind Kon's ear; bumping the backs of a couple of his earrings with his knuckles as he does. Kon remembers him doing that with his nose, before. When he'd been sitting in Bernard's lap with the other's whole damn dick all comfy inside him and Bernard had been telling him–saying it was okay to make a mess, and all he had to do was just let him make him feel good, and he didn't have to worry about anything else. And Bernard had kept his cock inside him when he'd asked; said he could have it as long as he wanted.

Held his hand, a little.

He'd called him “best boy” then too, Kon remembers vaguely, and feels . . . feels not all that sure about how he feels about that.

He doesn't want Bernard to stop doing it, though.

“They were also, to be fair, more . . . specifically-minded classes?” Tim says with a light little shrug. “Meaning, well, incredibly heterosexual and full of a bunch of very misguided guys who didn’t know anything about how to Dom a girl without making it weird. But I guess that’s what I get for starting with the first search result on Google, so that’s my own fault. Asking our poor long-suffering instructor for recommendations after the workshop got me way better leads on classes with people who were a little less agonizing to be around. And then Bernard and I went to a couple more queer-oriented ones together, later.”

Kon . . . did not actually know that was a thing, yeah. Like–classes, or workshops, or . . . whatever, exactly. Like, he knows there’s clubs and stuff, and he’s been to a few of those–he went to a couple with Knockout, even, back in the day when they’d only let him in because he was famous enough and she was hot enough–but he’d never really felt comfortable in any of ‘em, so he hadn’t exactly stuck around to socialize too many times. It seems weird, as an idea. Like . . . what, is there a book or something? Worksheets? Demonstrations?

. . . tests?

Yeah. He doesn’t really know how he’d feel about going to something like that either, considering.

“Definitely I needed the classes,” Bernard says with a snicker, rubbing the back of Kon’s neck one vertebrae at a time. “Though I think I picked it up better than someone picked up the cooking classes?”

“Those cooking classes were the devil,” Tim mutters darkly. “I’m pretty sure Hugo Strange came up with those as a form of psychological torture so he could study the results.”

“I’m pretty sure you could just burn water, babe,” Bernard replies with another snicker. Kon has no idea why, but listening to them tease each other like this while they’re letting him be a total freak about things and acting like it’s not that big a deal or–no, not like it’s not a big deal, just . . . like it’s not even a problem, maybe–listening to them like that while they’re acting like he’s not a fuck-up and a problem makes him feel kinda like he wants to cry again. Like–more than “kinda”, honestly.

He doesn’t get why it does, though.

Like–really doesn't.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tim says in the same familiar “usual response” way Kon recognizes, and then Kon feels him glance at him, and–he should be saying something, he knows. Should be . . . making a joke too, maybe, or commenting on the classes thing, or just . . . something.

He doesn’t really know what to say, though, and he doesn’t know enough about what Tim and Bernard are talking about to really weigh in on it anyway. Like–nothing useful, anyway. And that’s not . . .

He doesn’t know, that’s all. Doesn’t know what to say, or do, or . . . whatever.

Bernard rubs the back of his neck again, steady and soothing, and Kon tries to brace himself for whatever bullshit version of “since you got laid, or since you got laid with someone who really cared about you?” Tim’s about to hit him with, and–

“Are you thirsty, Kon?” Tim asks.

Kon bursts into fucking tears like a fucking lunatic and hides his face in as tight against Bernard’s shoulder as he can without bruising the guy; tightens his arms around the other’s neck the same way, and tries really, really hard not to sob any louder than he has to or let his shoulders shake as hard as they’re trying to. He doesn’t–that’s not–

Obviously that’s the exact kind of thing Tim would ask right now, the fucking asshole.

“Sorry, s-sorry,” Kon chokes–chokes uselessly–and tries to stop himself, to stop acting like such a fucking freak, like anything’s even wrong or–or–nothing’s even wrong, it’s–they’re being so nice to him!

They’re being–they’re being so nice to him, and it makes him feel like the other shoe’s about to not only drop but is also a steel-toed boot that’s gonna kick him in the fucking dick and tell him exactly why he deserves it. Tell him what a stupid fucking idiot he is and just how he’s fucked it all up this time and then just turn around and walk away and leave him there.

How is that the kind of thing a fucking normal person would even think, just because his fucking best friend was being fucking nice to him?

It’s so fucking embarrassing.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for, Kon,” Tim says tightly, and Bernard wraps both his arms around him to squeeze, and Kon–Kon really wants to really feel that right now, even if it’s stupid or selfish or too much, and kinda just–wraps his TTK around Bernard a little tighter and pulls his arms around him a little tighter.

“Huh,” Bernard says, sounding mildly surprised. “Okay, well, that’s a new one.”

“Sorry,” Kon chokes again, because apparently he can’t say a damn thing without choking on it right now, and Bernard just shakes his head and then presses a kiss against his temple and squeezes him even tighter. Kon maybe cries a little harder about that; at least has to stifle another sob or two over it.

“I told you, man, I am the cuddliest mothercuddler in this threesome, getting my hugging capabilities telekinetically boosted is the opposite of a problem,” Bernard informs him matter-of-factly, then hums consideringly and adds: “Actually it’s pretty badass, if I could do this all the time Tim could never escape our designated six to ten minutes of afterglow for a Bat-distraction again.”

Kon laughs weakly against the other’s tear-soaked shoulder, his own still shaking, and Bernard nuzzles him again; presses his mouth against his temple again too. It’s–stupid, Kon thinks. It’s really stupid, that he got this upset. That he got upset at all. That he got upset at thinking Tim might think he was–might’ve been laughing at him, a little, and even more upset at himself for not trusting that Tim wasn’t laughing at him, and literally just started crying because Tim asked him if he was fucking thirsty instead of, like, some prying “assessing my teammate’s psychological condition” question.

Though probably crying over that did, in fact, tell Tim a lot about his psychological condition right now.

“M’just really sorry, Rob,” Kon croaks out helplessly, trying to at least stop crying. Just–at least that, if nothing else. “I didn’t–I know you wouldn’t–wouldn’t laugh at–that you don’t think I’m–”

He knows it, but he just can’t feel it sometimes, and this was basically, like . . . the worst possible time to not be able to feel something like that.

“I didn’t ask you to listen to me for this because I wanted to laugh at you, Kon,” Tim says quietly. “I’d never give you an order for anything like that. I’d never violate your trust like that. Your trust is one of the most valuable things I’ve ever had in my life. One of the most important things I’ve ever had in my life.”

Kon does not, in fact, manage to stop crying.

God, he’s such a fucking freak. He’s such a–such a–

He doesn’t even know how to say “no one’s ever fucked me and then made sure I ate and drank something”, much less “no one’s ever fucked me and put a blanket over me after”.

He really doesn’t know how to say “no one’s ever made me feel like this”.

So what he does say, of course, is just another cracked and hoarse: “Sorry.”

It’s just–it’s stupid, how bad at this he is. Stupid how fucked-up and upset he is. Stupid how he’s–

“Kon,” Tim says. “Please stop thinking what you’re thinking about yourself.”

Kon can’t even try to say “you don’t even know what I’m thinking”, because obviously Tim does. And like . . . he knows at least some of what Tim’s thinking, too.

Like–obviously he does, yeah.

“I really can’t, man,” he says instead of any of the rest of it, because there’s just too much rest of it. It’s so–it’s all so–

It feels–complicated, with Tim. Complicated and heavy and . . .

He can be like this for Bernard because Tim wants him to be, and that’s easy. That’s . . . simple. Straightforward, A to B. Being like this with Tim is . . . it’s kinda a little more than he was really thinking of it as being, when Bernard was asking if he was asking to come over. Like–it’s just . . .

It’s just, like–fun. That was all Kon was thinking. Just that it’d be fun to mess around for a long weekend and have a good time with kryptonite for once instead of having to suffer through the shitty painful nausea and weakness and gross feeling; just enjoy the latest weird superhero thing to happen to him like he hardly ever gets the time to.

He didn’t actually know that, like–that Tim was like this in bed, though.

And he definitely didn’t know he was gonna be such a total fucking freak about Tim being like this in bed.

It doesn’t even make sense that it’s more complicated with Tim, Kon knows. If anything, it should be more complicated doing this with the guy who he doesn’t know shit about that he didn’t get from Tim. But like–with Bernard, he’s doing this because Tim told him to. That’s it; whole logic, whole reason. With Tim himself . . .

There’s one reason, with Bernard. With Tim, there’s about eighty billion reasons, and all of them are a whole big knotted-up mess in his head and–and there’s just so much to fuck up there. Eighty billion reasons, and eighty billion things to fuck up. Eighty billion reasons including the literal fact that he is even alive right now, that they’re both even alive right now, that the world even exists right now, and every time they ever grew up and became asshole supervillains together or just grew up together at all or ran the fuck at a problem that everyone else was running away from or–or just whatever shit like that.

There’s too many reasons for Kon to even explain to somebody. To explain why he’s willing to do whatever Tim tells him to do; to explain why he knows Tim won’t tell him to do anything he can’t do. But Bernard–

It’s just the one reason, somehow, with Bernard. And apparently in his weird stupid brain, that’s enough distance to make it simple. Like all the baggage just got packed up together and shipped off secure to a valet service and he doesn’t have to worry about it. Like Bernard’s, Kon doesn’t know, a very chatty flight attendant taking the heavy shit off his hands and sticking it in the overhead compartment for him while Tim’s in the cockpit with the flight controls, or . . . something like that. Which is a very weird and complicated and borderline nonsense metaphor to be using, probably, but . . .

It shouldn’t be easier with somebody who isn’t Tim, Kon thinks, even if it’s because of Tim. That’s–it just shouldn’t be, even a little bit. It feels like he’s fucking up, if it is. It feels like he’s fucking up even thinking that.

He’s not–stupid, obviously. Like, not stupid enough to not get why it does feel like that. There’s just . . .

There’s just so much less to mess up there.

Also, like–Bernard at least, like, likes the–the cuddling up to somebody and getting all the weight and shit on top of him, so at least he’s getting something out of having a sad sack half-alien/full-weirdo loser lying on top of him like an overemotional TV tray or what the fuck ever. Tim, however, is not getting anything out of this situation except for maybe a get-out-of-cuddling-free card. If Kon–if Kon asked him for . . .

Like–it’s greedy bullshit, after how he’s been acting. Asking for anything, really, but especially anything he doesn’t–that he didn’t, like–that he didn’t at least earn. Especially when it’s something Tim doesn’t even really like, that’s–

Kon–hesitates, and remembers . . .

Bernard had said Tim did like to . . . like, for that “aftercare” stuff, that he liked to . . . that he did actually cuddle then, or at least didn’t mind it, so maybe . . . maybe he could ask. But also, nobody got off here and placating somebody who’s been acting like a total freak does not, like, actually sound like the kind of stuff that Tim and Bernard were really describing when they were describing “aftercare”. So like–he still doesn’t know if that is something he could ask for, or . . .

Tim would–tell him, right? If it was too much? Like–obviously he would. He’d tell him.

Except Kon thinks he might freak out all over again and maybe even worse, if Tim told him that he was being too much right now. And that’d be shitty, guilt-trippy bullshit to pull on him, and not how this is supposed to go, and not–he’s just supposed to be fun, that’s all. Supposed to be . . .

He knows how shitty that’d be. He knows better than to act like that. To ask for anything he can’t handle hearing “no” to.

He just–he just really wishes he could just . . .

“How about something to drink, then?” Tim asks gently, the corner of his mouth–quirking, maybe, but more just tightening a little. “Bernard brought water and orange juice with the food, but I can go get you something else. Gatorade or a Zesti or something.”

Kon buries a sniffle in Bernard’s shoulder and feels–just feels weird.

He really wishes he could stop that.

“. . . I could make hot chocolate?” Tim offers awkwardly, and Kon doesn’t know how to describe the way he’s feeling at all. He kind of laughs, maybe, but he still just feels . . .

“You can not, you make it with water,” Bernard scoffs indignantly, making a grossed-out face at Tim. “If anyone in this bed is making anyone else hot chocolate, it is me.”

“. . . what else do you make it with?” Kon asks, distracted from the weird feelings for just long enough to be goddamn bewildered about that. “Like–that’s just what you’re supposed to put in the packet, right?”

“. . . Tim, I blame you for this,” Bernard says. “Somehow this is your fault. The packet, oh my god. You make it with milk, man, because we’re not animals who survive on nothing but bulk-purchased protein powder and illegal energy drinks.”

“They’re only illegal in California, oh my god,” Tim grumbles under his breath.

“Explain to me how that does not count as illegal, please,” Bernard says. “Go ahead, I’ll wait for you to get a PowerPoint around, I know that’s your preferred method of communication.”

Kon sort of laughs again, but also has to muffle another near-sob for literally no actual reason he can even begin to figure out. It’s just–it just happens, really.

“How are you always funny, Jesus,” he asks as he shakes his head against Bernard’s shoulder, and it mostly comes out a laugh, if a too-shaky one. “Literally, what the fuck, man.”

“It’s a talent,” Bernard says breezily, then shrugs a little. “Or, you know, a life-long coping mechanism. One or the other. Do you like hot chocolate, because I could make some with that caramel sauce in it, there’s plenty left. Also still plenty of whipped cream, sooooo . . .”

Kon was gonna say Bernard didn’t need to, especially since it’s not like it’s really all that cold out or anything and also he is literally invulnerable to the cold either way, but, uh . . .

“You can make hot chocolate with caramel?” he asks, glancing up at the other.

“I mean I can make it with a lot of things, Tim I would not trust to make it with a Keurig pod,” Bernard replies matter-of-factly. “But yeah, assuming you don’t mind me ditching you and Mister Just-Add-Water for a couple minutes, I can get something on the stove.”

“The stove?” Kon repeats incredulously. Like, okay, Ma makes it on the stove, but that’s just because she thinks microwaves are evil or something. And she always takes a weirdly long time about it anyway, but like, anti-microwaves agenda and whatever.

“Please let me make you hot chocolate, man,” Bernard says, looking more than a little bit pained.

“. . . uh. Okay?” Kon says awkwardly.

“Awesome. Super awesome,” Bernard says with a relieved sigh as he loosens his arms around him to slide a hand up his back and across the back of his shoulders, then slides the other back through his hair and down the back of his neck as he presses a kiss against his forehead. Kon . . . blinks, again.

There’s something kinda, like–about the way that Bernard stops touching him, he thinks. Like . . . how he sort of eases out of it, almost. So it’s like, less sudden or less of a hard cut-off or . . . whatever, he guesses.

It’s weird. Like–not in a bad way, just . . . weird, kinda.

He is using that word to fucking death right now, but he doesn’t know what else to call it.

Kon hesitates for a moment, then shifts back a little; makes the room for Bernard to slip out from underneath him and get off the bed, which Bernard does, sliding his hands over his shoulders in the process and cupping them briefly even as he’s getting to his feet. Then he leans down and kisses Kon’s forehead again, and Kon feels–embarrassed, a little. Or–maybe just warm, but it’s a little hard to tell the difference.

And then Bernard gives his shoulders the kind of light little push that would never actually move him, and that absolutely effortlessly moves him, and pushes him back down light and easy and somehow adjusts his position on the bed without even touching him anywhere else, and . . . and Kon ends up . . .

“Back in a few, you two,” Bernard says while Kon’s stomach twists or–flutters, maybe, or . . .

Tim rests a hand on the back of his neck, and Kon flushes and ducks his chin a little, but doesn’t sit back up.

Or take his head off Tim’s thigh.

“Thanks, babe,” Tim says, and Bernard leans over and gives him a quick kiss, and Tim kisses him back for a moment, and Bernard still has a hand cupping one of Kon’s shoulders and Kon’s head is on Tim’s thigh, so Kon can very clearly feel it. Like–all of it. Them. Like–that. He can feel it almost as clearly as if he was getting kissed himself.

As if they were both kissing him, he means.

Kon keeps his head ducked and lets his hair fall into his eyes; bites his lip and doesn’t think too much about the twisted, tangled fluttering in his stomach. That’s not, like–Tim and Bernard aren’t thinking about it that way, he knows. Obviously. Nobody really thinks about how much he can feel with his TTK. Even he doesn’t, usually. Like–it’s a lot, how much he can feel sometimes. So usually he just kinda . . . doesn’t, mostly. Doesn’t really, like . . . focus it, or whatever.

He just keeps having trouble not focusing it when Tim and Bernard kiss each other, though.

Bernard leans back; flashes Tim a grin. Tim smiles back at him. Then Bernard grabs the leftover caramel sauce and leaves the bedroom, and Kon makes himself stop tracking him as much as he can without having to overconcentrate to ignore him, though it’s a little–harder than usual, for some reason.

He hasn’t actually gotten out of this bed . . . pretty much at all since they pulled him down and pushed him into it, really. Like–pretty much not at all, yeah. But he’s had Tim’s boat memorized since basically the first time he’d stepped foot on the thing, so it’s not like he doesn’t know where everything is.

So it’s kinda hard not to notice Bernard moving around the place, he guesses.

“Is this alright?” Tim asks carefully, sliding a thumb lightly across the pulse in Kon’s throat. Kon–swallows, a little. “Not too much?”

“It’s–cool, yeah,” he replies, a little embarrassed by how quiet his voice comes out. “Not, uh–too much.”

“Okay,” Tim says, and strokes his thumb across his pulse again. Kon bites his lip again too. He thinks about the way Tim was petting him before–not the absent reflex, but the time it’d felt like he was . . . focusing himself, kinda. Just using him and the back and forth rhythm of stroking his hair as a convenient little anchor for that, or . . . whatever, he guesses.

He’d liked that, but he’s not sure if Tim’s doing that again, or if this is something different, or . . .

Kon really wants more contact than just the thigh under his head and the hand on his neck and thumb on his pulse, though. Really wants . . . a lot of things he doesn’t know if it’s okay to ask for right now. Though he’s pretty sure they’re not, the way he feels. He just–he doesn’t think he’d be able to be normal about it, if Tim said no to any of them.

And like, obviously anybody he fucks can say no whenever the hell she–or he, this weekend–wants, but Kon can’t always–can’t always feel okay about hearing it.

Like right now. Right now he would definitely not feel okay about hearing it. He just–he just really wants . . .

Tim strokes his pulse again, then curls his hand around the back of his neck and his free arm around his shoulders, a gentle weight that Kon shouldn’t even notice, and could never, ever miss.

Kon would probably start crying again, if it weren’t too fucking much to cry about.

He doesn’t even get why he feels that way, but right now he just really fucking feels it.

“Sorry,” he croaks uselessly, then just rolls onto his stomach and wraps his arms around Tim’s waist and buries his face in his lap in very much not a sexy way this time and just–grips him. “I’m just–sorry. I’ll be good, I won’t . . . I’ll be good. I trust you, I–I’ll be good.”

“You’re always good, Kon,” Tim says softly, keeping his own arms mostly looped around him in return and stroking up between his shoulder blades. It feels really good. It feels like way too much and not enough. It feels–“And I know you trust me. That doesn’t mean we have to do anything else. Scening or even sex at all. Just–we can stop, if it’s too much. Or at least take a break for a little longer this time.”

Kon bites his lip harder this time; ducks his head a little lower in Tim’s lap. That’s . . . like . . . he knows that, obviously. Just–he knows that. Obviously. They could just stop whenever, or take a break, or . . .

It’s just–

“I am gonna have to turn over the pink K eventually, man,” he says.

“I don’t mind, Kon,” Tim says, stroking down between his shoulder blades again. “Really. You’re not letting me down if you need to take a break or call things off altogether. It’s not, you know–missing out on anything.”

Kon bites his lip even harder, and thinks–he’d be letting himself down, doing that. And he’d mind. He’d definitely mind. Like . . . he thinks he’d mind a lot, actually.

And it does kind of feel like . . . missing out on something, to him.

Well–not just “kind of”, no.

“I’d–like, I just . . . you’re real good at this, man,” he says, still a little quieter than he really wants to be. “Nobody’s ever–I just–maybe the break, for a little longer. But I don’t wanna tap out unless, like, you guys are, like . . . if it’s too . . .”

Maybe it is too much, maybe Tim’s just trying to give him the opportunity to bow out gracefully before he has to kick him out so he can spare his stupid fucking feelings, maybe–

“I don’t want to if you don’t want to, no,” Tim says, and draws his nails up Kon’s spine lightly. “I’m assuming Bernard doesn’t either, given he’s literally making you hot chocolate from scratch right now specifically to make this conversation a little more private for us, but we can confirm when he comes back. Since admittedly he would also make you hot chocolate from scratch in literally any situation where it meant he was making sure you’d get more respectable hot chocolate than I could manage.”

Kon laughs a little, or maybe just sniffles again, and half-shakes his head in Tim’s lap.

“He really is, like, super-nice, man,” he says, because Bernard really is and also because the topic's not so . . . heavy-feeling, maybe. “Like–real cute, too. And way funny. Congrats on having good taste in dudes, dude.”

“I guess my taste’s alright,” Tim says, sounding wry and also a little–self-deprecating, for some reason. Kon isn’t sure what he means by that, but then Tim slides his fingers into his hair again and curls his nails against his scalp, and it doesn’t seem all that important to worry about the niggling little details, so . . . yeah.

“Bernard’s is terrible, though, clear character flaw on the guy’s part,” Kon informs him, and Tim lets out a quiet little laugh of his own.

“Yeah, you’d think he’d at least have wised up by now, right?” he asks, still sounding wry. “Working out for me, though, can’t lie. Gets me free waffles and everything.”

“God, they are such good waffles,” Kon mutters, lifting his head just enough to eye the mostly-empty breakfast tray. “How pissed do you think Ma’d be if I asked him for the recipe? Like, do you think I can get away with that without getting, I dunno, Super-disowned or whatever? Like, my paperwork’s all fake, I’m not legally in the fam, so she can’t disown me for real, right?”

“I think you’d have better luck figuring out an excuse to invite Bernard over to make breakfast and hoping she’d just ask him herself,” Tim replies with a low snicker.

“You laugh, but I am not above that,” Kon huffs, resting the side of his face on Tim’s thigh. “I will fully ask Kal for permission to blow his secret ID to your adorable boyfriend for those waffles any day. Or, like, just blow your adorable boyfriend for them, depending on whatever specific shades of kryptonite happen to be available at the time. Either/or, I guess.”

“I feel like that's sort of a no-win situation for Superman, either his clone wants to give up all his secrets in return for a literal waffle recipe or he has to just, like, be okay with you running amok with pink kryptonite at random times that he is not gonna be forewarned about,” Tim muses as he pulls his fingers through his hair again.

“Maybe that'd cut down on the random drop-in lectures, since apparently he and Kara are both ridiculous about the stuff,” Kon says with a snort, rolling his eyes. Well, Kara’d made it sound like Clark was also at least a little bit ridiculous, anyway. “So like probably Bernard could have a very successful supervillain career in Metropolis if he went with the pink K theming, because everybody but the Steels is gonna avoid him and I already know just how good the dick is sooooo . . .”

“I don't know how successful a supervillain he'd be if ‘went to Metropolis and made out with Superboy’ was his whole schtick,” Tim replied in amusement.

“I mean I have met a couple supervillains whose schticks did pretty reliably end up in me making out with them so it's at least on-brand on my end,” Kon says reasonably, and Tim–hesitates, a moment, and his hand stills in Kon’s hair. Kon–frowns. “What?”

“. . . nothing,” Tim says. “Just I don't think I ever really thought about that being sort of a recurring theme in your life.”

“I mean–only sorta,” Kon says, not really sure what Tim means by that. “Like, Knockout was really the only recurring–well, I guess I did run into Ivy a couple times, but she just wanted to mind-control me, not actually, like, make out or whatever. Which, like, vast improvement on Gilly wanting to mind-control me and make out. And everybody else was pretty much a one-off, I think? Though uh, maybe Greta should technically count, given the, uh, literally Apokolip-tic timing there, but that was only really the one time too.”

“Right,” Tim says, and draws his fingers through Kon’s hair again slowly. “‘Everybody else’.”

Kon–frowns.

That's a weird tone, he thinks. Like–coming from Tim, he means.

“Dude, you long-term situationship-ed a chick who hit you in the face with a brick the first time you met her, I don't feel like you get to claim normal dating pool rights either,” he tries to joke, trying to clear the frown off his face as he does; keeping his face turned to the side against Tim's thigh.

Tim draws his fingers through his hair again and doesn't joke back.

“Have you really never done aftercare before?” he asks, which is not actually something Kon ever explicitly said, but–well, it's Tim, so yeah. And it wasn’t really all that subtle anyway, he’s sure. “With any partner?”

“I dunno,” he says, and half-shrugs. He doesn't get why Tim cares so much about how much he knows about the aftercare thing. Like, “have you ever sucked cock or taken it up the ass before?” made sense to him as questions, for obvious reasons; this one, not so much, given all Tim actually wanted him to do was let him fuss over him a little, which doesn’t really require much experience on his end or anything. Though he guesses if he really thinks about it . . . “Um . . . Cass kinda wants to . . . like, fuss sometimes when we fuck around, I guess, but not . . . really? Like, nothing she doesn't already wanna do when we aren't being kinky fucks about shit, y'know? And like, you know Batbabe, she just does stuff without really explaining why she’s doing it sometimes.”

Usually stuff that gets him off harder than people with literal fucking superpowers can, but that, like, goes without saying and is also probably weird to tell a guy about his adopted sister, maybe?

. . . then again, Kon is who he is as a person.

“Like, she's really, you know, a lot in bed,” he says, half-gesturing with one of his hands. “Like a whole lot. Unsurprisingly. So I always kinda just figured she does that kinda thing ‘cuz she's, um–”

He cannot actually say “apologizing” here, Kon realizes, except, well . . .

“Um, apologizing?” he admits, and tries not to wince because it really does sound bad, but that is just really not how he means it. “But like, don’t get me wrong, she definitely has never needed to apologize for a single thing except maybe the time she had to run out on me for an all-hands Arkham breakout, but like–not her fault on that one, obviously. Though she did make me go sit with Oracle while she ran comms instead of letting me, like, help or just go home or whatever, so that was fucking mortifying as fuck? Like, very much so.”

“Mm,” Tim says, and frowns a little. Kon just . . . shrugs, awkwardly, and decides to maybe just . . . not mention exactly how he’d–felt, that time, when Cass had just . . . run off on him while they were . . . like, it doesn’t matter, it’d just been him being–weird, again. Too weird, same as always. And like–he doesn’t really know Oracle, but he’d known Cass wasn’t gonna leave him with someone who . . . like, who’d . . .

He just–hadn’t felt good about it. Mostly he’d felt weird and gross and had really wanted to go home and hole up somewhere quiet ‘til he could calm his stupid weird brain down, but Cass had made him promise not to, and he’d just felt like . . . he’d felt like he couldn’t after that, he guesses.

He’d felt a lot better once she’d gotten back, at least, so like . . . that was better than figuring it out himself when he was already all–weird, maybe, but . . .

“I don’t remember hearing about you being in the clocktower during any Arkham breakouts,” Tim says, still frowning a little. “When was that?”

“Um–that time you and Spoiler ran off to Crete with that Anarky guy and told literally no one you were leaving,” Kon says, because pretty much that’d been why he and Cass had both been free at the same time while both in Gotham at the same time. She’d just come back from Hong Kong and hadn’t known Steph was out of town, and he’d been looking for Tim and hadn’t known he was out of town, and . . . just, yeah. Not important, just . . . just his head’s a little–weird, still, and he’s even worse at staying focused than usual. “Doing, you know, whatever you were doing that you didn’t explain to any of us.”

“. . . long story,” Tim says, and frowns a little deeper. “Cass is the only one who’s done anything like that?”

“I guess,” Kon says with a shrug. “Like I said, don’t do this, like, all the time or anything. And I kinda freaked Cassie out when I got weird on her, and anyway that’s weird shit to–I dunno, ask for, especially just for fucking around with somebody, and like . . . mostly I try, uh . . . not to get . . . like . . . weird, anyway. Uh. ‘Sub . . . space’-y, or whatever. Like–y’know, so it’s not important or anything.”

Tim doesn’t say anything, again. He strokes Kon’s hair a couple times and Kon feels–worried, a little, that he maybe said something wrong or stupid or just was TMI about Cass or–worried that Tim thinks he’s fucking always weird like this, or always all stupid and needy like this, that he genuinely can’t even imitate a normal person or–

Tim picks up a banana slice off one of the breakfast plates on the nightstand and offers it to him. Kon–blinks, distracted from what he was thinking, and glances up at his face. Tim’s not frowning anymore, but he looks . . . pensive, or something like that. Some fancy version of “thoughtful”, basically, because just “thoughtful” doesn’t really feel, like, enough or anything.

Tim just requires a better vocabulary of “thoughtful”, maybe.

“Take a bite for me?” Tim asks, so–yeah, so Kon doesn’t really care about anything but listening to him right now. Like–proving he can still . . . that he does trust him; that he’s not gonna fuck up and overreact and get all weird and stupid like that over nothing again. That he can listen, still, and be . . . be good for him, still. As good as ever. As good as–always.

Which is, like–stupid too, considering. Eating a piece of banana is not exactly a fucking monumentous effort or anything.

But that’s what Tim asked him to do, so like–that’s what Kon does, obviously. Bites the little slice out of Tim’s hand, and gets his hair absent-reflex petted for it again, and feels kinda . . . warm and anxious and like his skin’s all prickly and . . .

Tim offers him a blueberry. Kon eats that too, and gets petted some more for it. He keeps his arms wrapped loosely around Tim’s waist because Tim hasn’t told him to move them, and he feels . . . warmer again, yeah. The anxious buzz under his skin settles a little more, a little better, and Tim just . . . feeds him a few more pieces of fruit, and pets his hair some more, and doesn’t really say anything else about anything.

It’s probably dumb, how nice it makes Kon feel. He just . . . doesn’t get to be the only thing Tim’s paying attention to all that often, is all.

He’s not jealous or annoyed or anything, that Tim’s always so busy even when they do get to hang out–like, he doesn’t mean it like that–but it’s just . . . kinda rare that he’s not, Kon guesses. So it’s–funny, kinda, how it always makes him feel when the guy’s not.

Though he’s feeling a lot more of it than usual right now, he thinks.

But it’s–nice, to get to feel that for a little while, so Kon just . . . feels that, for a little while. Tim feeds him a little more fruit and pets him a few more times too, and it’s . . . really, really nice. Just . . . quiet, and content, and easy. But then he remembers that he should be doing something for this, if Tim’s focusing on just him for once–like, keeping his attention, keeping him entertained, making him not regret spending all that time on him instead of anything more important and just earning–

“The chef sends his compliments,” Bernard announces easily as he steps back into the room and Tim looks towards him, and Kon feels the weirdest sensation of, like . . . relief, almost, and his head quiets down a little more again, and doesn’t feel so . . . full, again. Just–if Bernard’s back, he doesn’t have to try so hard to like . . . to be all those things all at once, maybe. Doesn’t need to be all those things all at once.

“Is that a latte?” Tim asks, sounding a little surprised.

“Okay, fine, the barista sends his compliments, geez,” Bernard huffs, making a face at him. He’s holding two mugs, one a big chunky red one that’s practically the size of a soup bowl and the other bright blue and almost, like, cube-shaped and covered in all these weird-looking linked and interlinked circles and lines and stuff, kinda? Kon doesn’t actually know what they’re supposed to be, but he guesses maybe it’s just an aesthetic thing?

More importantly, that’s the one that’s topped with whipped cream and a caramel drizzle, so like . . . priorities, obviously.

“Um–that blue one there mine, man?” he asks, feeling a little awkward about asking, but . . . look, sue him: it smells real fuckin’ good.

“Yeah, I couldn’t resist, sorry,” Bernard says, setting both of the mugs on the nightstand next to the mostly-empty breakfast dishes. “Very on the nose, I know, but give a man his vices.”

“Uh . . . ‘on the nose’?” Kon asks, wrinkling his own in confusion.

“. . . hey Tim totally random question, how much British television am I allowed to bully your boy into watching this weekend?” Bernard asks conversationally. “Like we can go doggy-style for a few rounds, right? Very on-brand anyway, considering, and then we can multitask it and also I can explain the continuity errors and why if I ever meet Steven Moffat it is on sight.”

“I dunno, I really liked that Jekyll show,” Tim says, already eyeing the mug with the alleged latte in it with clear intent.

“Obviously, Tim, that show was incredible, but also that show limited the man to six episodes and he could not write a full season of television to save the BBC or Matt Smith’s career,” Bernard says feelingly, then reaches over and sort of–scruffs Kon’s hair more than anything else, really, and Kon’s spine goes a little bit liquid over it. “Actually, wait, maybe ‘last of his kind except for that one dude who wants to kill him’ super-powerful alien guy is, like, too on the nose, maybe that would not actually be fun and enjoyable escapism for you, hm.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Kon admits as he pushes himself up a bit and lets the comforter slide down to his thighs, because he really does not, yeah, but also he really wants to know what that hot chocolate tastes like. Bernard very visibly just suffers.

“I’m talking about the Doctor, man, c’mon,” he says feelingly.

“Doctor who?” Kon asks, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“. . . congratulations on being the funniest motherfucker on this boat without even trying, I will never beat that one,” Bernard sighs as Tim bursts into laughter. Kon very much does not get the joke, but like . . . there’s hot chocolate on that nightstand, so really, he’s got bigger priorities in life right now, and he eyes the mug consideringly. “Let it cool off for a minute, bud, otherwise you’re gonna burn your tastebuds off and won’t even be able to taste it, and that would be a tragic loss on your end, trust me.”

“. . . so who’s being the funniest one on the boat again?” Kon asks wryly, raising a pointed eyebrow at him. Bernard stares blankly at him for a moment, then–

“Ohhhhh,” he realizes, then laughs sheepishly as he picks the mug up himself and holds it out to him. “Yeah, have at it, big guy.”

“Fuck yeah,” Kon says with a grin as he accepts the source of all delicious chocolatey-sugary caramel smells in the room. “Thanks, man.”

“My bad for not paying enough attention to your specs, just picked myself a whole bouquet of whoopsy-daisies there,” Bernard says, and Tim laughs again, and Kon buries a snigger of his own in the hot chocolate and narrowly avoids getting caramel on his nose. He still feels a little–disconnected, maybe, like his TTK’s maybe a little bit left of center or something. Like his equilibrium or his sense of balance or whatever isn’t exactly fitting right, maybe.

Bernard is still just fucking funny, though.

Kon takes a swallow of the hot chocolate, since again he does not need to worry about burning his tastebuds off or even getting a light scalding, and–oh Jesus, the caramel is actually in the hot chocolate, isn’t it, not just drizzled on. Jesus.

Ma is never gonna forgive him for the amount of recipes he is apparently gonna be asking Tim’s boyfriend for, yeah.

“Shit, maybe I am the marrying kind,” Kon mutters under his breath, then takes a long sip. Jesus. Just–Jeeeeesus. “What the fuck does Gotham put in the hot chocolate?”

“Well, this time I did cocoa powder, milk, powdered sugar, and caramel sauce,” Bernard says. Kon stops mid-sip just to stare blankly at him. “But like, Batburger for example has a recipe that’s a bit more questionable and has occasionally been compromised by Condiment King, so that’s a whole other thing.”

“Tim,” Kon says, turning his head just enough to eye Tim instead, because he really just needs a minute here. Like, just for his stupid weird brain’s sake, if nothing else. “Where the fuck did you find this dude and what the fuck did you do to earn him? Like, karmically-speaking or whatever. I just need to know what’s better than literally fucking dying to save the world, because I am not pulling chicks who make hot chocolate from fucking scratch. I didn’t know you fucking could make hot chocolate from scratch.”

“I mean, it’s just better that way, y’know?” Bernard says with a shrug. “Though in retrospect I could’ve just made hot caramel milk, I dunno if that’d be your thing though.”

Kon is possibly eyeing Tim accusingly now. Tim grins slyly at him in return and picks up his latte to blow gently on it. Bernard literally drew a heart in the foam for him, because Tim’s a terrible person who stole all the good karma in the world, apparently. Though seriously, Kon doesn’t even know how the dude made a latte in that kitchen, Tim doesn’t even have an espresso machine or whatever. Like, the limited counter space thing was not an exaggeration in any way, shape, or form.

Tim is literally terrible, yeah, Kon decides. Absolute worst best friend a guy could have. Like, aside from the part where he’s saved his life a few thousand times and also just fucked him so good that he low-key had a nervous breakdown about it, anyway. The dick really is just that good, apparently.

Kon might actually have to go off and sulk for a little while once Clark locks up the pink K. Which seems increasingly bullshit of an idea at this point, frankly. Like hello, no one else is using it for anything; why can’t he just keep it?

“So like do you have a sister? Maybe a super-close cousin or something?” he asks Bernard, giving him a speculative look.

“Terminal only child, and all my cousins are like fifteen years older than us and either in jail or married with kids,” Bernard replies with a laugh, shaking his head.

“So what I’m hearing is conjugal visits and MILFs,” Kon counters reasonably, flashing him a sharp grin before taking another sip of really fucking good hot chocolate, and Bernard laughs again. “More importantly, do any of them come in ‘cute blonde who knows how to cook’ too?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re straight again and can properly appreciate them,” Bernard says, still snickering. “No offense to the Dowd family line or anything, just none of us are Starfire-level here. Eh, well, maybe Convict-Cousin Nina is bridging the gap a little, but that’s about it.”

“Fair,” Kon allows, then takes another drink. For a second he feels like there's something he should be thinking of, but he can’t figure out what it’d–

“‘Nina’?” Tim repeats, tilting his head slowly to one side. “Uh . . . maternal or paternal cousin, Bernard?”

“Paternal, yeah,” Bernard replies. Tim stares blankly at him.

“Bernard,” Tim says. “Did we get your cousin arrested?”

“Oh, well, I guess partially? Though I think technically just Impulse and your boy here did, but yeah,” Bernard says with a shrug. Kon . . . maybe also tilts his head. Okay. Yeah. He remembers Nina Dowd. Like, goddamn, does he ever. Fondly, one might even say.

Specifically, like, he fondly remembers Mighty Endowed and her . . . “tracts of land”, was that how Tim had put it, as the ridiculous nerd he’d been and still is to this day?

Dork.

“God I’m still sad we didn’t actually get to fight her,” Kon mutters, shaking his head a little wistfully. “Worst missed opportunity that sixteen year-old me ever suffered, and I was sixteen for a minute.”

“I–you–Bernard!” Tim sputters. “How did you never mention that before?!”

“I dunno, babe, maybe ‘cause I’ve been pretending very, very hard to not know you were Robin?” Bernard reminds him with an amused grin, leaning in to lightly flick Tim’s nose. “And I felt like ‘oh hey did you know your buddies sent my one cousin to jail back when we were in high school?’ would maybe not be helpful with that?”

“Technically Rob was also there,” Kon says. “And we didn’t really do much anyway, mostly we were busy dealing with the Super-Cycle and its shitty ex-boss. Actually, did literally anyone ever figure out why good ol’ Nina got the whole hottie-with-a-body New-God-meets-anime-catgirl treatment and none of the rest of us did? Like, did we ever get the Cycle to explain that one to us?”

“I mean, are you sure you didn’t?” Bernard asks, looking him over meaningfully. Kon is not above preening for that. Very much so is he not above preening for that.

“. . . were you actually concerned about that at the time, Kon?” Tim asks. “Did that occur to you at the time and you just decided . . . what, not to worry about it?”

“Worst-case scenario I coulda gone back to the Wild Lands, the beast-men probably woulda let me crash with ‘em,” Kon replies with a shrug, then takes another swallow of hot chocolate. God, it really is unfairly good. “Endowed got tiger stripes, right? I could rock me some tiger stripes.”

“I mean I dunno, would your buddy the prince be into tiger stripes?” Bernard asks in amusement.

“Technically he’s king now, actually,” Kon says. “Also he is a tiger, so I don’t see why not? Like, you’d think he'da been cool with that, right?”

Tim says nothing. Somehow his total silence comes out very feeling all the same, though. Kon spares him another nice sharp grin and licks some of the melted whipped cream and caramel off the rim of his mug. Tim puts a hand over his own face and very feelingly continues to say nothing.

“Probably wouldn’t need the collar anymore, right?” Kon muses “innocently” into his delicious chocolatey caramel-y goodness. “But maybe he'd lemme wear it for old times’ sake.”

“I changed my mind, you should’ve just asked Nightwing and Starfire what they get up to,” Tim says dubiously, giving him a deadpan look as he does, and Kon actually fucking giggles over that one, which is maybe slightly embarrassing but oh well, he’s done weirder. Like, literally fifteen minutes ago he was doing way weirder, in fact.

He kinda wishes Bernard’d get in the bed again, though. Dude’s kinda just been standing there, it makes him feel sorta rude or whatever. Admittedly Bernard getting back in this bed comfortably would necessitate some sacrifice of personal space and possibly someone ending up in someone else’s lap or at least real intimately pressed together, but . . .

Kon, very briefly, tries to imagine what it might feel like if Tim and Bernard pinned him between them the same way they’d fucked him together just to, like . . . cuddle, or sleep, or like . . . whatever.

. . . . . . . . . Kon needs to not imagine that right now, or his dick is going to have its own personal Mighty Endowed arc. Chances of accompanying maniacal catboy laughter pretty low, but still nonzero.

God, though, he really would like to–nope, nope, that is weird shit, self. Very weird shit. “Time for a new train of thought” levels of weird shit, in fact. Maybe a couple new trains of thought, if need be.

“Jesus, you’re cute,” Bernard says, giving Kon a grin and reaching over to pinch his cheek, which should maybe feel ridiculous or demeaning but actually kinda just makes him wanna melt all over the dude, and does not dissuade any weird-shit thoughts Kon is or isn’t having right now.

. . . need might be, yeah.

Kon swears to absolute fuck, if he gets Pavlov-ed into getting horny over getting called “cute”, he will have to go supervillain for at least the next six to eight months. Like, he will go out and get himself a black bodysuit and smack on some gold armor and/or accessories and just finally have his Black Zero era. He has literally never actually wanted to have a Black Zero era, but over that cheek pinch thing, he genuinely just might.

“I think you’re just projecting, man,” he says with a smirk, deciding to just hope he’s at least not blushing as hard as it feels like he’s blushing. Bernard grins wider at him and pinches both his cheeks this time, then flattens his hands against them and squishes them instead. Kon, unfortunately, has apparently gotten dicked down good enough that he just kinda lets the dude do it.

Jesus, he is way too easy, isn’t he.

“Naw, definitely not,” Bernard declares decisively, squishing his face again. Kon should make a face at him or at least stick out his tongue at him or something, but he really is just way, way too easy, yeah, so he pretty much just laughs about it instead. “See? Cutest. Back me up here, Tim, tell your boy what a cutie he is.”

“You’re both being kinda cute right now, honestly,” Tim replies as he takes a sip of his latte, watching them both with an amused and like . . . kinda indulgent expression, almost. Kon, for a moment, has no idea if he should be expecting Bernard to be being a petsitter or, like–another pet, the way Tim’s looking at them both right now. Or just if he’s about to be getting, well–cuddled again, maybe. He wouldn’t mind that, all things considered.

Like. Definitely he wouldn’t mind that, Kon thinks, resisting the urge to bite his lip.

Bernard leans in and smacks a kiss on his forehead, still holding his face in his hands, and Kon feels himself flush all over again. It’s, like–just weirdly endearing, for some reason. And also weirdly horny-inducing, again, in a way he really wishes he could just blame on the pink K but is pretty sure he cannot, in fact, just blame on the pink K.

It’d be a lot less embarrassing if he could, but also probably wouldn’t be working so damn well.

. . . something about that thought feels . . . weird, a little, but Kon's not sure what actually–

“I guess I can accept being somewhere on the cute graph, but definitely your boy’s the grand prize winner,” Bernard allows, and Kon feels his face get a little hotter and just sort of leans into the other’s hands, like–just a little, maybe. “I can accept the bronze.”

“I dunno, objectively speaking I don’t think Rob could actually score silver over you, man,” Kon jokes, trying to get his stomach to stop feeling all–butterfly-y, maybe, he doesn’t know. Just, like–he doesn’t know, yeah. It’s just that kinda off-kilter new-crush feeling again, maybe. Like just . . . that kinda feeling, he guesses.

Well, if nothing else, at least he can blame the pink K for that.

Tim snorts, rolling his eyes, and Bernard grins.

“Oh no, big guy, Tim’s not even on the podium here,” he informs Kon matter-of-factly. “Silver’s Mothman, obviously. Mothman’s cute as fuck. Extremely cuddleable.”

“. . . is there somebody in the community I don’t know about, or do you actually mean, like . . . the actual cryptid?” Kon asks, squinting doubtfully at him. Like, going by their conversations so far . . .

“You know, I’ll let you come to your own conclusions there, I hate to give a guy all the answers in life,” Bernard says, letting go of Kon’s face–unfortunately, Kon is resigned to realize is his first thought–to gesture illustratively with both hands, his grin turning smug. “Like, why spoil the mystery, you know?”

“I’d normally say you were about as mysterious as a golden retriever, but you have been pretending not to know I was an active vigilante for . . . how long, exactly, honey?” Tim asks wryly, raising an eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t you like to know, honey,” Bernard replies, looking even more smug.

“I’m going to have to explain this to Batman next patrol, you realize,” Tim sighs, hanging his head. “And he’s going to want actual details.”

“What, you can’t figure those out yourself, World’s Second-Greatest Detective?” Kon asks with a smirk. Tim makes a face at him, because he’s still a total nerd.

“I take it back, neither of you are even slightly cute,” he says. “Like not even a little bit.”

“Aw, not even your good boy at his goodest?” Bernard teases, pinching Kon’s cheek again like he’s illustrating his point or something, and Kon snickers despite himself. “I thought he was pretty cute then, personally. Especially when he was sitting on my dick.”

Kon maybe has a little bit of a problem resisting the urge to melt into weird horny goo all over the guy, but manages to just make himself laugh again. Tim hums quietly into his latte, then takes a long, careful sip.

“Kon,” he says. “When you’re done with your drink, give Bernard the mug and come here.”

Kon does not even have a chance of resisting melting into weird horny goo about that.

“Uh–okay, yeah,” he manages, and tries to hide the flush on his face by taking a long swallow of his hot chocolate.

“So cute,” Bernard mutters feelingly, and Kon feels his face flush even darker. He’s not sure if . . . like, what exactly Tim might be about to ask for, or . . .

Fuck, he doesn’t care what Tim’s about to ask for. He just wants to do it. Do it, and prove he’s still–that he can still–

He needs to do it.

Yeah, good as the hot chocolate is–with, again, actual literal caramel actually literally in it, Jesus Christ–savoring time is over.

Kon finishes it off with another long swallow, and Bernard laughs and accepts the mug when he holds it out to him. Kon would maybe be a little more embarrassed if it weren’t Tim who’d asked him to do it. Like–probably a lot more, really, though not even really for a good reason.

Maybe it’s just embarrassing to be so easy, sometimes. Like–Kon isn’t embarrassed by being an easy fuck or anything, but it does get a little bit embarrassing when, well . . . when he’s just easy for that butterfly new-crush feeling in his gut, or for being told what to do, or even just for getting kissed, sometimes.

He wants kissed right now, Kon’s pretty sure. Or, like–maybe that’s the wanting to suck Tim off thing again. It’s still real fuckin’ hard to tell the difference.

Maybe there just isn’t one, he thinks, but can’t help doubting he’d ever have gotten off that easy with this kind of thing. Really, really can’t help doubting.

Tim told him “come here”, though, so that’s what’s gonna happen either way.

Kon shifts back over towards Tim again, trying to figure out exactly where the other wants him, and Tim catches the back of his neck with a hand and somehow with about half a tug and a very faint smile manages to get Kon down on the mattress again, stretched out on his side with his head rested in Tim’s lap.

Like–again very obviously not in a kinky way, is his head currently rested in Tim’s lap.

“Good boy,” Tim says, simple as anything, and sips his latte as he strokes Kon’s hair in easy little gestures that really, really shouldn’t affect him so damn much, but really, really, really do.

Fuck, he really could get used to this.

He really needs to not get used to this.

Kon . . . exhales, slowly, and glances up at Tim. Tim’s just sipping his latte, watching Bernard put the caramel-sticky hot chocolate mug on the breakfast tray and stack up all the dirty dishes together. Like–make room, maybe, or just organize ‘em better to wash later, Kon guesses. He feels like maybe he should be doing that, or at least helping out with it or something, but . . . well, this is where Tim told him to be, so he’s not.

Like–maybe he should be, just . . .

Tim strokes his hair back off his forehead, and yeah, no, Kon really can’t do anything but stay right where he is. Tim’ll tell him if he needs to be anywhere else. Like–obviously Tim’ll tell him if he needs to be anywhere else. That’s what Tim always does.

And like–he knows Tim will.

Kon . . . relaxes, kinda, and breathes out slow again. Stays where Tim put him, and doesn’t do anything else. Tim didn’t ask him to do anything else, so–yeah. He just stays where Tim put him, and Tim draws his fingers through his hair again while smiling up at Bernard, and Bernard leans down to kiss Tim again, and Kon can–feel it, again. Feel them kiss each other, he means. Obviously. It feels nice, but he knows it’s not a thing they’re actually, like . . . trying to make him feel.

It’s still hard not to like how it feels, though.

Tim curls his fingers through Kon's hair and his nails in behind his ear, absent and reflexive and without turning away from kissing Bernard, and Kon closes his eyes and just–melts, really. Melts, and just . . . stays melted, he guesses. Bernard gets into the bed with them, tucking himself in against Tim’s side with a content little hum and pressing a kiss against his jaw as he reaches across his stomach to give Kon a quick, affectionate little scritching himself, and Kon is pretty much just, like, goop now. Melty, melty goop. Or–melty, melty caramel, maybe. He feels kinda like how being caramel might feel, he thinks a little bit dreamily, and likes the thought. Bernard made him caramel, so like . . . yeah. It’s a nice thought, right now.

“All good, babe?” Bernard asks.

“Mm,” Tim says. “I’m fine. Just being careful, that’s all.”

“Yeah, fair,” Bernard agrees, giving Kon’s head a last scritch before dropping his hand to drag the comforter back up over Kon's back and then drape his arm loosely around Tim’s waist. “Gonna give me the mercy of a little cuddle-time, then?”

“You don’t mind?” Tim asks with a faint little frown while Kon's head is busy buzzing with comforter-soft contentment, and Bernard snorts.

“I don’t need personal space after every scene, babe, I just don’t like getting touched much after I sub. So you being of a mind to be amenable to cuddling is like, the opposite of a problem when somebody else did the subbing,” he says, obviously amused. “Actually I’m gonna consider this a win, really? Like this is actually a very useful sex-life hack: borrow somebody else to sub, play lovely assistant to your Dom while getting a bit more personal flexibility in said play, maybe do a little pet-sitting or whatever somewhere in there, and then collect free cuddles after. Though honestly we maybe kinda fucked that idea already because I do not know who could actually live up to how you and your boy play together, like gods damn, much less how goddamn good he rides my dick. Oh, and also I’ll miss that.”

“The purring?” Tim asks, which is the only reason Kon figures out what “that” Bernard is talking about, and also probably the only reason he notices that he’s, like, kinda been purring. Like, apparently. Like–for a little while, probably. Huh.

Well–it feels pretty nice, though, so yeah. It’s all good, Kon figures, feeling a little less dreamy and a little more just sleepy now.

“Definitely the purring,” Bernard confirms. “It is friggin’ adorable, holy hell. Is he still awake or do you think he’s actually doing that in his sleep? Because if he is I am gonna go into a diabetic coma and maybe die. Like, I’ll die happy, don’t get me wrong, just I’ll definitely die.”

“Just dozing a little, I think,” Tim says, smoothing Kon’s hair back off his forehead. “He’ll probably fall asleep pretty soon if we don’t talk to him or anything.”

Kon does, like–kinda like not having to talk right now, he reflects absently. Like–not having to be interesting or be keeping all of somebody’s attention or . . . like, it’s just nice, that somebody else is there to talk.

Nicer than he actually would've expected it to be, honestly.

“Hmmm, well, maybe I’ll live, then, but there’s maybe still some hypoglycemia-related concerns,” Bernard says musingly, rubbing Tim’s hip lightly just above Kon’s head as he rests his own head on Tim’s shoulder. “Seriously, though, I was very sure I’d be into this but I am somehow still unexpectedly into this? Though like, in my defense, did not expect the specific line of kinks that this long weekend has been merrily proceeding along, so yeah.”

“I, uh, didn't really either,” Tim says, sounding kinda embarrassed as he twines his fingers through Kon’s curls. “I blame the collar thing. Or, uh . . . the part where someone technically did, you know, uh . . .”

“Literally legitimately keep him as a pet?” Bernard supplies.

“. . . possibly,” Tim mutters.

“I don’t actually think I’ve seen you get that jealous since, like, high school, it’s actually very cute on you,” Bernard informs him with a grin and a quick little pat against his hip. “Do we have to see if we can find ourselves a nice sexy version of a reputable pet rescue, is that gonna be a thing from now on? Adopt a pet who’s cute and friendly and insatiable? Like, the fostering experience is working out for you, right?”

“Please shut up, I really did not know this about myself,” Tim groans as he lets out a helpless little snort of laughter, then shakes his head before taking another sip of his coffee.

“Hmmm, well, we learn something new about ourselves every sexual encounter, I guess?” Bernard teases with a snicker of his own. “‘Dear Gay Penthouse, this long weekend I found out that both gay kryptonite and pet play exist, it was a very illuminating experience, also my wonderful boyfriend made me waffles and I was very appreciative’.”

“I thought the waffles were you being appreciative of me letting you meet one of my friends as thoroughly as possible,” Tim says, sounding amused again. His fingers curl and uncurl in Kon’s hair, and Kon kinda just . . . maybe-dozes, yeah, or maybe he’s just close enough to it there’s not really a difference. It’s fine; Bernard’s keeping Tim entertained and Tim’s keeping Bernard entertained and all he really needs to do is just, like . . . be here, really. Just, like–relax, and just be available for whatever they might maybe need him for, but not anything more complicated than that.

He likes how that feels, honestly. Like . . . low-pressure, and like he doesn’t have to be constantly, like . . . “on”, or whatever, he doesn’t really know. It’s kinda complicated to untangle in his head, but . . . yeah, he doesn’t know, really. He’s here, but he doesn’t have to be here; he just like . . . is, kinda.

Like–he wants to be, but he doesn’t have to be.

It’s . . . yeah, Kon doesn’t really know how to explain it right. Untangle it right. But it doesn’t matter anyway, ‘cuz Tim would tell him if he needed to figure it out, and Tim hasn’t told him he needs to figure it out, so he doesn’t have to figure it out.

“Yeah, never mind, diabetic shock at least,” Bernard mutters feelingly, lifting his hand back to Kon’s hair and scritching just underneath Tim’s stroking fingers. “Like the most adorable tractor engine on Poison Ivy’s green earth, holy frickin’ hell.”

“Ivy wouldn’t let a tractor on her green earth,” Tim says with another quiet little laugh.

“Then Ivy has terrible taste in tractors, clearly,” Bernard mock-huffs, briefly tangling his fingers with Tim’s in Kon’s hair to give them a little squeeze before going back to the scritching. “. . . but like, how weird would it be to rub his belly, is that too weird to be kinky or is it weirder that I kinda just wanna do it to see if it makes him purr? Also like, in my defense: those abs.”

“You once made me a PowerPoint about why you thought we should spend our three-month anniversary looking for the Jersey Devil,” Tim says.

“Yeah, because I was matching your freak, Mr. ‘Here’s My Spreadsheet of Every Single Date We’ve Ever Been On and How Well It Went,” Bernard replies practically, then muffles a snicker against Tim’s shoulder. “Actually, okay, I know it got a little awkward as a question last time, but does this count as a date, or is this one just going on the sexcapades spreadsheet?”

“. . . I can link to other sheets as needed,” Tim says, and Bernard laughs delightedly and lifts his head to press a quick kiss to the corner of his jaw.

“Nerd.”

“I’m just saying, the program supports it.”

“Nerd.”

Jesus, they are so cute, Kon reflects drowsily, feeling that weird twisty-fluttery feeling in his stomach again. Like–he doesn’t have to be here, but he can be, and Tim just sounds so . . . he sounds really . . . just happy, really. Like . . . not even just content; but outright happy. And he and Bernard talk so easy and talk about, like–everything so easy, it feels like. Easy as they’d both rattled off their hard no’s and safewords and like . . . all that stuff. Easy as Tim’d told him what to do and Bernard had helped him with the stuff he didn’t know how to do and . . .

Yeah. Just–it’s nice, again.

Tim and Bernard keep talking on and off, and petting him on and off, and kiss each other a couple times, brief but warm and sweet and nice to feel even secondhand. Tim doesn’t actually take his hand out of Kon’s hair even when they do, which makes him feel that twisty-fluttery feeling even stronger in his gut, and he doesn’t feel, like–floaty, really, but he does feel a little bit like he feels when he gets floaty.

Kon kinda loses track of time a few times in there, maybe, but he already didn’t really know what time it was anyway. Like–aside from being kinda late in the day, he guesses. But like, the bedroom doesn’t have any natural light either way, and without it his sense of time is kinda shot, and the way the sex went and all that did not help, so . . . yeah, that’s just kinda a thing, he guesses. So like, he’s actually not even a hundred percent sure he knows what day it is, considering how weird he’s gotten and the way he's been sleeping and all. Like, it’s definitely not Thursday anymore, but he’s not actually sure if it’s still Friday or . . . like, it’s probably still Friday, or at least still technically Friday night, he thinks, but . . .

Well, it doesn’t really matter, Kon figures idly. Like–Tim’ll just tell him, once they get to Monday. Like–when it’s time to leave or whatever. It’s a little disorienting, makes him feel a little bit dreamier and a little less anchored, but . . . yeah, Tim’ll tell him, so it’s fine either way. He just has to listen to what he gets told, and be good for Tim, and either be here or not be here, and that’s all.

So yeah, Kon can do that. He definitely can do that. He can do anything Tim wants him to, and if there’s anything he actually can’t do . . . Bernard’ll just fix it again, if there’s anything like that.

And as nice as everything’s been feeling just now, the way it feels knowing just those last few little things might be better than just about any of the rest of it, Kon thinks.

He sleeps really good, after that.

Notes:

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