Alternative scene in Red Robin #17. If Tim had gone back to his hotel room after freeing Lynx instead of meeting up with Bruce, and already a little sexually frustrated as it is, decides to take care of the 'problem'. A visitor hears him 'struggling' and decides to 'help' him out. Kon/Tim. Written for the smut. Stick around if you want. Any and all comments are deeply appreciated and I will probably jump up and down being silly and love on you a lot. Heh. This is a present/request to a very dear friend to me xOHikaruOx for being such a bubbly lil thing and entertaining me to no end wherever I talk to her. ILU~
The armor of his uniform slide free from his body, and in the darkness of the hotel room, Tim felt along with his bare fingers down the fleshy dip of his navel to where his erection twitched half-formed.
D-… His teeth strained over his lower lip, puffing it, and his thumb circled the bulge… d-dammit…
This was not — and it needed to be repeated — NOT the night for this. For a painful erection to be starting up in his tights. To be jerking off right after committing some sort of ambiguous feat in freeing Lynx from the authorities and then letting her strip in front of him and… freeing her from the authorities… and kissing her and… okay, he repeated the 'authority' part already but it was important.
Tim's eyes could see enough of the room he was in from the slits of low neon-sign lighting underneath the drawn curtains to the hotel's windows, enough to make out the cot. He laid completely still on his back to it, breathing in and out through his nose, hoping to steady it, and hoping that he could become a little less hard in the process. His eyelids fluttered close, his Adam's apple bobbing.
In his mind's eye, Tim saw Lynx standing in front of him, her copper-colored eyes gazing outright and so amused; confident; playful. And then suddenly those eyes were blue… an infinite blue of wide and open Kansas skies… and his best friend began to smile… and… Tim's erection was suddenly tenfold.
A mix between a groan and frustrated gurgle escaped Tim's mouth. No… no, not him…
But he didn't want to open his eyes. He knew deep down that he didn't want to erase the image of Conner standing in Lynx's place, smiling willfully but not at all ungrateful, and slowly unzipping the front of the orange prison uniform. The thick and padded fabric shed itself from Conner's powerhouse of a build like a butterfly's hardened chrysalis. His burly, muscular biceps rippled loose and exposed to the freezing night air. If Conner had been not been a clone of Superman, Tim was sure he would have seen goose bumps on him. And unlike Lynx's attire, there was no white undershirt.
Tim's fingers flexed a little into the soft, colorless blanket below before lifting and yanking the front of his tights and his jock away from his throbbing cock. He stroked himself in a stiff and rushed pace, whispering his best friend's name repeatedly like… a spiritual hymn… when it really felt like damnation.
Warm blue eyes. Conner's eyes. His best friend tried to make a messy knot of the orange prison suit at his waist as he was speaking to Tim—Tim could not distinguish individual words he was saying — and gave up after a moment, shoving the rest of the baggy suit to his knees. He was… so n-naked…
Tim's breathing tightened into harsh gasping. With eyes still closed, he grinded against his own hand with abandonment, his lower back arching in, the spaces between his fingers coating with precome.
"- ah- Conner-!"
His eyes shot open as his name was spoken aloud confused, and Tim tilted his sweating neck up from the cot's pillows to see Conner — denim jeans and red insignia and DEFINITELY not naked OR a figment inside his own fantasies — entering from the balcony window (when had it been unlocked?), his cropped black hair looking a bit windswept. He stared expressionless at Tim stretched out.
Oh… oh god…
Tim scrambled to get himself upright, to get himself off the mattress, certain that his face was turning a hundred different shades of red if that was even humanly possible. "C-Conner- I'm sorry…"
"I thought I heard you… I was on my way over to say hey…" Conner told him, those blue, doubtful eyes of his traveling to where it still ached like hell — And arrrrgh WHY was he STILL looking?
"I just- just- this isn't-" NO NO. GO DOWN. "I wasn't-"
"…Then what were you doing?"
Tim hung his head, doing his best to cover himself with his hands, to appear calm. "I…I…"
His heart was going so fast. His adrenaline. Needed to… calm down… "I'm really-"
The opportunity to explain why he had been fucking his own hand to the sounds of his own rasping of Conner's name dwindled off when several fingers — bigger, firmer — wrapped around one of Tim's hands to pull away, to cup and rub slowly at Tim's leaking cock. It was only because of the enormous self-disciple with previous training that kept Tim solidly on his feet. "Aah- wh-what are you doing…"
"Not going to go away by itself." Conner's fingers ventured from Tim's reddened shaft to his balls and squeezed, and Tim swore that he felt his eardrums pressurize. "Guess I'm kind of responsible for this for whatever reason." It was a skewed logic… Tim knew this, Tim knew that Conner knew this, and Conner was looking at him like this wasn't a big surprise at all, and Tim just… What was happening…
Tim's smaller but equally as muscular arms wound around Conner's neck. He was no longer all too confident on his ability to stand straight anymore (…t-those fingers). Tim half expected for him to move away; when Conner didn't, he pressed the hard line of his nose into the black tee shirt, shifting his face to instead muffle ragged, needy gasps with his mouth sealed open into Conner's shoulder.
The ends of Tim's fingernails scraped somewhat into the nape of Conner's neck when the hand on the middle of Tim's back ran down to trace the silky line of skin between his ass cheeks, applying pressure as that hand went down further. Ooh… Tim's head tilted back. Conner's soft and insistent mouth was on his, Conner's tongue wetly tangling with his, and there was a moment of stark clarity with Tim's body on overload — that he has wanted this for longer than he realized, and maybe it was a bit cliché in another's eyes let alone to admit it even in his own thoughts, but hell, it didn't matter.
The balance of the world changed dramatically as the back of Tim's head hit the cot, his legs dangling off the edge of the mattress, and Conner settled between them, his possessive hands now holding Tim's wrists flat to his sides and into the thin blankets. Conner's eyes were… so… deliberate.
"Wh-…" Tim cursed his inability to form full sentences at this moment. "…why?"
"You called for me," the other boy replied informatively, "I said if you yelled for me I would come." The sexual implications of what Conner had said were too obvious and so very Conner and he was grinning down at Tim like he was quite proud of himself. Despite being irritated by the lack a proper answer to his apparently laughable question, Tim's entire face was flushing.
"…Do you want me to stop?" Conner's lips and teeth nibbled lightly on the junction of Tim's throat, Conner's fingers returning to stroke teasingly up the underside of his cock, sweeping the tip and back. Up. Back. Like tenderly tuning a beloved instrument. Tim shuddered at the feel, bucking up into him.
"-D-Don't stop- Conner-"
No mentally visualized fantasy could be comparable to the semblance of the obscene and unsophisticated movement of their real bodies together that night; Conner's teeth snagged Tim's left earlobe gently, earning a low, pleading whimper; the dry and excruciating sting of being penetrated tampered off eventually with time and a bottle-rocket pocket of pressure mingled with fierce arousal started low tingling in Tim's balls and warmed spiking into his gut; the insides of Tim's legs dig into Conner's thrusting hips and Tim couldn't get himself to remain quiet, and Conner couldn't look anymore pleased with it as he pounded harder, murmuring Tim's name when he came; beads of sweat clung to Tim's lashes, and he brought himself over no less quietly with a single stroke of himself.
And maybe this whole situation was laughable, and it might as well have been when Tim was the one trained by the World's Greatest Detective and Conner had seen this coming before he did… the clone buried his face into the side of Tim's neck and ear, nuzzling there contently and sleepily as the other boy smiled amused, hugging an arm around Conner's shoulder… it somehow felt appropriate.
I do not own anything from the DC Universe. Heh.